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A love letter for Neil

I was always going to write this blog, but I was waiting for the right circumstances to tell the story and say thank you to you, Dad. 

I know you read this every day (it's one of the best reasons to write it), but I wanted to tell everyone else who reads it a little story about you, what you mean, and what you did for me and us.

I tell everybody and have done so for many years, that my earliest memory is watching you watch Scotland when Archie Gemmill scored that goal against Holland in the 1978 World Cup final.

That night, I was six years old and didn't watch the television after Gemmill scored; I watched you.

I can remember it vividly; you were hugging a pillow to your chest and screaming with joy.

It was the joy that I noticed, the joy that I remembered, the joy that you had from a football game from supporting your country.

Moving on from that, you would take me to Scotland games, the first one in 1985 at Hampden in the South stand (the posh seats), where Richard Gough rose right opposite us to score a header to beat England 1-0. 

I told you that day I didn't want to be in the posh seats; I wanted to be in the madness.

And then we went to the North stand and watched game after game.

When I was 14, we watched Kenny Dalglish get his 100th cap from Franz Beckenbauer. 

That was the night we talked about me maybe being able to play for Scotland at basketball and what that would mean.

The following year, that happened.

What you did for me was give me a love for my country that is so precious and often so scarce, it's something that I hold as one of my dearest values, my need to represent Scotland wherever I go, whomever I talk to in the best possible way.

And so, fast forward the years Grace and Rosie are born, and then Callum was born.

Grace and Rosie tried football, but were never bothered but then Callum took it on as his big love, the thing that he loves to do, the thing that keeps him going and without any pressure or nonsense from me, he decided he would be a Scotland supporter.

He wears the Scotland Strip to football training in Nottingham and repeatedly gets hassle and nonsense from one of the coaches (apparently in a nice way, but I'm not so sure) but sticks his chest out and wears it with pride. 

When it was obvious Callum liked all this stuff, all I wanted to do was replicate for him that moment with his Dad that you did for me all those years ago to send him on his way.

We had one when Scotland qualified for the last Euros when we won the penalty shootout and in our living room, it was joyous and wonderful.

But when they qualified again, I wanted to take him to another country, bring him to Germany, show him what it was like to be among the madness of the Tartan Army.

And so, when they qualified for Germany and before the draw came out, I bought tickets to all three games.

As fate would have it, he had his last exams the day of the Germany game last Friday, so he was unable to make it (probably for the best, to be honest). But then I came back and got him, and we travelled on Tuesday for the Switzerland game in Cologne.

We did the whole thing, the crazy 14-hour travel day because we could only fly into an airport hundreds of miles away from where we were going, and then we started to see the Scotland fans piling into Cologne.

We spent the day in Cologne, at the cathedral and the fan zone and around the square, sitting and drinking beer with the Scottish and Swiss fans. It was amazing to see how everybody got together. What a party! Then, we were part of the march to the stadium that was organised by the Scottish Fan Club. 

Thousands and thousands and thousands of jocks marching together, singing with the locals hanging out their windows waving Scotland flags or any other football strip they had- unforgettable.

And then the stadium and then the anthem again, something I'll never forget.

Our expectations were not high after what happened on Friday, and so in 13 minutes, when McTominay hit a left-foot shot that deflected into the goal, it was absolute bedlam—dreamland.

At the start of the celebration, Callum hopped over a waist-high glass wall into other Scottish fans to his left. Even though there were thousands amongst us here, he was celebrating there, and I was celebrating over here. Then I turned around to find him, and we found each other, and we hugged, and that was it.

That was 1978, right there.

I had hoped beyond hope for a moment like that for Callum and I. 

You don't deserve a moment like that, you're not entitled to something like that, and you don't get that—the bit that means something whenever you put your finger down, whenever you say you want it. 

You have to be in it to win it, and sometimes you get it, and sometimes you don't, but it was such a significant goal, such a significant night, and then to come out of the game still in the competition was extraordinary.

It will take ages for the dust to settle on this, and although it's not right to say that what happens on Sunday in the other game, Dad, it doesn't matter so much now after everything I've learned from this. 

I tell you that story because you started this Dad all of this.

It's not about the football, is it? It's about your values, what's close to you, what you love, and how you represent, and you taught me all of that. 

All the stuff I have, and everything I've done goes back to 1978; that's what it feels like. 

Callum's 1978 was on Wednesday. 

Thanks, Dad.

Love you loads x

By Colin Campbell on 21/06/24 18:00