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alliebruns-blog · 6 years

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To Live A Life Less Ordinary.....

So here’s something a little bit different. This week there was discussion in the Bad Boy Running group on Facebook about adventures. My pal Lorna posed the following question “On a scale of 1 to 10 how much do the adventure podcasts such as Sean Conway, Anna Mcnuff etc make you feel inadequate?! 10 for me! If you had no responsibilities and could just up and leave for an epic adventure what would you do?” Much discussion ensued over this - head over to the Facebook post to take a look, but something about it really got to me.

That post.....

For some time now, there has been something not right about how I am living. I haven’t been running as much as I would like - down to a little bit of my mojo being sapped by the Thames Path, the arrival of Pickle the very nervous but totally wonderful rescue dog, and my crippling anxiety about the thing that enables me to run. My job.

As some of you know I have worked for many years in the music industry, marketing bands and making you buy music you don’t want. Living the glamorous life that you all read about. Parties and festivals and famous people. I am partially responsible for Ed Sheeran. But please don’t hate me (I love him, he’s great). I am so lucky. Or so I was constantly told.

When we were young - in the years PR (Pre Running)

Two years ago I decided that I didn’t want to do it anymore. Or I thought I didn’t. I was fucked, to be frank. Tired out, abused, taken for granted, under paid, miserable, on the receiving end of some pretty #metoo behaviour. So I went and started my own business as a freelance marketing consultant. To the music industry. And it’s gone well. I had good clients and the money was coming in. I was making a profit. I was doing things on my terms most of the time and I had time for the running adventures and the money to pay for them. Then I lost my biggest client. My bread and butter. And I haven't been able to replace them as yet. And I don't think I want to. And I have had a lot of time to think and worry. When Lorna posed this question in the group, it came at a time when I had agreed to take part in a reccee of a race across Namibia and then one across Panama in November/December of this year. A reccee that was not only going to cost me about five thousand pounds, but was also going to put me out of work action for 3 weeks. It was OK though - I had my big client and I had money coming in. And then I lost them. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?

That’s there to be run......the Namib desert

So is that - The Panamanian jungle

I read through people arguments on Lorna’s post, looking for some answers. Should I cancel the trip? How was I going to afford it? Was I being spectacularly stupid? How was I going to get a client when I had 3 weeks of ‘holiday’? There were a lot of people saying if it wasn't for job/kids/partner etc they would do something epic. Some people even said they wished they could go back in time and get these things done before they had “settled”. I have never settled. I did for a while (the married years pre running) but I never really settled.

People like to tell you how to live or how you ought to live, especially on the internet. Good education, stable career, pension, husband, wife, children, save, mortgage, sensible, safety, plan. Saving it all up for a rainy day. But what if every day is a rainy day? What if it’s raining from day one and it only stops occasionally to allow a glimpse of sunlight into the otherwise black room of your brain? What if everything that you have been told you want is wrong? What if the things YOU thought you wanted are wrong? What if the thing you love starts to destroy you? Was that part of the plan?

Losing my biggest client was not part of the plan. The plan was long term. I want to make a living from my running. Something that is NOT the done thing. I am told by people that I am inspiring and clever and engaging and funny. I do not necessarily believe this, but the proof is in the pudding and I do know people that have gone out and done their first 10k, marathon, ultra because I have talked them into it - whether that is inspiring or whether I am a good sales person, I don’t know but there it is. I have done some pretty great adventure runs and I love to talk about them, I love to see people finish their first marathon or ultra and I love to be able to help with advice that I believe is contrary to most of the stuff you get from magazines or online. The CEO of The National Running Show recently referred to me as the first of the “Rock and Roll runners” - a description I totally love. Running is my passion. It has changed my life. Even if I don't get out and do it every day like the shiny people on instagram, I am always thinking about it. What sort of races I could do, where I could go and how I can help other people make their races and race companies great. How to makes things accessible and brilliant. how to make people glorious.

Before I lost my client, I was branching out and doing all the extra curricular I could around running - going out to Mongolia with Rat Race - the ultimate adventure, becoming their only female ambassador, doing the various bits of press etc. Running all the White Star Races, bringing the White Star community into the Bad Boy Running community to make it the most glorious and dangerous group of all time. Working with the National Running Show to secure a partnership with Bad Boy Running, becoming and ambassador for them and being lucky enough to be asked to speak at their event. I was running races most weekend - winning some of them - and triumphing in all my A game races for the year which I am very proud of (SDW100 sub 24 hour, winner and now course record holder of the TP184 and winning the Ox Epic 2018). Everything I wanted to do with regards to running this year I have achieved, and that to me is amazing. So why have I managed to achieve these things but NOT managed to secure another music client? Maybe it’s because I don't actually want to. Music and me, I think we are finally done. The long drawn out process of splitting up and getting back together is over.

From when I did a win.

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, petrified and afraid. I cannot afford Namibia and Panama. I can’t afford the flights or the time off. I have very little money coming in and no savings. I have no 9-5 bread and butter money. I am fucked. So, so fucked. I am going to have to cancel it. And then I thought of Lorna’s post again. I thought about the people that I admire and look up to - the Sean Conway’s and the Anna McNuff’s. I thought about Mongolia and how much that experience can NEVER be taken away from me. I think about my own mantras - see the world through your eyes not your phone. Relentless forward progress. You have more in you. I think about being old and the regrets I may have. I can’t go - I have a dog and I need to make money. I need to be sensible and grown up. I am going to have to email Jim and cancel it. I am going to have to do what society tells me I should do.

I think about when I am most happy. I think about the Crafty Fox marathon at the weekend and how much I am looking forward to seeing the White Star lot and how much I am looking forward to running. I think about how kind Jim and Rat Race have been to me. I think about how happy I am when I give a talk to a bunch of people that think they could never run a marathon or a 10k or an ultra and how, when some of them email me months later to tell me they have done it, I feel like doing a little cry. I think about my breakdown. I think about the death of my dear friend Scott. I think about my future. I can’t see further than tomorrow. I call my sister, my most wonderful sister, and talk to her. And I make a decision. Based entirely on gut. Based on my sister being spectacularly supportive and kind and talking to me from her heart.

Fuck it. Fuck it all. I know what I want to do. I want to inspire people, I want to live a positive life, and give back the joy running has given me to people. I want to make people believe in themselves. I want to show people they are capable of so much more than they think. I want to write a book. I want to run all over the world. I want to be an extraordinary, ordinary person. And I want to be happy doing it. I don't want to be rich, or famous or the best or the fastest. I want to be the kindest and the most honest and the most accessable. I need money to live, but there has to be a better way. I don't have children. I have Pickle the dog, but she will be well looked after. I have nothing left to lose, and even the tiny bits I do have to lose mean nothing. I want to live a life less ordinary.

So I am going. I am going to run 300km across the Namib Desert to the Skeleton coast. Then I am going to run 200km across Panama from the Pacific to the Atlantic coast. I will be poor. I will have to move out of London. I want to move out of London, so this is not a problem. I will have to work hard to secure talks and part time work. I will have to scale back my whole life. But I will do it. And I will do it fucking well.

Normal service will be resumed next week after the inaugural Crafty Fox marathon. Now go and sign up for something extraordinary.

#running ultrarunning runner trailrunning 2Xu inov8 garmin bovington whitestarrunning runners marathon ultramarathon training

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celticnoise · 4 years

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TODAY CQN brings you the fourth EXCLUSIVE extract from Alex Gordon’s book, ‘CELTIC: The Awakening’, which was published by Mainstream in 2013.

The book covers the most amazing decade in the club’s history, the Sixties, an extraordinary period when the team were transformed from east end misfits to European masters.

RANGERS 2 CELTIC 1. A new year; same old familiar sinking feeling. Under gun metal grey skies, the Celtic fans filed into Ibrox Stadium preparing for the kick-off on the chilly afternoon of 2 January and wondering what 1961 would bring. They left in silence, hardly inclined to view the future favourably.

The thin whine of the wind failed to obliterate the taunts rolling down from the opposite terracings. Strong ale was required to dull the memory of abject failure again against their age-old foe. Johnny Divers scored, but goals from Ralph Brand and Davie Wilson inflicted Celtic’s second Glasgow derby league loss of the season, following the 5-1 drubbing in September. The championship flag hadn’t fluttered over the Parkhead stand since 1954. It was evident to even the most defiant among the Celtic support that it wouldn’t be observed in 1961, either.

Four significant events occurred in 1961. Celtic reached the Scottish Cup Final, where, despite being overwhelming favourites, they contrived to lose in the replay against Jock Stein’s Dunfermline, the legendary Bertie Peacock left the club after twelve years and two young men signed Provisional Forms at Parkhead who were to have a major and dramatic say in the remarkable and unexpected turnaround in the fortunes of the club – Jimmy Johnstone and Tommy Gemmell. The history books tell us Gemmell signed on 25 October from Coltness United while Johnstone joined from Blantyre Vics on 11 November.

THE LISBON LASH…Tommy Gemmell scores his unforgattable equaliser against Inter Milan in the European Cup Final in 1967.

However, Gemmell was adamant someone got the dates mixed up. ‘I can guarantee you we signed on the same night,’ said Gemmell. ‘I have vivid memories of that evening. Who wouldn’t? I was there with my dad and Jimmy turned up with his father. The four of us were ushered into the boardroom, situated to the right of the main entrance of the stadium. Manager Jimmy McGrory was sitting there at this enormous table that is still there to this day. He was puffing on a pipe which was something I came to witness quite a lot over the years. The first thing that hit me, though, was the wall-to-wall trophy cabinets. “Wow,” I thought to myself. I had never seen such silverware. I took a walk around on my own while my dad talked to Jimmy McGrory and some other officials. I had just celebrated my eighteenth birthday nine days earlier on the sixteenth and, as I learned later, Jimmy was a year younger.

‘The actual signing of the forms was a bit of a blur and, basically, was left to our dads. Jimmy and I were just happy to put pen to paper when we were called over and the forms were pushed in front of us. There was no haggling over cash or anything like that. Signing what was known as a Provisional Form meant you would be allowed to return to the Juniors if you didn’t make the grade at senior level.

‘That was far from my thoughts at that moment in time. Money? Coltness would have received some sort of fee and, as was the tradition in those days, I think I received a farewell bonus of £40 from them and something in the region of £25 from Celtic. Cash was not important; that was way down my list of priorities that October evening. I was getting a chance to do something at the world famous Glasgow Celtic and, boy, was I excited. I had arrived!

‘Another reason I remember that Jimmy and I signed on the same date was the fact that we got the same bus home. It was the Number 240 to Lanark. The both of us, with our dads, walked from Celtic Park to Parkhead Cross. Jimmy lived in Viewpark, in Uddingston, and I stayed in Craigneuk, in Motherwell. Funnily enough, I had met Jimmy before. We were both at Burnbank Technical College in Hamilton at the same time. I was about seventeen and was training to be an electrician while Jimmy was taking a course in welding. We would go there a couple of times a week on a release course. Along with the other lads on various courses, we would get the tennis ball out at dinner time and have a kickabout in the playground. Even back then the Wee Man was untouchable. No-one else got a kick at the ball for about an hour. He ran rings round me, I must confess. Little did I know what the future held in store for me and my wee pal.’

There wasn’t much to get excited about at the start of the year, though, with yet another blow inflicted by Rangers. Five days after Ibrox, Third Lanark won 3-2 at Parkhead and all Celtic had to look forward to in terms of trying to win silverware for the first time in four years was the Scottish Cup. Bertie Auld remembered, ‘The national trophy was a big deal in those days. The league title was the priority, obviously, but winning the Scottish Cup wasn’t a bad second. There was a lot of prestige in lifting the Cup at Hampden on the last day of the season. It sent the players and the fans home happy and they could spend their summer realising their team had at least won something. That would have made the entire season worthwhile.’

Auld was on target as the Scottish Cup kicked off with a 3-1 win at Falkirk while Montrose, from the Second Division, offered scant resistance in the next round with John Hughes, reinstated to the first team, underlining his potential once more with two strikes in a 6-0 triumph. The draw took Celtic to Fife to face a Raith Rovers side struggling at the foot of the First Division. Their thoughts must have been on survival – which they achieved by winning four points more than Clyde – because they rarely threatened Frank Haffey on this occasion, scoring one goal, but conceding four. Hughes was on the mark again. It would get a lot tougher when Hibs came to town for the quarter-final meeting in March.

A crowd of 40,000 – almost double the average gate – was at Parkhead for the visit of the Edinburgh side who may not have been the force they had been in the recent past, but were still exceptionally dangerous opponents. That fact was highlighted when Bobby Kinloch gave them the lead and once again the Jungle was silenced. Celtic, urged on by Paddy Crerand from the middle of the park, fought back furiously, but they were being repelled by an inspired Hibs goalkeeper – Ronnie Simpson. Even in 1961 the newspapers were calling him a veteran and he was only thirty-years-old at the time. Surely he still had some mileage left in him?

As the clock ticked down, it looked like another failure was about to be inflicted upon Celtic. Six minutes were left when Stevie Chalmers snaked his way through the retreating Hibs defence to fire beyond the man who would become his golf partner for years to come. Celtic, though, were back on quicksand as they travelled to the capital for the replay four days later. The tie attracted another attendance of around the 40,000 mark. The tension was electric with both teams realising their only hope of any trophy success that season lay in the national competition.

Northern Ireland international left-half Bertie Peacock, one of Celtic’s most famous and respected players of the era, was forced to miss the match after being called up for international duty. His non-appearance would have serious repercussions. A youngster by the name of John Clark, who had celebrated his twentieth birthday only two days earlier, took his place.

POINTING THE WAY…John Clark.

Clark, signed from Larkhall Thistle eighteen months beforehand, would remain in place for the rest of the season. Peacock’s Celtic career, which lasted twelve years, was over at the age of thirty-one. He had won a league championship medal in 1954 and also picked up two Scottish Cup honours in 1951 and 1954 as well as being successful twice in the League Cup in 1956 and the following year, the 7-1 rout of Rangers. He was one of only eleven players who picked up a Coronation Cup medal in 1953 as well as being selected thirty-one times for his country. His stock was so high he also played in the Great Britain Select against the Rest of Europe in 1955. But it was the end of the road in March 1961 for an iconic Celt who later confided to Frank Haffey, ‘Maybe I stayed at the same club too long.’

Clark’s arrival could hardly have been more timely. Celtic and Hibs matches were more often than not played at a ferocious, frantic pace, the action sweeping from one end of the pitch to another in the blink of an eye. This was to be no exception. Ronnie Simpson and Frank Haffey were defiant as both goalkeepers were called upon to make gallant and brave saves throughout a goalless ninety minutes.

The game went into extra-time and that was when Clark was to make a massive impact on proceedings. Fourteen minutes into the extra half-hour, Clark surged through the Easter Road mud to lash a twenty-five yard drive at goal. Simpson had no chance as the ball thundered past him and strangled itself in the net low down at his post. Remarkably, Clark would only score another two goals in his next 317 games for Celtic stretching over the next thirteen years! Timing is everything in this game.

Clark said later, ‘I hardly crossed the halfway line throughout my career, so I was never going to be a goal machine, but that strike against Hibs will always remain special. Actually, I could hardly believe I had scored. I remember it was a heavy night with a muddy surface, but I came forward and just took a belt at the ball. It simply flew into the net with Ronnie too late to get a hand to it. I ribbed Ronnie about it on the odd occasion afterwards, but he would shrug his shoulders and say, “That was another Ronnie Simpson who was in goal for Hibs that night – nothing to do with me.” It certainly looked like my old mate to me.’

As the victorious Haffey shook hands with the vanquished Simpson at the end of a memorable night’s football, they couldn’t have known what an impact they would have on each other’s careers three years later in 1964. At that stage, Simpson, in fact, was on the verge of signing for Berwick Rangers after losing his first team place at Hibs to Willie Wilson. At the age of thirty-four, it looked very much like his days in the top-flight were a thing of the past. Or, as they say in football-speak, ‘his future was behind him’.

‘FAITHER’…Celtic’s veteran goalkeeper Ronnie Simpson.

Jock Stein, by then the Hibs manager, was about to sell the veteran to the Second Division side, desperately seeking a reliable keeper after conceding eighty-four goals in thirty-six league games. The deal was just about done until Sean Fallon made a timely intervention in September that year. A fee was agreed with Hibs – ‘Just sweeties,’ according to Simpson – and, as he arrived at Parkhead, Haffey was packing his bags to move to Swindon Town in an £8,000 deal.

‘Any chance of the league was long gone,’ said Auld, ‘but we were now in a position where we were favourites for the Scottish Cup. I recall we beat Airdrie 4-0 in the semi-final with Yogi getting two goals.’ Intriguingly, Jock Stein had guided Dunfermline to the Cup Final, too. He had left his job as Celtic reserve team coach in 1960, a post he had taken when a persistent ankle injury forced him to quit playing three years earlier. He took over from Andy Dickson at East End Park with the club striving to stay alive in the top division with only seven games remaining.

As fate would have it, Stein would sit in the dug-out as a manager for the first time on 19 March 1960 with Celtic, of all teams, providing the opposition in Fife. That may have been seen as a bit quirky, but what was certain was that Frank Haffey was fishing the ball out of the back of the net after only ten seconds, put there by a raging bull of a centre-forward named Charlie Dickson. There was little finesse about the player, but he was effective. To him, then, fell the honour of scoring the first goal in Jock Stein’s managerial reign.

By the end of a storming ninety minutes, Haffey had been beaten twice more and two goals from Neilly Mochan couldn’t prevent Stein from enjoying a 3-2 debut triumph. Stein’s enthusiasm, drive and tactical knowledge had been immediately installed throughout a team that had looked as though it had accepted its fate and was preparing to head through football’s relegation trapdoor. Astoundingly, Dunfermline won their next six successive games and finished sixth from the bottom.

So, on a windy day, under leaden skies, Celtic and their former captain and reserve team coach had a date with destiny at Hampden Park on 22 April. Celtic and Dunfermline had twelve days to prepare for the Scottish Cup Final. The reason for the extended break was the Home International Championship being played on 15 April and Celtic were due to have Frank Haffey and Billy McNeill in the Scotland side to face England at Wembley. You have to wonder in what of state of mind both were in when they returned a week later to play at Hampden; Scotland were annihilated 9-3.

Goalkeeper Haffey, especially, must have been traumatised. He had a dreadful game and looked at fault for at least four of the goals. Dave Mackay, then of Hearts but who would later play for Spurs, observed bluntly, ‘We played crap, Haffey played double crap.’ The keeper would never represent his country again. McNeill also had an international debut he would prefer to forget, but it was Haffey who was the main target for abuse. Rather strangely, no-one in the Celtic management team thought it worthwhile to counsel their No.1, known to be erratic at the best of times. That dreadful lack of foresight was to backfire spectacularly.

Goodness knows what was going through Haffey’s mind when he ran out onto Hampden only seven days after his personal humiliation in front of 97,350 fans at Wembley. Emotionally drained or not, he took his place in a game of colossal importance to Celtic. The bookmakers made the Parkhead outfit runaway certainties to lift the trophy and after half-an-hour no-one would have believed they had been wayward in their judgement. Celtic were in control, smoothly passing their way through the Dunfermline side and peppering their goal with efforts from all ranges and angles.

There was only one snag; goalkeeper Eddie Connachan was unbeatable. Connachan had been conceding almost every week in the league and, in fact, by the end of the season would lose eighty-one goals, the joint highest amount along with relegated Ayr United. At Hampden, though, he was bold and brave in his in his resistance. It ended goalless, but it had been an exciting encounter in front of 113,328 supporters.

It rained all day the following Wednesday with Celtic little realising the heavens were weeping for them. Willie O’Neill, signed from St.Anthony’s two years earlier, was rushed into making his debut at left-back in place of Jim Kennedy, who had been taken to hospital after feeling unwell just hours before the kick-off. The significance of this would be obvious as the game developed. Clark had only played nine first team games and O’Neill, performing directly behind him, was taking his bow.

Their inexperience would not have been lost on Stein. This time there were 87,866 at the national stadium to see if Eddie Connachan could repeat the heroics of Saturday. Unfortunately, for Celtic, he could. Connachan was inspired, even better than he had been in the first game. The conditions were hardly ideal, but his grip was safe and sure in the air and on the ground. Celtic pounded away in the desperate hope that something had to give, that a goal had to come. It duly arrived in the sixty-eighth minute – for Dunfermline.

Davie Thomson started and finished the goal that flummoxed Celtic. He swept a pass out to the scampering George Peebles on the left wing. Thomson wasn’t picked up by the defence as he followed up into the penalty box and was unmarked to get his head to Peebles’ assured cross and send a looping effort over Haffey. Celtic’s fate was sealed two minutes from time when Haffey presented Dunfermline with a second goal. Alex Smith pushed the ball through the middle of the Celtic defence. Charlie Dickson was on to it, but his first touch was bad and he knocked it too far in front of him.

ALL SMILES…goakeeper Frank Haffey in a Celtic team on tour of Ireland in 1958. Billy McNeill is at the back extreme right with Bertie Auld kneeling in front of him.

It was the goalkeeper’s ball. Dickson followed in more in hope than expectation. Either that or he had viewed footage of Haffey at Wembley and realised anything was possible. Inexplicably, the goalie fumbled the ball, then somehow managed to stumble over it in the most awkward fashion and the gleeful Dickson simply raced round him and poked the gift into the net. He would never score an easier goal.

Dunfermline had won the seventy-sixth Scottish Cup in their seventy-sixth year and a white-coated Stein bounded onto the park at the end. He headed straight for his goalkeeper. Connachan had been a miner just like Stein and had just quit his job to concentrate fully on football. It looked a wise choice. Celtic were to live to regret it. The more cynical among the Celtic support wondered if their goalkeeper might contemplate a switch in professions, too, and take the reverse route of Connachan. Connoisseurs of calamity were in their element when Haffey was performing. Somehow he had become quite adept at mixing comedy with catastrophe.

Stein, as one would expect, was passionate in his celebrations yet Willie Cunningham, a player brought to East End Park by Stein and who would eventually succeed him as manager at the club, detected something different in his boss. ‘I think he had a special feeling for Celtic,’ said the defender. ‘There was most certainly a tinge of affection there. When we travelled through for the game and I heard him speaking to people from the west, I could tell he had a special regard for the club. He wanted to beat them all right, make no mistake about that. He was too professional for anything else, but there was definitely something about Celtic and him.’

Robert Kelly, the man who had allowed Stein to walk away from Parkhead the previous year, was in the presentation area at Hampden in his official capacity as President of the SFA and watched as his wife handed the Scottish Cup to Dunfermline captain Ron Mailer. Magnanimously, Kelly said later, ‘It’s no loss what a friend gets.’

Bertie Auld remembered, ‘Curiously, Celtic had a reserve fixture arranged that same night against Hearts at Tynecastle. I was told I wouldn’t be needed for Hampden, so I was packed off to Edinburgh. Little did I realise that my one and only appearance in the Scottish Cup that year – the 3-1 win in the first round against Falkirk – would be my last first team outing for Celtic for almost four years. Birmingham City manager Gil Merrick had taken a shine to me and he cornered me after the game in the capital.

‘”I want you to sign for my club,” he said with the minimum of fuss. “You’ll hear something tomorrow.” I was intrigued when I turned up at Parkhead for training the following morning. As you might expect, it was like walking into a morgue. The players, even those who didn’t play, including me, were scunnered. I had no thoughts of leaving the club, though – none whatsoever. However, someone else had other ideas.

‘I was awaiting the call that the manager wanted to see me. In his normal forthright manner, Jimmy McGrory told me that an English First Division club wanted to buy me. They had offered £15,000 and the directors were willing to accept the bid. To be honest, it was a shattering blow to discover that Celtic were quite content to allow me to leave. I felt sick in my stomach. I found myself in a quandary. What should I do? I didn’t want to go, but something within me told me I didn’t want to hang around some place where I wasn’t wanted. What had gone wrong? My old Parkhead chum Paddy Crerand had a theory that might not be too far off the mark.

‘He insisted, “Those in power at the club wanted rid of Bertie at the time. He was a typical Glaswegian and wasn’t afraid of answering back. That was to be his downfall at Celtic. Bob Kelly didn’t like his style.�� That was Paddy’s thoughts and, yes, I wasn’t afraid to let my feelings be known if I thought I had something constructive to say. If I didn’t agree with someone I was hardly going to sit there and nod my approval. I’m not a particular fan of yes men. I should have known that outlook would have been frowned upon at Celtic.

‘So, with that, I was on my way to Birmingham City. You probably won’t believe this, but, deep down, I knew I would be back at Celtic some day. Honestly, I genuinely held that thought on the day I cleaned out my locker, said my goodbyes to my colleagues and headed for the Midlands.’

It was becoming a ritual that Celtic fans would clamour for new faces during the summer. They were being frustrated by continued failure, the team, bereft of leadership, obviously on the slide. Robert Kelly, though, appeared to be quite content with the squad of players who had finished the previous season in fourth position on thirty-nine points, twelve behind champions Rangers, trailing Kilmarnock by eleven and three adrift of Third Lanark.

IN CONTROL…Bertie Auld patrols the midfield.

Most football fans are blessed with an irrational and unwarranted sense of optimism at the start of a new season. Those who favoured a team in the east end of Glasgow were no different. As usual, the enthusiasm among the support was palpable and hopes were soaring when the League Cup got underway. It began with a promising 3-2 win over Partick Thistle at Firhill, with Mike Jackson claiming two and John Hughes, beginning to revel in this tournament, adding the other.

Frank Connor had done reasonably well although the consensus of opinion among the fans, getting their first glimpse of the custodian, was that he was “too wee”. Any early-season feelgood factor was wiped out in the next game when St.Johnstone won 1-0 at Parkhead. The Saints eventually qualified with Celtic failing once more. At least, the club were consistent; they scored ten goals and lost ten goals. New keeper Connor was consistent, too, by failing to keep a clean sheet in the six ties.

Celtic had looked forward to a good start in the league because, as Auld accurately pointed out, title ambitions were heading for the soccer scrap yard far too often around the turn of the year. A tricky trip to Rugby Park to face Kilmarnock was the opening-day hurdle. It was a banana skin fixture and, sure enough, Celtic didn’t miss the inviting object. Johnny Divers and Stevie Chalmers scored, but, unfortunately, the backdoor was swinging open again and Kilmarnock stuck three past Connor. There was still no sign of Frank Haffey and that was a worrying feature for vaudeville writers always searching for new material. Connor kept his place and claimed his first shut-out when a goal from Divers undid Third Lanark. Ironically, after keeping a clean sheet in the only one of his eight appearances, that was the end of Connor’s Celtic career. A year later he signed for Irish side Portadown.

Would Haffey have the last laugh? He kept his position for the remaining thirteen league games in the rundown to the turn of the year as the Parkhead side stubbornly kept in contention. There were nine wins in those outings. The most intriguing and eagerly-anticipated match came in October when Jock Stein brought his Cup-winning Dunfermline to Glasgow. Stein even provoked some grudging applause among the home support.

There were no free gifts from Haffey on this occasion, though, as two goals from Bobby Carroll gave Celtic a 2-1 victory. McNeill and Co had every right to be fairly satisfied with their overall performances as they jousted with old rivals Rangers and Dundee at the top of the table. The turn of the year was upon us and there was more good news for Celtic.

* TOMORROW: RUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE. Part Six of CQN’s EXCLUSIVE extracts from Alex Gordon’s book, ‘CELTIC: The Awakening’, an in-depth look at the most fascinating decade in the club’s history, the remarkable sixties.

The post CELTIC: THE AWAKENING: JOCK v CELTIC first appeared on Celtic Quick News.

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gramilano · 6 years

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Francesco Gabriele Frola. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2016

Italian ballet dancer Francesco Gabriele Frola has been promoted to Principal Dancer of the National Ballet of Canada and at the same time becomes a Principal at English National Ballet.

Dance is in his DNA. His parents, both former dancers, run a dancing school, Professione Danza, in Parma, the city where Gabriele spent the first 16 years of his life. He is the eldest of four — his youngest brother, Alessandro, was Italy’s first Billy Elliot — and all four studied at their parents’ school.

I started ballet when I was three years old. I began mostly because I have known it all my life; my mother performed while she was carrying me. She was still dancing until her bulge began to show and then she taught for the rest of the pregnancy.

But mamma Lucia was no mama Rose.

My parents have always encouraged me to do ballet, but they never imposed it on me. I also played soccer until I was 15 years old, then I decided to focus more on ballet.

Having dancer parents helped me a lot outside of ballet too — it’s so much easier when your parents understand your world, they know what you have to do in this discipline and they give me a lot of support.

10-year-old Gabriele in Concerto, 2003

Francesco Gabriele Frola at 11 in Don Quixote, 2004

Francesco Gabriele Frola in the Harlequinade pas de deux 2004

Francesco Gabriele Frola in La fille mal gardée 2007

Francesco Gabriele Frola dancing in La fille mal gardée 2007

Francesco Gabriele Frola as a student in Magnificat, 2012

Francesco Gabriele Frola in Magnificat 2012

At 15, he took part in the Prix de Lausanne competition and was offered a scholarship to train at The School of the Hamburg Ballet.

My parents and I made the decision after a lot of thinking and now we know it was the right one.

After a lifetime in the Italian city which gave the world Parma ham and parmesan cheese, he transferred to the city which, via America, gave the world the hamburger. A significant cultural change.

I was living in the dorms with other teenagers, including 15 other Italians, so it was super fun. I also had to start doing little things that usually my parents would do for me. It was the beginning of my independence and a year that I will never forget.

But mostly Hamburg was my first city outside of Italy without any family.

The school started putting the finishing touches on the work that his parents had started.

The Hamburg Ballet School gave me a lot in different ways and I learned new things from new teachers. In particular, Christian Schoen had a big impact on me. He was a classical ballet teacher and was very demanding. I remember doing his class and being exhausted at the end!

Francesco Gabriele Frola With Artists Of The Ballet In Giselle. Photo By Aleksandar Antonijevic, 2016

Francesco Gabriele Frola With Artists Of The Ballet In Onegin. Photo By Aleksandar Antonijevic, 2016

After his year in Hamburg, he went to study in Mexico at the Fomento Artistico Cordobés. An odd choice?

I went so I could learn from the same Cuban teacher that my parents had studied under when they were students in Torino — Adria Velazquez.

I always enjoyed dancing classical ballets and that’s why after Hamburg I decided to join Adria in Mexico. She is an amazing teacher and is very well known in the Cuban ballet community. I lived in Mexico for eight months, but I felt like I had been there all my life.

During my time there, I lived with the family of my ballet partner and they became my second family in no time — all my friends know that family as my “Mexican family”. I go back to Mexico every two years to visit my family and my many friends that I still have there.

Mexico was so important for my growth, both as a dancer and as a person.

After giving him the opportunity to study in Hamburg, Lausanne was also central to him joining the National Ballet of Canada.

After Mexico I went again to Lausanne and this time was approached by Lindsay Fisher, the Artistic Director of The National Ballet of Canada’s apprentice programme, YOU dance. He became another important teacher in my career, and from the first moment we spoke, Lindsay made me feel like he really believed in me.

After talking with Lindsay, my parents and I had no doubts on what my next adventure was going to be.

Francesco Gabriele Frola With Artists Of The Ballet In Company Class. Photo By Aleksandar Antonijevic, 2015

So, in 2010, came a move to Toronto and he faced another cultural shift.

Toronto was very hard at first. I arrived after having the best year of my life in Mexico and barely knew any English. It was also the first time when I was completely alone and so far from home – it was the first time where the new location was actually very difficult to adapt to.

As I had been constantly moving each year to a new location, I thought at the time I was only going to be in Toronto a short while and that the city was just going to be another small stop in my life.

But now I’ve been here for seven years.

Before Frola left his teens, he’d lived in Italy, Germany, Mexico and Canada…

Four different countries on two different continents by the time I was 18 years old — it was a wonderful experience and I don’t think I could have been luckier!

While it was difficult, as unfortunately I had to do this alone without my family, the experiences and the lessons learned have been tremendously important in my life.

While I did miss my family and my country a lot, I met new, extraordinary people who became my extended family and I learned new languages, as well as how to be self-sufficient.

Francesco Gabriele Frola. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2016

With time he adapted to his new surroundings and settled in to his new life.

Now Toronto is beautiful to me. It’s never going to be like Italy or Mexico, but it’s the place where I became an adult. Toronto is where I grew up the most and where I’m still growing. I have met so many people in these years and learned so many lessons from each of them.

Being invited to become an apprentice at the National Ballet of Canada he considers his great fortune, and he’s full of praise for the company’s programme.

It is, in my opinion, one of the best in the world! I was able to learn a different style of ballet with Lindsay Fisher, while also being able to dance quite a bit with the main National Ballet company dancers.

The programme is very good and smart, because apprentices get to keep training as if they are still in school, while also at the same time are able to gain an idea of how working in a ballet company is going to be.

As Frola neared the end of his anticipated single season in Canada, he convinced National Ballet’s Artistic Director Karen Kain and the company to let him stay on. After a second year he joined the company’s corps de ballet.

My first year was really enjoyable. In addition to dancing my corps work, I was given the opportunity to perform some soloist roles such as Stanislav Nijinsky, the brother, in Nijinsky and the pas de quatre in Giselle.

I loved my second year in the corps too, when I was able to perform more principal roles, including Lescaut in Manon, Nijinsky in Nijinsky, and Prince Florimond in The Sleeping Beauty.

Francesco Gabriele Frola With Artists Of The Ballet In Nijinsky. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2017

John Neumeier’s Nijinsky was a critical success and also a part he loved to play.

Nijinsky is definitely both my favourite role and also my favourite ballet – there is nothing like it in my opinion. You have to fully give all of yourself in the show, both emotionally and physically. The choreography is simple yet so demanding at the same time.

I would love to dance more of John Neumeier’s ballets – they are really challenging yet provide opportunities to be myself on stage and enjoy every moment of my performances.

Playing Nijinsky requires the dancer to have a naked torso. In some of the photographs accompanying this article, Frola’s skin art can be seen. The famously tattooed Sergei Polunin said, back in 2013, that he regretted having had so many tattoos done as he sometimes had to spend a great deal of time covering them in makeup for certain roles and he had even tried removing one from his hand with acid.

I do have tattoos which have different meanings and memories of the people in my life. Sometimes I do have to cover them with makeup if the choreography or the choreographer requires.

Covering them takes a little bit of time, however the tattoos that I have do mean a lot to me and make it worth the time covering them up.

Some of the tattoos refer to his brothers and sister — it’s a close-knit family.

Francesco Gabriele Frola Rehearsing The Canada All Star Gala. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2017

Francesco Gabriele Frola Rehearsing Nijinsky. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2017

Francesco Gabriele Frola In Nijinsky. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2017

After two years, the rising star was promoted, though his first season as First Soloist was plagued by injury. However, with that season out of the way he continued to be given many important roles until, a few weeks ago, he was promoted to Principal Dancer.

Hearing the news was a dream come true and filled me with a sense of satisfaction. I’m really excited about what is to come in this next chapter of my career!

Frola is fortunate to be working under one of Canada’s greatest ballet dancers, Karen Kain, who became a Principal Dancer with the company in 1971. Although a frequent guest with the world’s most prestigious companies, the National Ballet of Canada has been her home from her time training at its school throughout her performing career, and she stayed on — first, as Artistic Associate before becoming its Artistic Director in 2005.

I was able to work very closely with Karen for The Sleeping Beauty and it was a great experience. It was nice to understand her deep connection and love for this ballet and I very much enjoyed hearing her stories of her performances with Rudolf Nureyev. Karen is bringing a lot of exciting ballets into the company’s repertoire!

I think the National Ballet is amazing — the support you receive from your fellow dancers and co-workers is indescribable.

He’s about to start working under a second ballerina/Director when he joins Tamara Rojo at English National Ballet.

Dancers are far less tied to a single company these days. There are some concerns about how useful this is and there’s a presumed danger that individual company styles will get blurred with so called ‘cross-breeding’, but I don’t think that is ever going to happen. Instead, I think it is more probable that companies will develop and benefit from having more dancers with diverse styles.

Francesco Gabriele Frola. Photo By Karolina Kuras, 2017

Francesco Gabriele Frola. Photo By Aleksandar Antonijevic, 2014

Frola is one of scores of Italian dancers who find themselves in leading positions in dance companies the world over – Italians make good dancers. Yet the position of dance in Italy is precarious, with fewer and fewer companies, and meagre opportunities for those who remain.

I believe it is not up to the artists, but instead the responsibility is mostly to the people in power. Today, children are getting more involved with ballet and they are not afraid to try it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like country leaders are providing support to build its popularity or make it part of the culture, like it has been in the past.

No one is trying to break the stigma of what Italians think of ballet and instead they are slowly killing the art.

Like his fellow Italian Jacopo Tissi, who will be returning to La Scala dancing Solor when his company, the Bolshoi, visits in September, Francesco Gabriele Frola’s first opportunity to dance in his homeland may be when one of his two companies visits Italy on tour. Until then, Italy’s loss. But wherever he is, for Francesco Gabriele Frola, the essential thing is to be dancing.

I’m not very good at talking, I don’t really like to talk about myself or show my emotions, but with ballet I get to express myself and show people who I am. I get to know myself in a different way. It’s almost like I learn things I didn’t know about myself onstage. It probably sounds really weird and crazy, but that’s why I love ballet. It’s my way of talking, my way of understanding myself and most of all my freedom.

When I’m on stage I’m free… from everything… even myself.

Francesco Gabriele Frola’s primary class, 1997

END

Meet Francesco Gabriele Frola — National Ballet of Canada and English National Ballet’s new Principal Dancer Italian ballet dancer Francesco Gabriele Frola has been promoted to Principal Dancer of the National Ballet of Canada and at the same time becomes a Principal at English National Ballet.

#English National Ballet #Jacopo Tissi #John Neumeier #Karen Kain #National Ballet of Canada #Prix de Lausanne #Rudolf Nureyev #Sergei Polunin #Tamara Rojo

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junker-town · 7 years

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Tiger Woods unlikely to win again on PGA Tour, says Colin Montgomerie

Monty recalls Tiger’s greatness at the 1997 Masters and hopes for another Tiger comeback.

HAVERHILL, Mass. — If this Senior golf thing doesn’t work out for Colin Montgomerie, the winner of three Champions Tour major titles may want to try standup.

Monty, making the rounds in the Boston area ahead of this week’s U.S. Senior Open, regaled a group of golfers at Renaissance Golf Club on the eve of his early-morning tee time at nearby Salem Country Club and had them rolling in the aisles with tales of the over-50 set and Ryder Cup victories and defeats.

But it was his recollection of his head-to-head tilt with Tiger Woods in the 1997 Masters that cemented Montgomerie’s place in history as one of golf’s most gifted raconteurs.

Woods may have published a book about his memories of the historic 12-shot victory in his first major, but a Monty memoir of that event would certainly be far more entertaining. Indeed, he has often recounted his remembrance of his first encounter with the 21-year-old future superstar — how he shot a second-round 66 to make it into the final pairing with Woods on Saturday, believed he held an advantage over the new kid thanks to his seven previous Masters starts, started the day 6-under to his playing partner’s 9-under, and told the media after the round that Tiger had the green jacket sewn up and would win the tourney by more than nine shots.

Did not know of the Stankowski quote, but I'll always remember Monty http://pic.twitter.com/OLg8QtSEi3

— Brendan Porath (@BrendanPorath) March 22, 2017

Wednesday evening, Montgomerie’s repertoire was full of zingers.

“Greg Norman was six ahead of [Nick] Faldo on the last day [of the ’96 Masters] and everyone thought it was over and of course it wasn’t,” Montgomerie said, recalling one of the sport’s most incredible collapses. “So they [reporters] said to me, ‘Well, Tiger Woods is now nine ahead, is this over?’ and I said, ‘um hum, um hum, of course it’s over.’ You haven’t witnessed what I just witnessed.

“Second place was Constantino Rocca at the time and he was no Faldo,” said Montgomerie with a grin as he loaded up the punchline. “So he wasn’t catching anybody; he was just there. He was there to sign Tiger’s card.”

Montgomerie was not above a bit of self-deprecation as he recapped his introduction to the young phenom.

“So we go to the first tee and I thought let’s see what happens, with everyone talking about this Tiger Woods.”

“It was the first time that Tiger had really come out [and] I was No. 2 in the world at the time and felt I had more experience,” Monty related. “So we go to the first tee and I thought let’s see what happens, with everyone talking about this Tiger Woods.”

What happened was Monty bested Tiger on the first shot of the day.

“In those days, the tee was more forward and I could just about get to the end of the bunker on the right-hand side [at Augusta National]. I hit the downslope of the bunker and it shot forward, about a 20-yard gain and outdrove him,” Montgomerie said with a huge smile. “And that was the last time I saw Tiger Woods for the rest of the day.”

Except not quite. After both players made par on the first hole, Woods blasted a drive down the second fairway Monty had “never seen the like of” before.

“I'm at the top of the hill hitting a 4-wood [to the green] and he hit a 9-iron over the back, chipped up and of course holed it,” said the Scot, who contended that he knew he was in the presence of greatness after watching that display of power and finesse from his opponent.

“It was the way that he went around that golf course and the confidence and the belief that he had in what he was doing,” said Montgomerie, who celebrated his 54th birthday on June 23.

The World Golf Hall of Famer noted after that round (“he shot 65, I shot my usual third-round 74”), which ended with Tiger hitting driver, sand wedge to the back pin for a kick-in birdie, that Woods was truly extraordinary.

“I’ve seen something special here, very special,” Montgomerie recalled saying back then.

Monty was also one of the first observers to predict that the violence with which Woods hit balls would take its toll on his health. Now, with Tiger getting help for what appears to be an addiction to pills after being arrested for a DWI and on the DL again with nagging back issues, the European Ryder Cup hero would like to see the 14-time major winner back on the course.

Winning on the PGA Tour, however, is another thing altogether.

“Lets hope he can [come back]. He's obviously in trouble now,” said Montgomerie, who, like many in the golf world, believed the Florida police releasing photos and videos of Woods’ DUI arrest was unseemly. “But lets hope he gets better and healthy and comes back.”

Montgomerie believed it might be doable for Tiger to get back to where he once was, but noted that he would have to surpass even his best to be able just to contend with the Rory McIlroys, Dustin Johnsons, and Jordan Spieths.

“I don’t think that’s going to be possible, to be honest,” he said. “If he can get back to the standard he was, that’s good enough for top-5 nowadays, but to win, the standard has gone past that. Let’s hope he can because it would be great for the game.”

Montgomerie, who got off to a 1-over 71 at Salem on Thursday, would also love to see Tiger out playing with the older set but wonders if that can ever happen.

“Tiger’s 42 in December so he’s got another nine years to go before he’s out here,” the 2014 U.S. Senior Open champion said. “That’s a long time for someone who’s injured and hasn’t played.”

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celticnoise · 6 years

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TODAY CQN brings you the fourth EXCLUSIVE extract from Alex Gordon’s book, ‘CELTIC: The Awakening’, which was published by Mainstream in 2013.

The book covers the most amazing decade in the club’s history, the Sixties, an extraordinary period when the team were transformed from east end misfits to European masters.

THE LISBON LASH…Tommy Gemmell scores his unforgattable equaliser against Inter Milan in the European Cup Final in 1967.

POINTING THE WAY…John Clark.

‘FAITHER’…Celtic’s veteran goalkeeper Ronnie Simpson.

ALL SMILES…goakeeper Frank Haffey in a Celtic team on tour of Ireland in 1958. Billy McNeill is at the back extreme right with Bertie Auld kneeling in front of him.

‘He insisted, “Those in power at the club wanted rid of Bertie at the time. He was a typical Glaswegian and wasn’t afraid of answering back. That was to be his downfall at Celtic. Bob Kelly didn’t like his style.” That was Paddy’s thoughts and, yes, I wasn’t afraid to let my feelings be known if I thought I had something constructive to say. If I didn’t agree with someone I was hardly going to sit there and nod my approval. I’m not a particular fan of yes men. I should have known that outlook would have been frowned upon at Celtic.

IN CONTROL…Bertie Auld patrols the midfield.

https://ift.tt/2Lm8GNa

#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

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