‘Suddenly, Billy slipped his right hand into my left hand and we made our way home through the traffic ... one Lisbon Lion delivered safely’
I WAS aware Billy McNeill was cursed with bad days as well as being blessed with good ones.
“Will you be able to make the book launch?” I asked as I checked my watch – 10.06am.
“Don’t start without me,” came the remarkably jolly reply. Billy obviously was enjoying one of his better mornings.
I had been in touch the previous week to place the initial request. My new book, on the Celtic managerial careers of Billy McNeill and Davie Hay – entitled Cesar and the Assassin – had just been published. Now it was time to go through the rigmarole of the required publicity.
The presentation was arranged for noon at Parkhead on Monday, December 8, 2014. The only tricky bit was to ensure Billy and Davie made an appearance.
Given the circumstances I would have understood completely if Billy, at the age of 74, had declined the invitation. It would be another two years before his family would go public about his struggle against dementia.
There would be no pressure, I held the man in far too high esteem. With a fair bit of trepidation I put in the call. Any fears I may have entertained were dispelled immediately.
“It would be a pleasure, Alex,” came the welcome response. On the day, flanked by two Celtic legends as we posed for the images to promote the book, Billy grinned at the camera and whispered, “The things I do for a free lunch.”
Once the publicity work had been taken care of my wife Gerda gave Billy, Mike Jackson and me a lift to the White Cart bar on the south side. A pleasant afternoon ensued and we chatted about everything, majoring, of course, on football.
Maybe the detail wasn’t quite so sharp, possibly the delivery not as precise but as you would expect Celtic’s greatest captain could serve up a tale or two.
We got in touch with Liz and I vowed to make sure Billy would be home, safe and sound, between 5 and 6pm. We whiled away the remaining hour or so before Gerda drove us then pulled the car in at the side of the road opposite the Parkland Country Club. I knew Billy’s home was within five minutes walking distance.
He eased open the door and said, “Right, I’m off now. Thanks for lunch. Good luck with the book, Alex.” “Whoa there, fella,” I said. No way I was going to allow him to cross the bustling A77 with cars nose to tail. We stood side by side as we waited for a break in the traffic.
Suddenly, without warning, Billy slipped his right hand into my left hand. It was a surreal moment. With hands linked, we threaded our way through and reached the opposite pavement without mishap. Billy looked me straight in the eye and said, “You were brilliant there”. I didn’t know how to respond. I burbled along the lines of, “You weren’t so bad yourself, Billy.”
He rang the doorbell and Liz answered. “One Lisbon legend returned, as promised,” I said.
“And fed and watered,” added Billy. He looked again at me and said, “Thanks, I enjoyed that.”
And with that he walked through the front door and vanished down the hallway.
“Everything fine, Alex?” asked Liz. “It couldn’t have gone better,” I answered truthfully.