Why Hearts' battle to weaken Old Firm is flawed

GLENN GIBBONS
CHIEF FOOTBALL WRITER

THERE are few sights more gratifying than that of the oppressed standing up to a bully. The only flaw in the attempt by George Foulkes, the Hearts chairman, to initiate this worthy exercise is that, when he applied the term to the Old Firm, it was a misnomer.

In defence of the admirable Foulkes - whether seemingly right or wrong, he does fight his club’s corner - this is a trap into which many before him have frequently fallen, perpetuating the myth that Celtic and Rangers are more powerful than the other members of the SPL.

The very mention of their name often seems to demand the adjunct, "the most powerful clubs in Scottish football", suggesting that their strength extends beyond the field of play. But the SPL, like the Scottish Football League, still operates a one-club-one-vote democracy. That it should also demand a two-thirds majority (8-4) on important issues, thereby flouting convention, is entirely the fault of the non-Old Firm clubs.

These are the members Foulkes regards as victims of the Glasgow "bullies". But, long before he entered the game, it was their meek acceptance of the Old Firm’s demands that led to the needless secession from the SFL and formation of the SPL in the first place.

There were, at the time, eight so-called provincial clubs in the old Premier Division. In falling over themselves to comply with the wishes of Celtic and Rangers - doubtless dazzled by the promise of a commercial cornucopia they could just as easily have obtained by staying where they were - they seemed not to realise that, whatever sinister hints may have been dropped by the Old Firm, the latter could hardly go off and form a two-team league.

The Glasgow clubs, impossible as it seems, managed to create a climate in which the others - 80 per cent of the group, remember - became worried that they might be left behind. In failing to recognise their own power, the eight even agreed to an absurd voting structure which originally required an 11-1 majority to pass important legislation.

In other words, only two clubs had to form an alliance to attain the power of veto. Must have been a bugger trying to figure who they might be. When the implications of this grotesque form of democracy became a practical reality, there was widespread bleating about the Old Firm hindering "progress" through blocking the wishes of the majority.

This prompted Ian McLeod, then chief executive of Celtic, to remind us that "these are the same people who popped champagne corks to celebrate the formation of the new league, including the voting system".

In his "time to take on the Old Firm bullies" speech, Foulkes said that the appointment of Phil Anderton as chief executive at Tynecastle "shows we are serious about becoming a big player". There is no reason to doubt that Anderton will do an excellent job in his new role. But, in terms of political muscle within the SPL chambers, Hearts are already as big a player as anyone else, including the Old Firm.

Elements of the Scottish media have had some fun with a slightly contrived brouhaha over the naming of the footbridge that will lead into the new Wembley Stadium, so there seems no reason why this column should be left out.

It began with the London Development Agency’s idea to christen the approach in honour of someone who had made an enduring contribution to the history of the famous ground and to canvass the public for nominations. This ignited a feverish clamour from members of the Tartan Army on behalf of the late Jim Baxter.

It is, of course, inconceivable that the walkway will not be named after someone like Bobby Moore, captain of England’s World Cup-winning side at Wembley in 1966, Sir Alf Ramsey, Bobby Charlton or Sir Stanley Matthews. It will be, after all, England’s national stadium.

But, in the extremely unlikely event of the organisers opting for a non-native, there could be - with the deepest respect to the legendary Baxter and at the risk of causing some serious vein-popping among Scots - only one contender. His name is Ferenc Puskas. As the inspiration of the great Hungarian side who were the first from overseas to win at Wembley with their 6-3 victory in 1953, the remarkable Puskas - short, overweight and utterly deadly - introduced the British to a game with which they were not familiar.

IT WOULD be an exaggeration to claim that Craig Bellamy’s election as man of the match against Dunfermline was the result of skulduggery, but not to infer at least an ulterior motive on the part of the judges.

At the end of a 6-0 victory which would not have been possible without the entrancing performance of Aiden McGeady, the choice of Bellamy by the sponsors’ guests carried echoes of Henrik Larsson’s experience of the same exercise.

Readers with a retentive memory will recall the item in this space during Larsson’s final season which revealed the great striker’s disillusionment in this direction. It was after a number of occasions on which his nomination was clearly undeserved that Larsson realised the reason.

The recipient of the award pays a visit to the hospitality suite to meet the guests, to be photographed and to sign autographs. As the most celebrated player in the game, Larsson was frequently picked for no other reason than to give the supporters bragging rights when they rejoined their workmates on a Monday morning. Latterly, Larsson refused the "honour" whenever he felt it was not merited.

In this regard, a session with Bellamy currently carries more kudos than one with young McGeady - at least temporarily - and may explain last Saturday’s nonsense. This is not to detract from a pretty polished performance from the Welshman, but, like a cornered skunk, the affair releases a bad odour.

Taken from the Scotsman