they did their best to hound him out of Scotland…but Rangers and Paul
Gascoigne had the last laugh on the critics, enjoying countless truly
memorable moments and savouring the introduction of some much-needed
colour to the drab and dreary world of Scottish football.
With the Gers again facing Anorthosis on European business, my mind
back-tracked to that nerve-jangling Champions League qualifier of ten
years ago. Jeez, is it really that long since Gazza descended upon
Ibrox and faced his first serious challenge against the Cypriots? We
limped through that one (so did he with a calf injury) and we endured
our customary European dramas and traumas, giving the anti-Gazza
brigade plenty of opportunities to stir the shit, but the Geordie
genius was good for Rangers – we were good for him too! – and I recall
his two and a half years amongst us with a big smile on my coupon.
Brilliant solo goals, lovely piss-taking movements which left opponents
swiping at fresh air, invisible flute playing, fall-outs with refs and
spats with the hammer-throwers who tried to nail him, all added
considerably to the glamour of the game. Sure, there was another side -
a troubled home life, his collection of dodgy mates, an infuriating
inclination to hit the self-destruct button – and the Hack Pack
predictably opted to focus on the negative side…but we got nine in a
row and so much more so GIRUY MickNee and co.
Gaz made his debut on the pre-season tour of Denmark and, if he had any
doubts about it, the Press Gang quickly let him know he was a target. A
goal against Brondby was a great start but a fall-out with a Hvidovre
defender who tried to make a name for himself at Gazza’s expense had
the scribblers chasing after the ref, putting words into his mouth and
splashing the Cool It Gazza! headlines across the chip wrappings.
Oh how we laughed the following weekend when he tooted the flute after
his goal against Steaua in the Ibrox tournament, only to find our hero
vilified for such a ‘provocative’ gesture. With Sampdoria also involved
in the tourney, the Italian press were there in force and suddenly we
were told Gazza was responsible for all the world’s ailments, from a
missing giro on the Royston Road to the famine in Ethiopia. The
Northern Ireland peace process (what peace process?) had still to be
invented.
The season hadn’t yet started but already it was clear the ‘anything
goes’ tactics would be applied to media coverage of Paul Gascoigne. His
first Old Firm game, a midweek League Cup tie at the half-built Scum
Dome, was his next big test, the Gers spent the entire game on the back
foot then, BANG!, a Gazza cross, a late Coisty header and its 1-0 to
Rangers. Robbery? Mmmmaybe…and a couple of weeks later we are back at
the scene of the crime, Cleland and Gaz get the goals, and it has all
the makings of being one of those seasons (another one!) for Timothy.
Then just when there were signs of things settling down, this silly wee
country we live in fired out another ‘welcome to Scotland’ message. In
November 95, a stormy Rangers v Aberdeen game (surely not!), with Gazza
an obvious target of several assaults masquerading as tackles, resulted
in the Procurator Fiscal studying tapes of the game. Coming just a few
weeks after Drunken Duncan had ended up in the Big Hoose, the
possibility of being hauled before the courts can only have preyed on
the mind of such a clearly temperamental character.
Yet he continued to produce some truly magic moments on the park. An
amazing solo goal in the 7-0 demolition of Hibs (he strolled past six
players – three of theirs and three of ours!) was overshadowed by a
retard of a referee, Dougie Smith from Troon, who took exception to
Gazza flashing the yellow card the ref had dropped. Aye, it could only
happen here. And as the Gers marched on towards eight in a row and the
5-1 thrashing of Hearts in the Cup Final, the man answered his critics
in the best way possible.
His stunning hat-trick in the title-clinching victory over the Sheepies
must have stuck in commentator MickNee’s craw. In his weekly rant in
the News Of The Screws, the self-appointed voice of Scottish football
couldn’t bring himself to mention the player by name, snidily referring
to him as Number Eight.
Well, eight soon became nine as the Gers racked up another title and
Gazza, despite increasing media intrusion into his private life,
continued to deliver the goods. The clincher in the dying moments of
the opening Old Firm game, two superb solo goals in the League Cup
Final against the Jambos at the Piggery – after helping himself to a
pre-match hauf in the Scum Of’s boardroom – great goals, superb assists
and a series of brilliant midfield twists and turns which lit up
humdrum games.
Aye, those were the days…and if Gazza wasn’t doing it, Brian Laudrup
was driving defenders to dementia as the Gers ruled the roost. With
opponents pulling everyone behind the ball, that magic creativity, the
touch of genius would unlock the door and we were treated to some
superb stuff. Gazza’s use of the ball, his defence splitting passes and
powerful runs made Rangers well nigh unbeatable, yet for some strange
reason those times are tinged with a few regrets.
Maybe we were inclined to take it all for granted, maybe we started to
believe all the crap we read in the papers but, as he moved into his
third season with us, I detected a cooling of our affection towards
him. In many ways, he contributed to this with some of his radio rental
antics and I'm inclined to think that Paul was the sort of guy who got
itchy feet when he spent too long in the same place. He needed a fresh
challenge.
The knockers decry his domestic achievements as meaningless – Nine in a
row meaningless? Tell that to Timothy! – and his insignificant impact
on our European campaigns is hard to defend. Stupid red cards in
Dortmund and Amsterdam and the subsequent suspensions dumped Rangers in
the shit and, when a gubbing in Gothenburg ended our Champions League
dream in 97, there were signs that the love affair between Gazza and
Rangers was turning sour. Those wonderful people, Scottish referees and
the Media Scum, were quick to exploit the situation.
On a cold November night at Parkheid, with the Gers calling the shots,
that spiteful reptile John Rowbotham, having bided his time to get back
at Gazza after being criticised for his handling of the PF’s Gers-Sheep
game two years earlier, got his reward midway through the second half.
A nothing Gazza-Weighorst clash ended with the Dane dropping as if shot
by a sniper and Paul was shown the red card. Explaining the incident in
a look back on his career a few months ago, Rowbotham said that, having
booked Gazza in the first half, he had no option. Wrong! He showed a
straight red for nothing more than the spreading of the arms to assist
balance. Weighorst cheated and Bald Eagle bought it!
The totting up of disciplinary points meant that Gazza then faced a
lengthy suspension and, if he was disillusioned with life, he had his
worst fears confirmed when we went back to Breezeblock Boulevard at New
Year. On the bench that day, Gazza was warming up in front of the Bears
and briefly responded to Gazza Gazza Gi’ Us The Sash. Sky’s cameras
caught it, Seamus O’Fended and his pals were jamming the phone lines
and, according to a wee jump-the-dyke from Gourock (I’ll bet your
brother Roddy was well pissed off!), the Northern Ireland peace process
was suddenly in jeopardy.
That clip continues to be shown, especially when Joke McConnell’s
soundbite crusade is on the agenda, but check it out next time it is
screened. To give it any significance, they have to show it in slow
motion, it was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it gesture, yet a war which has
lasted for centuries is going to be affected by it? Get real Provan!
Poisonous people like you, whose only principles are in their wallet,
are the ones who fan the flames of hate with your phony indignance.
Remember that next time you join in with the singing at Laird Street.
Paul moved to Middlesbrough towards the end of the ten in a row season
which never was. To this day some maintain that, had we held on to him,
we might have cashed in as Septic stumbled towards the finishing line.
I’m not so sure. Towards the final quarter of that season, it was the
return of old favourites like McCoist and Durrant and plenty of true
grit and passion for the jersey which hauled us back into the hunt, not
the delicate touch and flair which Gazza had in abundance. Indeed, had
Walter stuck with him, I’m not convinced we would have kept the thing
alive to the final day of the season.
But I much prefer to remember Gazza for what he did, not what he failed
to do. At a time when Rangers were so far ahead of the rest of the
pack, his wonderful qualities as an entertainer made going to games so
much more appealing. The Hack Pack were so busy belittling Rangers, it
didn’t occur to them to be thankful to our club for raising the
standard of play by signing class acts like Gascoigne and Laudrup…and
for enticing a character like Gazza to such a dead-end football
backstreet.
He gave us so much to look back on with a smile but those who get paid
to cover the game prefer to scowl and complain about the other parts of
the package. If all he achieved was rubbing them up the wrong way, I’d
applaud him for that alone but you and I know he did so much more.
Paul Gascoigne wasn’t the perfect role model or a sporting diplomat. He
was just a footballer, a bloody good too, and Rangers got the benefit
of his amazing talents for two and a half years. That’ll do for me.
LITTLE BOY BLUE