Life of Brian
| Monday 20 September, 2004 |
I'm not a believer in heroes and I don't like obituaries much. But Brian is different. No doubt you will read and watch elsewhere in the next twenty fours about how Clough was a one-off, the best England manager that never was and how he suffered from 'problems' in later life.
Bollocks to all of that. It means Jack Shit to me. The Brian Clough that I grew up admiring, despairing and laughing at was quite simply my football education. And I like to think that I passed the exams rather well thank you very much.
Clough introduced me to football. If it wasn't for Forest's rapid rise up Division One in the autumn of '76 then I fear that fishing would have characterised the father and son relationship back home for me in Nottingham. With a family friend unable to make use of his season ticket in the old Main Stand, my old man me dragged me down to the Trent one week for an experience that although was utterly unique to me, was probably repeated in households throughout the East Midlands.
 I hope they all get diarrhoea |
It soon became clear that Forest were just an ordinary football club with an extraordinary young manager. Cliche number one but tell it like it is etc. And the bubble never did burst, did it Bob Wilson?
What happened over the next five years was remarkable. You can read all the football history books and see how a City that was struggling to find an identity outside of men in green tights was transformed by one man. And the new messiah was a man of the people as well.
Promotion to the old First Divison, Champions and League Cup winners the next season, European Cup winners a year later knocking out champions Liverpool in the first round, retaining the League Cup, retaining the European Cup (dream on Sir Alex) and a hat trick of League Cups.
It's not the kind of run that you would expect from Stoke City in 2004 is it?
The overriding achievement wasn't measured in the trophy cabinet though. Clough personified Forest. He wasted no time in stamping his identity at all levels of the club taking on an almost dictator like role. This was a figure that I could look up to, see how he treated others around him (players, family, striking miners) and how football was the method by which he delivered his message.
Having introduced me to football back in '76, bugger me but Old Big 'Ead was still there seventeen years later. I like to think that there was a parallel in our lives which led to my 'grey' period away from the game. The trophies dried up in the mid-'80s and so did my interest in football. Fair weather supporter maybe, but teenage girls and The Specials were more appealing to me at the time than Justin Fashanu.
And then just as I returned one New Year's Day with a mate out of boredom, looking down from high up in the old Executive Stand (now rightfully renamed the Clough Stand), I could see that eleven men wearing red and passing the ball around offered me more answers than two timing girlfriends and a piss poor late '80s music scene.
This was the era of Neil Webb and Harry Hodge stroking the ball around midfield, young Nigel up front and with Des Walker beating all challengers back in defence and Stuart Pearce decapitating any stray Derby County winger in front of the Main Stand for fun. Whenever I feel down then I have two options: A Smiths album to cheer me up or the '88-'89 season Goals video, just to see Ted McMinn being slashed in half by Psycho.
A return to form brought more trophies and many a happy Wembley away day as the young boys in their Sunday Best back in the Main Stand in '76 had now all grown up and were driving down the M1 leaving the old men back home, probably fishing.
Clough was the one constant in all of this. We knew he was a fruitcake yet still he offered guidance.
The missed opportunities were endless - the England job, the blocking of the proposed job share for the Wales managerial position by the Forest board and of course a Knighthood. But Clough was never an Establishment man and such doffing of the cap was never really his scene.
Despite the messy end with relegation in '93, I like to think that Clough was happy in later life. He certainly made me happy thinking back on all the memories. Watching the 'No 9' managing Burton Albion became his love and on the few occasions that I have seen the Brewers play, it was wonderful not only to see Brian up in the stands smiling away with his grandchildren, but also to see the footballing legacy that he has passed onto his son.
That legacy also remains with Matin O'Neill and John Roberston of course throughout their rapid rise in management. The comparisons with Clough and Taylor are obvious with an unorthodox chalk and cheese couple. Clough never really got over the loss of his great mate Taylor, a relationship that was ironically soured when Taylor signed Robertson behind his back when he returned to manage Derby County.
There's also the personal legacy that he has left me as I struggle more each year to keep up with the pace of my five-a-side team. Pass the ball, don't foul and have fun. It really is as simple as that.
As for particular memories of the great man, three distinct eras stand out; I was at Coventry away in '77 when we won the Championship; I was at Hillsborough in '89 when it all went tragically wrong. The most emotion I ever saw from Clough though was at Ipswich away in '93 - his final game in charge and with relegation already confirmed.
Individual anecdotes are legendary and will probably be overplayed over the next few days; signing Sir Trev for £1m and then playing him in the stiffs the following week; demanding his players go out on the piss the night before a European Cup final to calm their nerves and my personal favourite, refusing to sign Gary McAllister from Leicester because he turned up at the City Ground wearing cowboy boots.
'Who do you think you are young man? Bloody John Wayne?'
My personal memories are of seeing him as a red faced broken old man during that terrible final relegation season trying to keep his dignity in tact at reserve matches. With his world about to fall in on him, Clough still found the time to invite the young kids into the dug out and watch the game with him. Even if they didn't learn about the game of football, they probably went away with a lesson learnt in the dangers of alcohol.
If nothing else then at least this sad news should mean that we get to see some classic archive footage on TV over the next few days. Kermit McGovern hoisting the European Cup in Munich; Cloughie landing a left hook on the stray supporters at the City Ground in '89 and that much overused but still relevant manual in man management when the then fresh faced Derby County manager calls his team 'a bloody disgrace.'
No one can compare to him in the modern day. Ah, different era and all that and Clough would have failed in modern management etc. Think again. Winning and defending the European Cup when it was a KNOCK OUT tournament - one mistake and you're out, as Liverpool found out at Anfield in '78.
At his peak and Clough would probably have been the only manager able to wind up Sir Alex Ferguson. There is a fantastic tale in the Walking on Water book when in response to Manchester United's decision (OK, the FA's decision) for the then FA Cup winners not to defend their trophy and play in Brazil instead, Clough states:
'I hope they all get diarrhoea.' It pains me to say but Derby was probably the spiritual home of Clough. It was here where he made his mark in management (although only a European Cup SEMI, ha ha), it was down the A52 where his sacking almost provoked a player's strike and sadly it was here where he died as well.
I Lost That Loving Feeling a long time ago in pursuit of the pink 'n blue. The main reason being a victim of geography, but in recent years I have come to realise that without Brian, the bond had been broken.
I remember exactly where I was back in '93 when he was forced out at Forest for being an alcoholic (in a Sainsbury car park in Colchester loading up a car boot with cheap booze strangely enough). I shall remember how I felt at four o' clock today for a very long time to come.
Five-a-side football for me tonight. I shall be wearing my Forest top with pride.
Always look on the bright side.
