QPR FC: Stan MY Man!!!
Article by Joanne Connolly
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Most Rangers fans when recollecting their early experiences of supporting our beloved team will invariably tell you they had a special allegiance to a particular player. For my Dad in the 1940s it was Bert Addinall, for my brother Jeremy in the mid 60s it was Rodney Marsh and for me a decade later it was Stanley Bowles. However my attachment to Stan went beyond an allegiance, I would define my feelings towards him as an unconditional first love- As a child I had heard of his artistry on the pitch from my elder brother and seen it second-hand on Match of the Day and The Big Match but now in the mid70s nearing adolescence and having become a fully-paid up member of the Loftus Road Faithful, I was seeing it for myself. Stan had complete mastery of the ball and the wonderful quick silver fluidity of movement that he was blessed with, made him as difficult to contend with as the most shadowy and elusive of Pimpernels. Time after time Stan would humiliate his opponents, leaving them nonplussed, dazzled by his flamboyant, poised elegance. It could be argued that Stan was more a scorer of great goals than a great goalscorer. Goals such as those against Leeds [75/76] the year we were the rightful winners of the league and against FC Cologne in the EUFA Cup [76/77] These glorious goals which involved Stan drifting in from the right wing and twisting and turning his vanquished opponents like a strutting fairground worker on the old style Waltzers spinning the carriage containing rival males vying for attention of the female fairgoers and then his own distinctive running style like a slowed down version of a Pearly King indulging in a good ole Cockney Knees-up before choosing his moment to curl the most precise of left-footed shots into the corner of the net.- Stan would not thank me for the analogy to a Pearly King!- he has stated that he never forgave Brian Clough [ under whom he had a short-lived unhappy tenure at Nottingham Forest after he left Rangers and his telling response to Clough’s dictatorial treatment of him was “For a Socialist, he was the biggest tory Ive ever met!”] for calling him a Cockney and that “I aint a Cockney but a lad from Manchester” no matter- Rangers fans do not consider themselves Cockneys but West Londoners and he is an adoptive son of West London!!! Stan forged a special bond with Rangers fans- if the game was a bit quiet he would hang around the touchline and ask “What about the 3.30 at Haydock Park then?!” And the fans would shout the winner. If he had backed it, it would do wonders for his game! During the game he would talk to the crowd about all sorts of things- someone would shout out- What do you reckon about the new Slade single? And he,d say “Its not as good as the last one!”
He had a devil-may-care attitude, he revelled in his brilliance and mocked those of a lesser ability such as Malcolm MacDonald who had dared to contest the spoils of victory with Stanley. Macdonald [popularly known as Supermac ] had a prodigious goal scoring record in the early to mid-70s at Newcastle United. He was thickset, bandy and had an ugly style based on power, speed and brute force- the antithesis of the genteel grace and cultured cunning of Stanley. Surely he knew Stan was merely trifling with him and that he could never hope to contend with Stanley’s godlike qualities on the pitch. MacDonald was an outspoken and arrogant braggart who was vituperative towards Stanley vilifying him at every opportunity, a stance with which he scuppered himself, when Stanley stole a sublime late goal [and winner] against him in the game at Newcastle in 75/76. The rivalry intensified the following season when a bet was struck between them to see who would score the most goals. When Stan broke his leg at Bristol City in March 77 Madonald refused to cancel the bet. One of Stan’s friends from the other important sporting arena of his life-the White City Dogs, mooted the idea of breaking Macdonald’s leg for him, to constitute a more even playing-field. This idea never came to fruition but it is unclear if the bet was ever settled either!
Stan was a showman with a sense of the dramatic popping up with a late winner or earning a late penalty and yet he could never have been termed a drama queen, the opposite in fact, although of a slight bearing and subject to brutal treatment by the hatchet men of the then First Division in the far more lenient 70s [when tackles from behind were still de rigeur ] he was very rarely taken off injured and had a remarkable fitness level, rarely missing games, he never feigned injury and continued to take on and abash the bullies who tried to maim him. In fact he has a philosophical attitude towards hard men such as Chopper Harris of Chelsea with whom he had many run-ins- He said “When Chopper took your legs from under you, at least he,d be upfront about it. I,d see him for a beer after the match and say “Fuck me Chopper, you were a right cunt today” But there was no hard feelings about it. It was part and parcel of the game”. Stan seemed to be an athlete without even knowing it, not for him the intensive fitness regimes of certain other footballers, his idea of an arduous training session was going round the back of the training ground to have a quick fag while other lesser mortals did the work! There is a story that the team were supposed to be practicing sprinting over West London Stadium and were doing relay races: Dave Clement who really was a supreme example of athleticism was running the leg before Stan when he neared Stan with the baton, Stan refused to move and stayed where he was. Dave got very irate at this [understandably] , carried on running and threw the baton at Stan which hit him on the head! Stan took this in good part as although exerting himself unnecessarily wasn’t his style, he accepted that others who were just not as effortlessly adroit as him on the pitch had to be that bit more industrious than he ever was!!
Stan was woefully passed over when it came to England caps winning just five, perhaps he didn’t quite endear himself to the F.A. when he went awol from an England training session to attend a race meeting at the White City- I remember also my Dad congratulating him on his selection for the England squad and he replied- I,d rather have a “touch” on the Quinella on the White City Totalisator!!! Stan was never going to fit in with the sycophants of the England set-up. His mercurial talents set him aside from the conformist ethos of that regime. He was an iconoclast and had no time for the nuances and niceties involved in becoming part of the football establishment. Stan was featured in a tv interview with Gerry Francis for Sky Sports. Talking about his treatment by the rest of the England team he said “ That’s why I always say I didn’t get many caps. They just didn’t want to talk to me cos where I had been taking the mickey out of them in what would now be the Premiership, Emlyn Hughes and all that lot they didn’t talk to me at all, it didn’t bother me ”. At this point Gerry interjected and said “It is one of my greatest regrets that Stan and me never played for England together, we played at similar times but never in the same team. We had a rapport at Rangers and could play to each other blind from day one, I didn’t know what it was; we just knew each other’s game. He certainly would have brought out my game and I would have helped him as well”. Stan then said “It would have been a lot easier for me if Gerry had been in the team with me” He said that upon hearing Emlyn Hughes saying at the first England get-together in 1974 under Don Revie [who had secured payments for the players ] that they should play for nothing, just for the three lions- Stan called out jokingly that he,d have Hughes money if he didn’t want it! He said there was complete silence and nobody spoke to him for three days and he didn’t get picked for the next game! He was anti-authoritarian and in some respects an anti-hero but not in the eyes of the chosen few, to the cognoscenti of Shepherds Bush he was an hero supreme.
I had already watched him from a nearer afar at the White City Stadium on a race night. He was a good friend of my Dads via their mutual love of greyhound racing- indeed my Dad had spent much of his youth attending the White City-he saw Rangers play there as a child in the 1940s but I think he witnessed more losses of a canine variety than that of the team in blue and white hoops. Indeed Stan was a maverick in the mould of my Dad, perhaps that is another reason they got on so well. My younger sibling Jamie was doing a sponsored silence at school [a veritable feat in itself for my loquacious little brother!] and he had asked my Dad to get him some sponsors, my Dad did not disappoint as along with a plethora of punters from the White City Dogs my Dad secured the signatures of such first team notables as Rachid Harkouk, Don Shanks and of course Stanley! All of them pledging generous sums and all of them putting the White City Stadium as their place of abode! This ensured that none of them would renege on their promises as like my Dad they were habitual houseguests of the Greyhound Racing Association and could usually be found somewhere in the vicinity of the Stadium!!! Thus my Dad would often be in the company of Stan on a Saturday night along with all the other local reprobates and n’er do wells and often he would treat my Mum and the younger children in the family to a night out there. I had no interest in greyhounds or gambling. All I was interested in was sneaking furtive glances at Stanley. Once my Dad asked me to go up to the Olympic Bar with him and I thought this was odd as we weren’t normally allowed up there. My suspicions were to be borne out when I sighted no other than Stanley sitting at the bar smiling benignly at me! My Dad manoeuvred me across to him and said “Say hello to Joanne, Stan!” and of course he did. I seemed to lose the power of speech and felt the rest of my body going into paralysis aside from my legs which propelled me away as fast as they could carry me!!! That incident was a source of utter regret to me and much worse was to come. Not long after, my Mum and Dad had one of their parties and my Dad had invited half the patrons of the White City Stadium including Stan Bowles and his current cohort Rachid Harkouk. Once I knew that Stan was on the Guest List I went into a state of heightened trepidation; particularly when I discovered a large spot on the end of my nose. I locked myself in the bathroom and attempted to lance it, only making it even more angry, shining like a beacon on the end of my extremity! After an eternity of angst I ventured outside and was standing at the top of the stairs when I saw Stan and Rachid H fall through our front door. I sped back to the bathroom and stayed there for the duration. I eventually ended my incarceration in the kharsi only to hear Stan saying to my Dad-“We,re going now Ted, thanks a lot” He then muttered to Rachid H “Cant stay here, theres no talent!!” Inwardly I screamed out to him “I,m here!!”….I was 13 and looked younger so I doubt very much if Stan would have looked upon me as anything other than a child. Once again the object of my affections had not only eluded me but metaphysically had been in another time zone!! It was to be another 25 years before I finally found the courage to speak to my hero. I had taken my daughters to one of their first games at Rangers and as part of the indoctrination process and as an inducement we visited the Club Shop beforehand-my daughters were rifling through a load of soft toys to determine which of them they didn’t already possess and I was just waiting for them to make their decision when there stood Stanley- looking dapper as ever in his trademark trenchcoat. I told myself it was finally time to overcome my elective muteism where he was concerned and engage him in conversation- I said “Hi Stan, I,m Ted Connolly’s daughter, you were friends with him from the White City Dogs” and he smiled beatifically at me and said “Oh yes, London Taxi Teddy” for that was his cognomen “Lovely man, used to write songs and stuff, he moved to the Isle of Wight didn’t he? How is he?” I told Stan that my Dad was fine and still residing on the IOW where he had semi-retired with my Mum but made frequent trips up to his beloved London and the Bush to work and I would pass on his good wishes. I floated away on a little cloud of elation and felt even more privileged as all heads turned to me and Stan as others began trying to elicit his attention-asking him how he thought the game would go etc. My moment had finally arrived, after all those years I had attained my heart’s desire a few snatched words in the Club Shop with the very first Love of my life!!! And in the years since that auspicious occasion I have caught further glimpses of Stanley before games at Rangers- I was upstairs in The Springbok before the triumph against Chelsea last season when he was sighted walking past the pub and to a man [and woman] the assembled army of Rangers fans began chanting “STANLEY!!! STANLEY!!!” in homage to the great man. Rightly he is still held in very high esteem and regarded with much affection by Rangers fans and I would go so far to say he is seen as a saint by us and should be canonised forthwith!!! Failing that at least a statue in his honour!!!
Recently Stan has been appearing at evenings organised by Dave Robinson. I was invited to go to the night in the Cross Keys pub but to my eternal chagrin could not make it so I made sure that I was able to attend the evening in The Red Lion, Greenford. I went with my brother Simon and some friends and was armed with a photo of my Dad and Stan at the White City Dogs. I believe it was taken on the night of the last ever Greyhound Derby to be held at the White City Stadium in 1984. A night that was of poignant significance to my Dad. Indeed when the stadium was knocked down a part of my Dad’s soul seemed to ebb away. After a lifetime of worship at this, his temple and being a firm follower of form he seemed to lose all interest in matters of chance and the throw of life’s dice no longer held any attraction to him.
The Red Lion event was a lovely night and Stan was on good form recounting such stories as that of the time when Rangers played at Sunderland, the last game of the season after Sunderland had won the F.A. Cup [1973] and it was in pride of place on the touchline- of course Stan had started a book on who could knock the cup off of its stand first and as Stan tells it he won the bet- like certain of his stories , it is apocryphal [in that it was actually Tony Hazell that knocked the cup off its perch] but again as my Dad would have said- Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!!!! Stan’s genius for the one-liner is also legendary- on his relationship with Tommy Docherty- Tommy had told Stan he could trust him to which Stan replied- “I,d rather trust Colonel Saunders with my chickens!” Soon after Docherty had him training with the reserves and then six months later sold him to Nottingham Forest....
With his fund of great anecdotes and penchant for the piquant rejoinder, Stanley should really be more appropriately remunerated by spinning his stories of skulduggery on the theatre circuit rather than the humbler pub gigs- although the latter settings are by no means beneath Stanley, who has never suffered from delusions of grandeur: on the contrary, it is the fact that Stan has always remained a down-to-earth man of the people that has especially endeared him to Rangers fans of all ages, indeed I would say it is this factor more than any other that ensures he is more fondly remembered than the equally extravagantly-gifted Rodney Marsh.
As I stated before it really is high time the Club addressed its glaring failure to formally acknowledge the stature of Stanley and the considerable part he has played in our recent history, being commonly regarded as our most popular and illustrious player ever, borne out by the fact that in 2004 in a P.F.A. poll of fans wherein each club was asked to vote for the best player in the clubs history: naturally the choice for Rangers fans was Stanley! Thus the Club should give Stan a permanent ambassadorial role at the club and the afore-mentioned statue should be commissioned immediately! Stan’s reaction [outwardly anyway] would probably be one of assumed nonchalance as in his response to George Best’s telling him of the statue that was erected to him in Belfast…he said “Well theres one of me outside Ladbrokes!!!” To me this is merely an example of his acerbic wit and the underlying reference to the other love of his life-gambling but he has always alluded to his love of Rangers and we as fans have in turn recognised that fact and have returned those feelings in abundance.
After he had finished speaking that night in The Red Lion I approached him and he was his usual charming self. We had a good chat, I showed him the photo and he signed it for me and put FOUR kisses!!! I regaled him with stories including that of my Dad’s party and I finished by saying that sadly I was a mere 13 at the time, just a girl and he replied “That couldn’t have been long ago, you are still a young girl now!!” Be still my beating heart! My Stanley: ever the gentleman, my first love, a working-class hero and genius whose exploits shall be forever remembered in our hearts and in our minds and writ large in the annals of Rangers folklore.
© e-Football 2015 All rights reserved no part of this document or this website may be reproduced without consent of e-Football
Subscribe to the e-Football Podcast on iTunes! (Click Here)
Most Rangers fans when recollecting their early experiences of supporting our beloved team will invariably tell you they had a special allegiance to a particular player. For my Dad in the 1940s it was Bert Addinall, for my brother Jeremy in the mid 60s it was Rodney Marsh and for me a decade later it was Stanley Bowles. However my attachment to Stan went beyond an allegiance, I would define my feelings towards him as an unconditional first love- As a child I had heard of his artistry on the pitch from my elder brother and seen it second-hand on Match of the Day and The Big Match but now in the mid70s nearing adolescence and having become a fully-paid up member of the Loftus Road Faithful, I was seeing it for myself. Stan had complete mastery of the ball and the wonderful quick silver fluidity of movement that he was blessed with, made him as difficult to contend with as the most shadowy and elusive of Pimpernels. Time after time Stan would humiliate his opponents, leaving them nonplussed, dazzled by his flamboyant, poised elegance. It could be argued that Stan was more a scorer of great goals than a great goalscorer. Goals such as those against Leeds [75/76] the year we were the rightful winners of the league and against FC Cologne in the EUFA Cup [76/77] These glorious goals which involved Stan drifting in from the right wing and twisting and turning his vanquished opponents like a strutting fairground worker on the old style Waltzers spinning the carriage containing rival males vying for attention of the female fairgoers and then his own distinctive running style like a slowed down version of a Pearly King indulging in a good ole Cockney Knees-up before choosing his moment to curl the most precise of left-footed shots into the corner of the net.- Stan would not thank me for the analogy to a Pearly King!- he has stated that he never forgave Brian Clough [ under whom he had a short-lived unhappy tenure at Nottingham Forest after he left Rangers and his telling response to Clough’s dictatorial treatment of him was “For a Socialist, he was the biggest tory Ive ever met!”] for calling him a Cockney and that “I aint a Cockney but a lad from Manchester” no matter- Rangers fans do not consider themselves Cockneys but West Londoners and he is an adoptive son of West London!!! Stan forged a special bond with Rangers fans- if the game was a bit quiet he would hang around the touchline and ask “What about the 3.30 at Haydock Park then?!” And the fans would shout the winner. If he had backed it, it would do wonders for his game! During the game he would talk to the crowd about all sorts of things- someone would shout out- What do you reckon about the new Slade single? And he,d say “Its not as good as the last one!”
He had a devil-may-care attitude, he revelled in his brilliance and mocked those of a lesser ability such as Malcolm MacDonald who had dared to contest the spoils of victory with Stanley. Macdonald [popularly known as Supermac ] had a prodigious goal scoring record in the early to mid-70s at Newcastle United. He was thickset, bandy and had an ugly style based on power, speed and brute force- the antithesis of the genteel grace and cultured cunning of Stanley. Surely he knew Stan was merely trifling with him and that he could never hope to contend with Stanley’s godlike qualities on the pitch. MacDonald was an outspoken and arrogant braggart who was vituperative towards Stanley vilifying him at every opportunity, a stance with which he scuppered himself, when Stanley stole a sublime late goal [and winner] against him in the game at Newcastle in 75/76. The rivalry intensified the following season when a bet was struck between them to see who would score the most goals. When Stan broke his leg at Bristol City in March 77 Madonald refused to cancel the bet. One of Stan’s friends from the other important sporting arena of his life-the White City Dogs, mooted the idea of breaking Macdonald’s leg for him, to constitute a more even playing-field. This idea never came to fruition but it is unclear if the bet was ever settled either!
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| Stan Bowles |
Stan was woefully passed over when it came to England caps winning just five, perhaps he didn’t quite endear himself to the F.A. when he went awol from an England training session to attend a race meeting at the White City- I remember also my Dad congratulating him on his selection for the England squad and he replied- I,d rather have a “touch” on the Quinella on the White City Totalisator!!! Stan was never going to fit in with the sycophants of the England set-up. His mercurial talents set him aside from the conformist ethos of that regime. He was an iconoclast and had no time for the nuances and niceties involved in becoming part of the football establishment. Stan was featured in a tv interview with Gerry Francis for Sky Sports. Talking about his treatment by the rest of the England team he said “ That’s why I always say I didn’t get many caps. They just didn’t want to talk to me cos where I had been taking the mickey out of them in what would now be the Premiership, Emlyn Hughes and all that lot they didn’t talk to me at all, it didn’t bother me ”. At this point Gerry interjected and said “It is one of my greatest regrets that Stan and me never played for England together, we played at similar times but never in the same team. We had a rapport at Rangers and could play to each other blind from day one, I didn’t know what it was; we just knew each other’s game. He certainly would have brought out my game and I would have helped him as well”. Stan then said “It would have been a lot easier for me if Gerry had been in the team with me” He said that upon hearing Emlyn Hughes saying at the first England get-together in 1974 under Don Revie [who had secured payments for the players ] that they should play for nothing, just for the three lions- Stan called out jokingly that he,d have Hughes money if he didn’t want it! He said there was complete silence and nobody spoke to him for three days and he didn’t get picked for the next game! He was anti-authoritarian and in some respects an anti-hero but not in the eyes of the chosen few, to the cognoscenti of Shepherds Bush he was an hero supreme.
I had already watched him from a nearer afar at the White City Stadium on a race night. He was a good friend of my Dads via their mutual love of greyhound racing- indeed my Dad had spent much of his youth attending the White City-he saw Rangers play there as a child in the 1940s but I think he witnessed more losses of a canine variety than that of the team in blue and white hoops. Indeed Stan was a maverick in the mould of my Dad, perhaps that is another reason they got on so well. My younger sibling Jamie was doing a sponsored silence at school [a veritable feat in itself for my loquacious little brother!] and he had asked my Dad to get him some sponsors, my Dad did not disappoint as along with a plethora of punters from the White City Dogs my Dad secured the signatures of such first team notables as Rachid Harkouk, Don Shanks and of course Stanley! All of them pledging generous sums and all of them putting the White City Stadium as their place of abode! This ensured that none of them would renege on their promises as like my Dad they were habitual houseguests of the Greyhound Racing Association and could usually be found somewhere in the vicinity of the Stadium!!! Thus my Dad would often be in the company of Stan on a Saturday night along with all the other local reprobates and n’er do wells and often he would treat my Mum and the younger children in the family to a night out there. I had no interest in greyhounds or gambling. All I was interested in was sneaking furtive glances at Stanley. Once my Dad asked me to go up to the Olympic Bar with him and I thought this was odd as we weren’t normally allowed up there. My suspicions were to be borne out when I sighted no other than Stanley sitting at the bar smiling benignly at me! My Dad manoeuvred me across to him and said “Say hello to Joanne, Stan!” and of course he did. I seemed to lose the power of speech and felt the rest of my body going into paralysis aside from my legs which propelled me away as fast as they could carry me!!! That incident was a source of utter regret to me and much worse was to come. Not long after, my Mum and Dad had one of their parties and my Dad had invited half the patrons of the White City Stadium including Stan Bowles and his current cohort Rachid Harkouk. Once I knew that Stan was on the Guest List I went into a state of heightened trepidation; particularly when I discovered a large spot on the end of my nose. I locked myself in the bathroom and attempted to lance it, only making it even more angry, shining like a beacon on the end of my extremity! After an eternity of angst I ventured outside and was standing at the top of the stairs when I saw Stan and Rachid H fall through our front door. I sped back to the bathroom and stayed there for the duration. I eventually ended my incarceration in the kharsi only to hear Stan saying to my Dad-“We,re going now Ted, thanks a lot” He then muttered to Rachid H “Cant stay here, theres no talent!!” Inwardly I screamed out to him “I,m here!!”….I was 13 and looked younger so I doubt very much if Stan would have looked upon me as anything other than a child. Once again the object of my affections had not only eluded me but metaphysically had been in another time zone!! It was to be another 25 years before I finally found the courage to speak to my hero. I had taken my daughters to one of their first games at Rangers and as part of the indoctrination process and as an inducement we visited the Club Shop beforehand-my daughters were rifling through a load of soft toys to determine which of them they didn’t already possess and I was just waiting for them to make their decision when there stood Stanley- looking dapper as ever in his trademark trenchcoat. I told myself it was finally time to overcome my elective muteism where he was concerned and engage him in conversation- I said “Hi Stan, I,m Ted Connolly’s daughter, you were friends with him from the White City Dogs” and he smiled beatifically at me and said “Oh yes, London Taxi Teddy” for that was his cognomen “Lovely man, used to write songs and stuff, he moved to the Isle of Wight didn’t he? How is he?” I told Stan that my Dad was fine and still residing on the IOW where he had semi-retired with my Mum but made frequent trips up to his beloved London and the Bush to work and I would pass on his good wishes. I floated away on a little cloud of elation and felt even more privileged as all heads turned to me and Stan as others began trying to elicit his attention-asking him how he thought the game would go etc. My moment had finally arrived, after all those years I had attained my heart’s desire a few snatched words in the Club Shop with the very first Love of my life!!! And in the years since that auspicious occasion I have caught further glimpses of Stanley before games at Rangers- I was upstairs in The Springbok before the triumph against Chelsea last season when he was sighted walking past the pub and to a man [and woman] the assembled army of Rangers fans began chanting “STANLEY!!! STANLEY!!!” in homage to the great man. Rightly he is still held in very high esteem and regarded with much affection by Rangers fans and I would go so far to say he is seen as a saint by us and should be canonised forthwith!!! Failing that at least a statue in his honour!!!
Recently Stan has been appearing at evenings organised by Dave Robinson. I was invited to go to the night in the Cross Keys pub but to my eternal chagrin could not make it so I made sure that I was able to attend the evening in The Red Lion, Greenford. I went with my brother Simon and some friends and was armed with a photo of my Dad and Stan at the White City Dogs. I believe it was taken on the night of the last ever Greyhound Derby to be held at the White City Stadium in 1984. A night that was of poignant significance to my Dad. Indeed when the stadium was knocked down a part of my Dad’s soul seemed to ebb away. After a lifetime of worship at this, his temple and being a firm follower of form he seemed to lose all interest in matters of chance and the throw of life’s dice no longer held any attraction to him.
The Red Lion event was a lovely night and Stan was on good form recounting such stories as that of the time when Rangers played at Sunderland, the last game of the season after Sunderland had won the F.A. Cup [1973] and it was in pride of place on the touchline- of course Stan had started a book on who could knock the cup off of its stand first and as Stan tells it he won the bet- like certain of his stories , it is apocryphal [in that it was actually Tony Hazell that knocked the cup off its perch] but again as my Dad would have said- Never let the truth get in the way of a good story!!!! Stan’s genius for the one-liner is also legendary- on his relationship with Tommy Docherty- Tommy had told Stan he could trust him to which Stan replied- “I,d rather trust Colonel Saunders with my chickens!” Soon after Docherty had him training with the reserves and then six months later sold him to Nottingham Forest....
With his fund of great anecdotes and penchant for the piquant rejoinder, Stanley should really be more appropriately remunerated by spinning his stories of skulduggery on the theatre circuit rather than the humbler pub gigs- although the latter settings are by no means beneath Stanley, who has never suffered from delusions of grandeur: on the contrary, it is the fact that Stan has always remained a down-to-earth man of the people that has especially endeared him to Rangers fans of all ages, indeed I would say it is this factor more than any other that ensures he is more fondly remembered than the equally extravagantly-gifted Rodney Marsh.
As I stated before it really is high time the Club addressed its glaring failure to formally acknowledge the stature of Stanley and the considerable part he has played in our recent history, being commonly regarded as our most popular and illustrious player ever, borne out by the fact that in 2004 in a P.F.A. poll of fans wherein each club was asked to vote for the best player in the clubs history: naturally the choice for Rangers fans was Stanley! Thus the Club should give Stan a permanent ambassadorial role at the club and the afore-mentioned statue should be commissioned immediately! Stan’s reaction [outwardly anyway] would probably be one of assumed nonchalance as in his response to George Best’s telling him of the statue that was erected to him in Belfast…he said “Well theres one of me outside Ladbrokes!!!” To me this is merely an example of his acerbic wit and the underlying reference to the other love of his life-gambling but he has always alluded to his love of Rangers and we as fans have in turn recognised that fact and have returned those feelings in abundance.
After he had finished speaking that night in The Red Lion I approached him and he was his usual charming self. We had a good chat, I showed him the photo and he signed it for me and put FOUR kisses!!! I regaled him with stories including that of my Dad’s party and I finished by saying that sadly I was a mere 13 at the time, just a girl and he replied “That couldn’t have been long ago, you are still a young girl now!!” Be still my beating heart! My Stanley: ever the gentleman, my first love, a working-class hero and genius whose exploits shall be forever remembered in our hearts and in our minds and writ large in the annals of Rangers folklore.
© e-Football 2015 All rights reserved no part of this document or this website may be reproduced without consent of e-Football
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