The sparky who never forgot
His working-class roots never withered while his knowledge grew far past the football field
THE coaching and managerial career of Walter Smith drips with honours. The best testament to his character, though, is that he never strayed far from being the working-class boy from Carmyle.
This may seem unduly sentimental but it is true. Smith was a profound figure, with extraordinary depths. He defied stereotypes. He could be painted as the stern, father figure with the forbidding stare. He was also a gentleman of genuine class
The truth about him will be held and cherished by those who knew him best. For those of us who came into contact with him on a professional basis and then lingered gratefully in friendship, there were some obvious certainties.
The first is that Smith was formed by his workingclass background. He was an electrician long before he sent international and club sides out on to the major fields of battle.
He knew what it was like to work for a living. He was marked by the realities of his trade.
He accepted, too, that his life beyond a modest playing career was not assured. He thus applied himself totally to every chance he was offered in coaching. He graduated as a football educator and thinker of the first order.
These lofty heights were achieved by making the hard yards, day in and out. He was picked as an assistant by three of the geniuses of Scottish football: Jim McLean, Jock Stein and Sir Alex Ferguson.
They recognised his aptitude for coaching players. They also appreciated his integrity, his humanity and his ability to be a loyal friend.
The football credits of Smith are long and illustrious. They can be recorded elsewhere.
He deserves here to be described as a man, even a force of nature. This stretches beyond the sometimes benighted atmosphere of football in Scotland.
Smith was a good man. He was great company. In the Glasgow vernacular, he was a solid citizen.
Viewed as stern, even forbidding, he was full of mischief. My last conversation with him – over the weekend – was to help him in his mission to send an article to Sir Alex.
This contained an anecdote. Sir Alex said in it: “I was Scotland manager in 1986 when we went to Israel to play a friendly. The courier on the coach asked me if I had ever visited his country before.
I said I played for Scotland against Israel in 1967. He said: ‘Ah, the B international’.
“Walter (assistant manager) exploded in laughter. I was never allowed to forget that comment.”
Sir Alex was awarded full caps this month, superseding the B denomination. Smith was keen to remind him of that day on the Scotland bus.
This attitude is truly a Glaswegian trait. Great friends slag each other off greatly. It is a sign of affection.
Smith was held in extraordinary respect, too. This was not confined to the geniuses of the game. It stretched down to the shallow waters where reside such as this observer who found him an articulate, insightful observer of football but, perhaps, more importantly, a genuine, fascinating human being.
His hinterland was vast in scope. He was a keen reader, a lover of music and a perceptive commentator on politics. He listened closely, though. Smith always wanted to learn.
This trait, too, was cultivated in youth. Those who are denied formal education are often the ones who seek to learn with the most voracious appetite.
His effect on others was considerable. His players loved him. They respected him too. He was capable of ruling by fear but this was not the greatest weapon in his armoury. Players wanted to play for Walter Smith. This is the greatest attribute a manager can have. Tactics, strategy and game plans will fail if players are not committed.
A natter with such disparate characters as Ally McCoist, Mark Hateley, Terry Butcher, Steven Naismith, David Weir and others left no doubt as to Smith’s standing in the dressing-room and his influence on their careers and, indeed, lives.
People – footballers and others – were quietly impressed by him. It is a peculiar gift, difficult to define. He dominated by his presence, not the tone or volume of his voice. He could be – and was – aggressive in the dressing-room and press conference – but he was also a reflective man.
He knew football was very important. But, really, not that important at all. This is what made him a splendid companion over a meal or even a coffee. There were, of course, the great football stories. But there was something more, something much more substantial.
All this and more was seamlessly, almost casually revealed by listening and chatting to a man who had lived an extraordinary life and admitted that he had sometimes been baffled by it. He came from Carmyle and became a millionaire.
Yet he remained welded to what formed him. There was a self-deprecation that was never forced. He spoke warmly of luck, pointed to his impeccable taste in working with geniuses and deflected any outlandish praise.
He knew what he was. This is humility. This observation makes him seem sombre but he was dryly funny,
Smith was a profound figure, with extraordinary depths. He defied stereotypes
light-hearted and devoid of pretension.
His most attractive quality – at least to those of us who lived on the periphery of his life – was that he believed he was lucky, blessed. This applied not only to his football career but to his life as a husband, father and grandfather.
There are many anecdotes about Smith. One may just sum up what he felt about his life in football. After his spell assisting Ferguson at Manchester United, Smith received a letter of thanks from his great friend.
“I should have been thanking him,” he once told me. This was who he was. A fan who got lucky, perhaps. But, above all, a man who lived life to the full, loved to the extent of his capacity and left behind a legacy that cannot and will not be restricted to the affairs of 22 men chasing a spherical object.