The Nicol Challenge Cup 1901 – The Kharki Rangers by J E Scott

TOWSER’S GOAL

Sit doon an’ I’ll tell ye a story It wasna a great big catch

It wasna a fight at the fit o’ the lane It wis only a fitba’ match. But Scotland rang wi’ the story (Machkar will tell ye it’s true) When the Point boys won by the only goal Scored as the whistle blew. The Bank Park, boys, was crowded There were fifteen hundred there! Harvey sent six reporters

An’ the Oban Times had a pair. Man, it was great, a’vallich!

Man it was simply great,

An the Khakis swore they’d die before They’d let themselves be bate. Dugal kicked off for Ardrishaig An’ Fettie and Geerach began Doon the wing like electric eels They passed, an’ dribbled an’ ran. The ba’ went across tae Connie Who sent her back to Cock Bruce An’ Cock let drive, but Carswell saved A could greet – but what’s the use. It was then Hughie Vean got excited ‘Huyg’, the Lochgilliper’s pet,

An’ he off doon the field, with the ball at his toe, Till John Hamilton laid him flet. But Jockie got haud o’ the ba’ A dangerous man was he Till Sultan cut over an’ cleared An’ that was a sight tae see! Did I mention that I was playing?

I was one o’ the backs no less

An Bowsie and me were as steady as rocks An’ sharp as a piece o’ gless. An’ we needed to be a’ vallich

(There’s Machkar’ll tell you it’s true)

For Lochgilphead were pressing us hard at times, An’ twice they were nearly through. But they never got time to aim at goal An’ the same at the other end Where Fettie himsel’ could do nothing So strong did McKirdy defend. So half time came wi’ never a goal But man, the play was a trate

An’ the Khakis swore they’d die before They’d let themselves be bate. The second half was a scorcher Man, but the play was fast

An’ the Khakis had a’ the best of it Till we thought we would score at last. But Carswell was playing champion Ah must give Carswell his due For the shots went in like bullets An’ never a one he let through. Connie an’ Cock an’ Geerach, Fettie an’ Dugal Law

Shot like a dozen Maxims Till they nearly burst the ba’ The crood was mad wi’ excitement (Did a’ tell ye that afore?)

It was only a minute from time, ma boy An’ still there was time to score. Ah spat on ma hands a’ vallich

On these two hands you see!

Says I to maself, there’ll never be a goal Unless it’s scored by me! An’ just as a spoke, the ball came up An’ right to ma feet it came

For the half o’ a half o’ a second Ah saw a bit of red flame. An’ then a’ up an’ started (Machkar’ll tell you it’s true)

I had less than a meenite to do it in An’ the deed I meant to do. As I ran the length o’ the field I deedled a dozen men

I was thirty yards from Carswell An’ then - an’ then - an’ then I shot, and no man living Could have seen the ball as it flew Into the net like a cannon ball A goal! Hurray! Harroo! Half a second afore time up Man, if ye heard the crood! If Carswell had tried to stop that shot He’d be stiffened where he stood! Wha was Quinn o’ the Celtic? Wha was McColl o’ the Queens? Whoot is he – Reid o’ the Rangers? There’s nane o’ them worth twa peens! There’s nane o’ them ever could shoot a goal Like the goal that I put through

When the Khakis won by the only goal Just as the whistle blew!