RITCHIE HAS FALLEN OUT OF LOVE WITH OLD FLAME
King of Cappielow Ritchie claims his relationship with the club where he made his name has sadly hit an all-time low
AT THE age of 62, Andy Ritchie never expected a Dear John letter. Yet the Morton legend’s estrangement from the club where he acquired cult status has been a bruising business.
Six months since he last showed face at Cappielow, he can’t say for certain when he’ll be back.
Thirty five years since he scored the last of his 129 goals in 247 appearances in the shadow of Greenock’s Sugar Shed, he’s thinner now than the day he lifted Scotland’s Player of the Year award in 1979.
But the appetite for football has never diminished. And, in October, he tried to satisfy the cravings.
Holding discussions with the Championship club over a match-day meet-and-greet role with some commercial work, he saw a chance to fill the corporate lounges with laughter and nostalgia. To do for Morton what Willie Henderson does for Rangers, Bertie Auld for Celtic or Alex Totten for Falkirk.
‘It’s now March and I’m still waiting for a response,’ he tells Sportsmail.
There’s no anger or bitterness in his voice. Only regret and bewilderment.
Morton’s Scottish Cup meeting with Celtic has brought media invitations from William Hill and the Peter and Roughie Show. Just as he was good for Morton, so Morton have been good for Ritchie. Yet the call he craved most in recent weeks never came.
‘I feel quite sad about it,’ he admits. ‘I was very interested in trying to help the club out.
‘It would have felt like the wheel turning full circle.
‘I was excited by the idea of doing something back at Morton.
‘The decision could have been yes or no. That would have been fine. If it was no, I would have respected that.
‘But here I am, five or six months later, a man of 62, still waiting to hear an answer. Was it a lack of courtesy? Possibly. I felt it was disrespectful and unnecessary.’
As with anything in Scottish football, it came down in the end to one thing. Money.
Morton asked Ritchie to put something down on paper. To make a value-for-money case for a full-time role with some in-house lounge and communications work. The Cappielow club felt — and still feel — the ball was in his court. Reluctant to jot down his own ideas without some offer of employment at the end of it all, the two sides found themselves in chicken and egg territory.
‘Did it come down to money?’ he ponders. ‘I would assume yes.
‘But that shouldn’t prevent somebody at the club phoning me and saying: “Sorry, but this is why we are unwilling or unable to do it”. ‘It’s not that I feel I deserve a living from Morton. I don’t. I was never looking for a free lunch. ‘I outlined to them what I had to contribute and I felt it would have been the ideal opportunity at the age of 62 to be doing something for a club I have a good deal of affection for. ‘I was never going to break the bank at my pay grade. It was never a great deal of cash we were talking about and, listen, maybe they just didn’t have it. ‘But I don’t know what it was because nobody actually called me back.’ The relationship between Ritchie and Morton has always been complex. Founded, right from the start, on a misconception. He says: ‘People always think I come from Greenock. I meet people and they say: “Ah, you’re from Greenock.” ‘I’m not. I know nothing at all about Greenock. I grew up in Bellshill supporting Motherwell.’ Despite the fine details, Morton fans of all ages adore him. Even those too young to see him bend a free-kick in his Cappielow pomp over the permed head of Alan Rough.
‘It can be a bit surreal to be Mr Morton after all this length of time,’ he concedes.
‘God bless YouTube. Because of that, I have a whole new legion of people who never saw me play and only heard about me through their fathers and grandfathers, who can now log on to YouTube and see something a bit different from what they normally see.
‘It’s nice to be remembered. And it’s nice to be remembered fondly. It’s quite humbling.’
The relationship with fans has always been different to the relationship with the club hierarchy. To some of the people who ploughed their own money into the club, Ritchie’s status as the King of Cappielow seemed to cause resentment. ‘Many years ago, a book called
Morton Greats came out,’ says Ritchie. ‘And the chairman at that time was deeply concerned that I had managed to get 23 pages dedicated to me, while he was mentioned in one paragraph.
‘I’m not close enough to the scene down there to be able to put my finger on why they keep me at arm’s length.
‘I don’t know if my popularity is resented exactly. But I know enough people who are Morton supporters and live locally who have made that comment with some authority. It’s coming up for 40 years since I won Scotland’s Player of the Year award and I think to myself: “That’s four long decades, a lot of folk have come through the club, yet I’m still looked upon favourably with supporters”.
‘That might not sit easily with one or two of the people in charge. But, the truth is, I’m no threat to anybody. I’d just like to help the club.’
When the two sides spoke last year, Ritchie was scouting for the SFA, earning a modest allowance for watching players on behalf of Gordon Strachan and Ritchie’s former Cappielow strike partner Mark McGhee.
That disappeared when Strachan was dismissed — and Ritchie admits it’s hard to let go.
‘Ask anybody who has ever worked in the game and no longer is. They all feel like I do — that they have something to offer,’ he says.
‘I did the scouting side of things at Celtic and Aston Villa — and helped out with Scotland before Gordon left, as well. Maybe that could have been of benefit to Morton, too.’
In the post-Bosman era, Ritchie would never have become a Morton idol in the first place. Under freedom of contract, he’d have been gone after scoring 30 goals in each of his first two seasons. Former chairman Hal Stewart saw the pound signs in his eyes and, after Dundee United made £500,000 for full-back Ray Stewart from West Ham, he slapped a £1million price tag on Ritchie’s head.
‘I’m not bitter about that. But I felt quite sad about it,’ he says.
‘The modern-day player is chief executive of his own multi-million pound company now.
‘We were slaves to a football club. When someone made a decision on your future, they made it whether you liked it or not. You did what you were told.
‘Even when your goals were putting the team top of the league and getting the average crowd up to 8,000 a week.’
The hope remains that Morton may yet find a job for him. Currently working night shifts, he’d welcome the chance to avoid a messy and irreparable divorce.
‘I don’t think I’ve been back down to Cappielow since what happened,’ admits Ritchie.
‘I hope I will go back down and see Morton games again. But I don’t know when. And it won’t be as often.
‘I try my best to do stuff down there for the club and fans and charities if I have time, and there are a few people in Greenock who would verify that.
‘They would understand how let down I feel now.’