Fifty years ago I used to ghost write Denis Law’s weekly newspaper column for purely Scottish consumption.
It was the thrill of a then young man’s lifetime because Denis was technicolor in a black and white world. The Lawman, as he was known in those innocent days, was Scottish football’s first superstar even though he never played professionally in the country of his birth.
That shock of blond hair. The panther-like quality of his chance-taking in the penalty box – the place he came alive. The cuff of his jersey raised in that trademark goal celebration. Denis went his own way on his own terms. Like the time the BBC thought it would be a good idea to put a television camera inside his hospital bedroom to capture his reaction as Denis watched Manchester United play Benfica in the European Cup Final at Wembley in 1968. It was an occasion Denis had to miss as he was recuperating after a knee op.
The Beeb were told in no uncertain terms what they could do with their camera crew. Denis was far kinder to his compatriots, even those who were still wet behind the ears in journalistic terms.
I was told to meet him outside an Italian restaurant in the Deansgate area of Manchester and he arrived, on time, looking like the force of nature he was in real life. He swept into the restaurant and the place came to a standstill.
Lunchtime diners were moved from their table so that Denis and his awe-struck companion could have the best seats in the house. Denis, of course, had gone to Manchester United from Torino and the local Italian community treated him as he would have been looked after if he’d gone home to Aberdeen.
Sunday evening at five o’clock was the arrangement we came to for discussing by telephone what should be in his column. Shameless I know, but if we had visitors I’d prime my son to answer the call and shout out, “Dad, it’s Denis Law for you.”
What a conversation stopper that was, let me tell you. Denis was the perfect columnist. He had an opinion about everything and was unafraid to speak his mind. As uncompromising as he was on the park, which was underlined when Denis became the first, and so far only, Scottish player to win the Ballon d’Or in 1964.
Manchester United was his true love and you have to be the consummate professional to score the iconic goal which relegated the club from the old First Division while wearing the colours of their rivals, Manchester City. Denis didn’t celebrate and went to the United dressing room to commiserate with his former team-mates afterwards.
I loved his company and the perennial greeting of “Ow are ya, kid?” I always enjoyed the company of my fellow Glaswegian, and United legend, Paddy Crerand as well, and I went to his biography “Never Turn The Other Cheek” to be reminded of why they called Denis “the gardener” in the Old Trafford dressing room.
“Denis made few public appearances and preferred his privacy to the fees he could have picked up,” Paddy wrote. “He avoided public places where he would be quickly recognised and in many ways he was a lone wolf. He even had his own gimmick for not getting involved.
“If, after training, some of the boys asked him what he was doing in the afternoon, he would always answer ‘gardening’ with a straight face. He wouldn’t have known one end of a weed from the other but it gave him an excuse to go off on his own and earned him the nickname of the gardener.
“Denis chose his company carefully. He would have rather have a beer in a quiet pub with ordinary blokes than mix with celebrities at a cocktail party.”
Man of the people. Scotland’s joint-top record goalscorer. Family man and all-round good guy. It was a privilege to know him and it’s a sorrow to hear of his passing.
R.I.P. kid.