An uplifting tale of FATHER and SON
Stephen Craigan’s experiences as a footballer were shaped by the man who worked in the shadows of ‘the Troubles’ but whose discipline and work ethic was truly life-affirming
THERE are some lessons that are given through words. ‘On my debut at Motherwell, I heard a roar from the stands and it was my dad. He had come over on the chance of me playing,’ says Stephen Craigan. ‘I suppose he was giving me advice, though I could barely hear him.’
There are other lessons that are learned quietly, through experience. ‘My dad was a prison officer at the height of the Troubles. He worked in Crumlin Road and then the Maze. Without sensationalising it, there are ways he had to live his life,’ adds Craigan.
‘He looked under his car every morning. He was not much of a man for going into Belfast. He would cover himself up when watching me play against certain teams when I was a boy. Hat and scarf, face obscured. He might have been fine but, from his perspective, it was better to be safe…
‘The manager of the team would say sometimes at the end of a game: “Your dad’s away. Someone must have recognised him”. The manager would drop me off wherever my dad had agreed with him and we would go home. That was just the way it was.’
This life was routine to Craigan but it does not take a licensed psychologist to see the impact his father had on the budding player. ‘Football was really my dad’s and my thing,’ he says of his father, John, who died seven years ago.
‘I have two brothers and they were into other things with my dad; motocross and the like. But football was the bond for me and my dad.’
His father was committed and determined. ‘He would work night shift and then drive lorries during the day,’ reveals Craigan.
He was strong but he was aware of the comforts of security. ‘He was careful,’ admits Craigan.
His son has inherited all of that in a life of a footballer that thankfully poses no threat to life but does make demands in other areas.
‘My biggest opponent was my mind,’ says Craigan. ‘I am a safeoption guy. I want the security.’
But this quest was draining and constant. ‘My attitude with football was I’ll enjoy it when I retire,’ he adds. ‘Towards the end of my career, it was a feeling of relief. I could see the end of the road.
‘My mindset was what if I try this or that and it goes wrong? I will never forgive myself. I was into fasting, fitness… everything had to be perfect or I believed I could not compete.’
This was fuelled by a work ethic learned in Comber on the outskirts of Belfast.
‘We were brought up to be workers. I worked in the potato fields as a kid, that is why I was called Spud when I played in teams as a boy. I plucked turkeys at Christmas. I was on a building site,’ he says.
This attitude accompanied him 25 years ago on the ferry from Larne to Scotland to begin his career at Motherwell.
Now 42, and settled in Scotland with wife, Elaine, and nine-yearold daughter, Chloe, Craigan says: ‘If you want to make it as a footballer from Northern Ireland, you have to go away.
‘It broke my heart every time. It is not until you are on the boat that you realise the emotion of it all.’
He was buoyed by his ‘steely determination’, saying: ‘I had watched better players than me go away but come home after a couple of years and not really play football again.
‘That was not going to be me. I don’t want to be like that. I have to give it everything I have. That is great in theory but I had to take some setbacks along the way.’
His first spell at Motherwell, from 1994 to 2000, ended with a ‘hammer blow’. He says: ‘The world almost collapses when you are told to go.’
He signed for Partick Thistle, being part of two promotions and a spell in the top league. ‘John Lambie was the manager,’ he says. ‘I thought: “This guy is going to frighten the life out of me”. He was known as a hard taskmaster. But he made a lot of sense.
‘There were a lot of senior players who knew the game, knew how to look after themselves.’
He was sustained by a new feeling. ‘I was in the first team every week. It was great… the nervous anticipation of knowing you would most likely play,’ adds Craigan. ‘There were decent crowds, a connection with the fans and my mum and dad coming over to watch me in proper stadiums.
‘I was on a high on the emotion of winning in the lower divisions and of surviving in the top division.’
It was 2003 and time to return to Motherwell. ‘There was some trepidation about that,’ he says. ‘I had left with people sort of thinking: “He’s not great” so I had to win supporters over. I enjoyed that. There was a point to prove.’
His international career with Northern Ireland had started with Thistle but he was to go on to win 54 caps. For a character who believed he drew on every last iota of his ability and his mental strength simply to compete, how did the step up to that rarefied level affect him?
‘I retired Raul,’ he says with a laugh. ‘When we beat them 3-2 at Windsor Park that was his last game in a Spain shirt and I have it at home. I have Michael Owen’s, too, from the time we beat England in 2005.’
The smile evaporates to be replaced with that sense of seriousness. ‘Listen, I had fear, dread, apprehension, before matches... but it had a purpose. It made me prepare,’ he says.
‘The only thing is, I wished I had
enjoyed it more. After the England win we went back to the local pub as a family. It was not to gloat, it was just to relax with friends. But I was sitting there in my tracksuit and I still found it hard to come down.
‘Terry Butcher was my manager at the time and he was co-commentating at the game.
‘I met up with him at the stadium after the match and he told me: “I know you have just beaten England but Inverness on Saturday is the most important game now”.
‘We were down 1-0 at half time — big (Craig) Brewster, who I was supposed to be marking, had scored — and half-time was, well, interesting. But we won 3-1.
‘I said: “Right, I can enjoy the England win now”. You see, if we hadn’t won, that England match would have been irrelevant.
‘There were times after a victory when I would sit in my kit in the dressing room for ages, soaking that feeling in. Or I would jog around Fir Park for a warm down and try to keep the memories of the match alive.’
But the focus soon turned to the next match. ‘I had a notebook,’ says Craigan, ‘and I’d write everything down about my opponents — good points and bad points. I would read it on the night before the game, take it all in and say: “Right, I can go to sleep, now”.
And what did he write of Chris Sutton, his sparring partner on commentating duties with BT and Premier Sports? ‘Elbows, aggressive, always with a comment to try to rile you,’ he says, adding with a smile: ‘Henrik (Larsson) was always more of a concern.’
His dedication to preparation continues into commentating, Craigan admitting: ‘I study hard, have loads of notes but when the countdown begins of 3-2-1 on telly, then I always think: “Have I done everything possible to prepare?”
‘I don’t want to think: “I should have, I could have”. I want to know I did everything possible to be the best I could be.’
He adds: ‘My dad was always on at me to improve and always giving me advice. My daughter is at the ice skating now and I give her advice on that.
‘She tells me I know nothing about skating, so how can I give advice? I laugh at that because that is what I told my dad about football.’
Craigan has left his coaching job at Motherwell and is seeking another challenge.
‘It may be in the line of public speaking,’ he says.
This is his first major interview and he concedes he was not helpful to the written press as a player. ‘That was fear, too,’ he says. ‘It was nothing personal, but I just felt I could not control what was written about me. I feared that the wrong message would be put out.’
But he adds: ‘I have had some tests, some challenges, some great stuff and some difficult stuff. But I am still here, I just feel I have a story to tell.’
The experiences have found their words.