Don Masson's Big Toe
by Fiona Johnson
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A father and son reminisce about Scotland's unlucky break in Argentina 1978.
_____________________________________________________________________
Hoodoo, Hoodoo,
We’ve got a bloody Hoodoo
We’ll never win
So just give in
And blame it on the Hoodoo
‘The ball’s no’ running for us the night.’
‘Dad, they’ve only been playing for one minute and thirty-nine seconds, can you not just give them a chance?’
‘They’ve never been the same since Allan Rough got that perm.’
‘Dad, that was 1978, thirty-five bloody years ago. Only you could still be holding that against them. You’re in a bad mood tonight, are you all right?’
‘Well, they’re playing like a bunch of big lassies and they couldn’t fight their way out a wet paper poke. Too many Celtic players in the team as well.’
‘Dad! You can’t say that! It’s 2013 and you get arrested for making sectarian comments the day.’
“I wasn’t saying nothing about Catholics, I just said there was too many Celtic players, that’s all. They don’t look right wearing blue. Will you get me another cushion, I can’t get comfortable.’
‘Oh for pity’s sake dad, I know you’re in your eighties, here have my cushion, but if you think I’m believing it was an innocent comment, my head’s zipped up the back.’
‘You watch, that ref has got a funny look about him, you can tell he doesn’t like Scotland.’
‘And how do you make that out?’
‘It’s that bald head of his. Never trust a man that shaves off all his hair. Something queer about that. Can I get a glass of water?’
‘Give me strength! Are you saying that he looks like a poof?’
‘What would I say that for? How would I ken if he was one of them homosexuals? Thanks son, my mouth’s awful dry tonight.’
‘Well you seem pretty good at picking them out when I take you round Tesco for your shopping.’
‘That boy at the fish counter, you need to keep your eye on him. Slippery looking wee shite.’
‘What did a ‘homosexual’ ever do to you?’
‘What are you saying? I’ve never come near one in my life and nor will I, I’ll let you know. When I was in the army, men like that would have been strung up. No place for them there, no there wasn’t. Ach, dammit, it’s too cold in here.’
‘That’s what you think. What about Jimmy Driver? Remember him? He was in the army with you. Why do you think he never married and always lived up in that flat with his best pal? What’s up? Stop moaning and sit still, you’re missing the match with all your complaining.’
‘Jimmy Driver? What are you saying? There was nothing queer about him. Drank pints down at the social club like any other man. If he was a poof he wouldn’t be drinking pints, would he?’
‘Whatever you say dad. I’m sure your right.’
‘Of course I am.’
* * *
‘Oh come on ya bastard. Pass the ball to somebody, don’t just stand and look glaikit.’
‘Calm down, no point shouting at the telly. The only way we’re going to win this one dad, is if we get a penalty.’
‘Aye, you’re maybe right son. Do you remember Don Masson and that penalty he missed against, who was it? One of them South American teams.’
‘Peru.’
‘Aye, Peru, that’s them. The score was one all and Scotland got a penalty. Bastard missed it and then we got gubbed 3- 1. I’ll never forget it, or forgive it.’
‘Aye, them were the days dad. Can you believe that before we went to Argentina, the whole country thought that we were going to bring the cup back?’
‘Aye, and so we might have if Masson had scored instead of poking the ball with his big toe.’
‘Ach, don’t be daft dad. It was just a pipedream. A wee country like Scotland getting carried away with itself. We were naive and stupid all at the same time.’
‘You’re maybe right son, but boy, it was just great while it lasted. I remember being at Kilmarnock Cross giving it laldy, singing ‘We’re On the March Wi’ Ally’s Army,’ waving flags and cheering.’ The excitement that was in the air that night! We believed that anything was possible. Fix my cushion son, will you? I can’t just draw a breath.’
‘Aye, I remember it fine. Here, is that you sorted now? I would have been about eight years old and you dressed me up in a wee kilt and I wore a tartan bunnet. We wrapped ourselves up in the Lion Rampant and went down to the roundabout so that we could wave to the Scotland bus as it drove down the road to Prestwick Airport. The place was going mad. Folk everywhere; flags, all yellow and blue, everybody smiling and cheering. I’ll never forget it.’
‘He was a great man, Ally McLeod. He had the whole country believing in itself. Just for once we weren’t second best to anybody and we were ready to take on the world. Aye, them were the days.’
‘I’ll never forget though how broken the man looked with his head in his hands. 3-1 to Peru. If Masson had just scored that penalty everything might have been different.’
‘And then one-all against Iran? That was a bitter blow. Who the fuck even knew that they played fitba’?’
‘Don’t think they’ve ever done much since dad. Too busy fighting wars and stuff like that to play much.’
‘Suppose you’re right there. But, man oh man, that game against the Dutch. We nearly did it you know, and there’s never been a better goal to this day than that one wee Gemmill scored.’
‘You’re not wrong there dad. I could watch it ten times a night and never get fed up watching how he got round all them players giving them the slip.’
‘Started bad with a penalty, mind.’
‘It did that, but then up steps King Kenny, scoring in the forty-fourth minute. You could always count on Dalglish.’
‘Aye, that you could son. Best player we ever had bar maybe big Dennis Law, the Lawman. Have you got my Rennie’s there, I’ve got a bit of heartburn.’
‘And only two minutes later, Gemmill took the score to 2-1. I remember you running around the living-room shouting that we were going to do it after all.’
‘Aye, I did that son, and when he scored his second, I will admit that a shed a wee tear. I was so proud of our country but then that bastard Rep scored three minutes later and we were goners. Goal difference. It was a bastard. Aye it was…just three minutes…’
* * *
‘What do you think will happen with this referendum, dad? Do you think we’ll have the balls to grab the thistle in our hands and vote yes? I’m not sure myself. When it comes down to it, I think we’ll back down at the last minute. Good at singing the songs and doing a lot of shouting, but at the end of the day we don’t have the self-belief to go all the way, just like Masson and that penalty. Do you want another tin, dad?’
And it’s a penalty to Scotland. A last minute chance to steal the victory and ensure their place in the European Championships in Spain next summer. The referee places the ball on the spot. The goalkeeper is looking tense. The crowd are silent with many supporters too nervous to watch, covering their eyes with their shirts. Here we go…
‘Dad, it’s a penalty, COME ON SCOTLAND! Dad, they’ve got a penalty! Dad, are you not watching? Why have you got your eyes shut? We might do it yet. We might score! Why are you not looking? Spain here we come! Dad…they scored!’
It’s a goal for Scotland; can they hang on for the last three minutes?
‘Dad…no, not now, not today,…dad…oh dad, could you not just have hung on for another three minutes?’
Hoodoo, Hoodoo,
We’ve got a bloody Hoodoo
We’ll never win
So just give in
And blame it on the Hoodoo
Swearwords: A couple of strong ones.
Description: A father and son reminisce about Scotland's unlucky break in Argentina 1978.
_____________________________________________________________________
Hoodoo, Hoodoo,
We’ve got a bloody Hoodoo
We’ll never win
So just give in
And blame it on the Hoodoo
‘The ball’s no’ running for us the night.’
‘Dad, they’ve only been playing for one minute and thirty-nine seconds, can you not just give them a chance?’
‘They’ve never been the same since Allan Rough got that perm.’
‘Dad, that was 1978, thirty-five bloody years ago. Only you could still be holding that against them. You’re in a bad mood tonight, are you all right?’
‘Well, they’re playing like a bunch of big lassies and they couldn’t fight their way out a wet paper poke. Too many Celtic players in the team as well.’
‘Dad! You can’t say that! It’s 2013 and you get arrested for making sectarian comments the day.’
“I wasn’t saying nothing about Catholics, I just said there was too many Celtic players, that’s all. They don’t look right wearing blue. Will you get me another cushion, I can’t get comfortable.’
‘Oh for pity’s sake dad, I know you’re in your eighties, here have my cushion, but if you think I’m believing it was an innocent comment, my head’s zipped up the back.’
‘You watch, that ref has got a funny look about him, you can tell he doesn’t like Scotland.’
‘And how do you make that out?’
‘It’s that bald head of his. Never trust a man that shaves off all his hair. Something queer about that. Can I get a glass of water?’
‘Give me strength! Are you saying that he looks like a poof?’
‘What would I say that for? How would I ken if he was one of them homosexuals? Thanks son, my mouth’s awful dry tonight.’
‘Well you seem pretty good at picking them out when I take you round Tesco for your shopping.’
‘That boy at the fish counter, you need to keep your eye on him. Slippery looking wee shite.’
‘What did a ‘homosexual’ ever do to you?’
‘What are you saying? I’ve never come near one in my life and nor will I, I’ll let you know. When I was in the army, men like that would have been strung up. No place for them there, no there wasn’t. Ach, dammit, it’s too cold in here.’
‘That’s what you think. What about Jimmy Driver? Remember him? He was in the army with you. Why do you think he never married and always lived up in that flat with his best pal? What’s up? Stop moaning and sit still, you’re missing the match with all your complaining.’
‘Jimmy Driver? What are you saying? There was nothing queer about him. Drank pints down at the social club like any other man. If he was a poof he wouldn’t be drinking pints, would he?’
‘Whatever you say dad. I’m sure your right.’
‘Of course I am.’
* * *
‘Oh come on ya bastard. Pass the ball to somebody, don’t just stand and look glaikit.’
‘Calm down, no point shouting at the telly. The only way we’re going to win this one dad, is if we get a penalty.’
‘Aye, you’re maybe right son. Do you remember Don Masson and that penalty he missed against, who was it? One of them South American teams.’
‘Peru.’
‘Aye, Peru, that’s them. The score was one all and Scotland got a penalty. Bastard missed it and then we got gubbed 3- 1. I’ll never forget it, or forgive it.’
‘Aye, them were the days dad. Can you believe that before we went to Argentina, the whole country thought that we were going to bring the cup back?’
‘Aye, and so we might have if Masson had scored instead of poking the ball with his big toe.’
‘Ach, don’t be daft dad. It was just a pipedream. A wee country like Scotland getting carried away with itself. We were naive and stupid all at the same time.’
‘You’re maybe right son, but boy, it was just great while it lasted. I remember being at Kilmarnock Cross giving it laldy, singing ‘We’re On the March Wi’ Ally’s Army,’ waving flags and cheering.’ The excitement that was in the air that night! We believed that anything was possible. Fix my cushion son, will you? I can’t just draw a breath.’
‘Aye, I remember it fine. Here, is that you sorted now? I would have been about eight years old and you dressed me up in a wee kilt and I wore a tartan bunnet. We wrapped ourselves up in the Lion Rampant and went down to the roundabout so that we could wave to the Scotland bus as it drove down the road to Prestwick Airport. The place was going mad. Folk everywhere; flags, all yellow and blue, everybody smiling and cheering. I’ll never forget it.’
‘He was a great man, Ally McLeod. He had the whole country believing in itself. Just for once we weren’t second best to anybody and we were ready to take on the world. Aye, them were the days.’
‘I’ll never forget though how broken the man looked with his head in his hands. 3-1 to Peru. If Masson had just scored that penalty everything might have been different.’
‘And then one-all against Iran? That was a bitter blow. Who the fuck even knew that they played fitba’?’
‘Don’t think they’ve ever done much since dad. Too busy fighting wars and stuff like that to play much.’
‘Suppose you’re right there. But, man oh man, that game against the Dutch. We nearly did it you know, and there’s never been a better goal to this day than that one wee Gemmill scored.’
‘You’re not wrong there dad. I could watch it ten times a night and never get fed up watching how he got round all them players giving them the slip.’
‘Started bad with a penalty, mind.’
‘It did that, but then up steps King Kenny, scoring in the forty-fourth minute. You could always count on Dalglish.’
‘Aye, that you could son. Best player we ever had bar maybe big Dennis Law, the Lawman. Have you got my Rennie’s there, I’ve got a bit of heartburn.’
‘And only two minutes later, Gemmill took the score to 2-1. I remember you running around the living-room shouting that we were going to do it after all.’
‘Aye, I did that son, and when he scored his second, I will admit that a shed a wee tear. I was so proud of our country but then that bastard Rep scored three minutes later and we were goners. Goal difference. It was a bastard. Aye it was…just three minutes…’
* * *
‘What do you think will happen with this referendum, dad? Do you think we’ll have the balls to grab the thistle in our hands and vote yes? I’m not sure myself. When it comes down to it, I think we’ll back down at the last minute. Good at singing the songs and doing a lot of shouting, but at the end of the day we don’t have the self-belief to go all the way, just like Masson and that penalty. Do you want another tin, dad?’
And it’s a penalty to Scotland. A last minute chance to steal the victory and ensure their place in the European Championships in Spain next summer. The referee places the ball on the spot. The goalkeeper is looking tense. The crowd are silent with many supporters too nervous to watch, covering their eyes with their shirts. Here we go…
‘Dad, it’s a penalty, COME ON SCOTLAND! Dad, they’ve got a penalty! Dad, are you not watching? Why have you got your eyes shut? We might do it yet. We might score! Why are you not looking? Spain here we come! Dad…they scored!’
It’s a goal for Scotland; can they hang on for the last three minutes?
‘Dad…no, not now, not today,…dad…oh dad, could you not just have hung on for another three minutes?’
Hoodoo, Hoodoo,
We’ve got a bloody Hoodoo
We’ll never win
So just give in
And blame it on the Hoodoo
About the Author
Fiona Johnson was born in
Kilmarnock. Under the guise of McDroll, she has published three
collections of short stories and a novella.
She is also a big football fan and is still waiting for the day that
Scotland wins the World Cup.
You can read Fiona’s full profile on McVoices.
You can read Fiona’s full profile on McVoices.