GUNNING FOR CHANGE
McMenemy has a bold future for our game in his sights after swapping Iraq frontline to aid new band of Warriors...
THE rain stoats down on the roof of the boardroom with a clatter akin to being under siege from a nest of machine guns. Iain McMenemy does not flinch. There are, at least, two reasons for his commendable sang-froid. The first is that he is intensely focused on speaking about his favourite subject: Stenhousemuir FC.
The second is that he is the only Scottish football chairman to have invaded Iraq. Probably.
In March 2003, Lance Corporal McMenemy received his marching orders. The next month, he was not only part of the Territorial Army but attached to the Scots Dragoon Guards tank battalion, a section of the Desert Rats.
‘I remember peeking my head out of a truck,’ he recalls. ‘I was looking at signs that posted the way to Basra. I had two grenades attached to my chest, my gun was lying beside me and I was enmeshed in ammunition for a general purpose machine gun. Two weeks before, I had been sitting behind a desk.’
McMenemy, who owns a PR firm, is now taking on the challenges of Scottish football and the demands of being leader of a club that wants to put the community at the heart of everything it does. He survived Iraq. He is determined to win the battle in domestic football.
The chairman of the Warriors has been voluble in moves to change the Scottish game.
‘It frustrates me,’ he says. ‘Firstly, we all know it’s broken. It just isn’t working. We have the power to change that. We (the clubs) own it all — the SFA and the SPFL. But we choose not to change.’
He points out the obstacles: the structure of governance and the culture of the game. Both are products of self-interest. The voting protocol means that vast majorities can vote for change but be stymied. The culture is that clubs are driven by what suits them alone.
‘We need to change,’ he says. ‘Crisis normally produces the drive to do this. I fear that we have lost the imperative to change that we had when Covid first struck. We have tied our hands on the voting structure but we need to find a forum where ideas can be discussed openly and we can move forward.’
He is even more impassioned, quietly but forcefully, on the role for Stenhousemuir in the community. It is a matter of need.
‘The only thing they have is football,’ he says of some of the neighbours surrounding the venerable Ochilview stadium.
McMenemy joined the board 10 years ago after moving to Larbert. Stenhousemuir was already a community-interest company.
He explains: ‘In the beginning, I helped sponsor the club and after a season the directors pulled me aside and asked if I would be willing to be involved in the board. I said: “Absolutely not”. I had so many other things to do. But they reeled me in.’
In his three years as chairman, major changes have been made. But he is keen to emphasise how Stenhousemuir is run.
‘No director receives any financial recompense and the club is largely operated by volunteers, but there is a professional aspect in analysis and recruitment with a paid chief executive,’ he says.
Crucially, there is a bond with the community. There is a mental-health programme, the capacity for children to play for free, the drive to provide 20,000 meals for the vulnerable during Covid and fielding calls from such as a 90-year-old woman with a terminal disease who simply wants a helping hand. This is answered.
Stenhousemuir are mired in the reality of being joint bottom of the league but they are looking at the stars.
THERE is a hint of the exotic on a dreich day. Approaching Ochilview, one sights the Norwegian stand, famously sponsored by a group of Scandinavians who saw that Stenhouse was akin to their words for stone house and promptly went along to a match. The bond has now been built in steel and brick and mortar.
Ochilview is still a destination for the Norwegian supporters club. If they take a peek in the boardroom, they can view more silverware than the dining room at Buckingham Palace, and mostly of an older vintage.
The Stirlingshire Cup stands resplendent, a proper trophy the size of a tanner ba’ player. In its considerable shadow sits a photo of Stanley Matthews, who came to Ochilview for a charity match in December 1955, took the kick-off and begged off from further involvement citing an injury.
Michael Palin, the Monty Python star who travelled the world in 80 days, also found Stenhousemuir irresistible. He visited the eighth wonder of the world for a match and five years ago donated money for the club to help buy a couple of players.
His status as a rabid fan may be tenuous but this description does not apply to Craig Telfer.
One of the diehards who makes up the A View from the Terrace team, Telfer was first attracted to Stenhousemuir as a schoolboy in 2004. Basically, he came along and, resolutely, he has stayed.
He points out that the attraction of A View from the Terrace to Scottish football fans is the respect it accords to every club. He has this deeply-held affection for the club.
‘It got under my skin somehow,’ he says. ‘It is impossible to come along regularly and not see the worth of the club.’
He adds: ‘I adore it. It is part of my identity now, part of me.’
this passion is shared by reece robertson, a 21-year-old part-time coach at the club. He works with three-year-olds and 70-year-olds. He also distributes team sheets, is match-day announcer and handles the club’s twitter feed.
‘i answered an advert to be a coach but i have been a supporter for as long as i can remember,’ he says. ‘i received a free season ticket when i was a schoolboy and i was hooked.’
robertson wants to progress his coaching career but will always have a bond with stenhousemuir. ‘You see what happens here and you are always glad to be part of it,’ he says.
THE phone rings. A 90-year-old woman is calling stenhousemuir. she is terminally ill and alone. Her call is answered.
‘We all manned the phones,’ says McMenemy (right), discussing the role of the club in the pandemic. ‘there were even calls diverted to us from social work departments.there were people in need.’
the 90-yearold woman needed food, a link to the outside world, a courier to fetch her medication. All, and more, were provided. ‘it was quite an operation,’ says McMenemy. But the Warriors mobilised. More than 20,000 meals were delivered by the stenny troops. A club that routinely provided free football coaching and free meals for children in need of them ramped up the efforts during the Covid crisis. this campaign produced unusual scenes. ‘there were vans coming and going, picking up the hot meals. One of the dressing rooms was piled high with books because we started a library for those who needed something to read. it was a busy time.’ He stresses it was a community effort for the community. ‘People phoned who were not supporters but knew we were doing something and wanted to help. ‘We paired volunteers with those who wanted some help, some contact. it all worked out.’
the Covid response was a continuation of the club’s ethos. this is most strongly apparent in its mental health programmes.
the club, in conjunction with Forth Valley Health Board and its nurses, now provides coaching for those with health issues.
‘We have coaches who are trained in mental health issues and people can come along for exercise, a bit of company, a bit of community.’ that word again.
‘there are people who once had great difficulty even going across their doorstep who are up, dressed and ready to go at 9.30am for an afternoon session.’
some money had been provided from the Lottery Fund but McMenemy has a core principle: ‘if there is no funding available, go find it.’ the club self-funds many of its projects. He adds: ‘the message is: we can help.’
this conversation ends and, three hours later, Ochilview is anxious. stenny are losing 1-0 to Forfar. A group of schoolboys in front of me are in defiant, mischievous mood. they sing at the small group of Forfar supporters: ‘You’re not special, we lose every week.’
suddenly, a header flashes into the net. the whistle blows soon after. stenhousemuir have salvaged a point.
A supporter walks past and sees me writing in my notebook. ‘Forget results, i’m proud of this club,’ he says. Oddly, this neutral is, too.