Gaffer’s team talks are OK... let’s just hope he doesn’t go bananas at half-time again
Not even the mind-bending powers of David Blaine and Derren Brown could convince most that Livingston are about to beat Celtic.
But it doesn’t require mentalists or illusionists in our dressing room this afternoon, we’ll have a trick or two learnt from Bobby Williamson.
Only once in my career did I ever walk off the pitch at half-time with a feeling I had done well.
It was as a Kilmarnock player and we also just so happened to be losing 2- 0 to Dundee United at home and I knew Bobby was going to go through us.
Bobby could lose it, but as I walked down the tunnel I felt relaxed. I had done my job and thought some poor soul was going to be ripped a new one but it wouldn’t be me.
I walked into the dressing room, pulled down my socks and removed my shin guards, I lifted my head and made eye contact with Bobby and he went wild at me. I was called all the names of the day, it was industrial, he went bananas.
I said: “Shut up you fat ****, don’t have a go at me.”
I threw a boot at him and told him I wasn’t going back out. He returned the compl iment by chucking a hamper at me.
A l l y McCoist dragged me into the kit room and tried to calm me but I was raging. He dragged me on to the pitch and half-time had only ended a few minutes earlier. There was me and Coisty in the centre-circle as he tried to convince me to play on.
I went back out after the break, kicked anything that moved and helped inspire the team to win 3-2.
At full-time I came in, showered and grabbed my missus then headed straight home.
Then came Monday morning and the dreaded shout came from the manager’s off ice that Bobby wanted to see me. It was the walk of shame as all of my team-mates roared and laughed at what was coming my way.
Bobby sat me down, offered a handshake and said: “Thank you. That’s for Saturday as it could’ve become ugly.” He proceeded to explain that he had to pick the right victim to