I THINK it was the moment when John Hughes dropped his shorts and pretended to piddle on the comedian's head that I realised he was a true football man and that one day I'd be proud to see him become manager of my club.
Let me explain: it was the mid-1990s, a strange time for football. England had already hosted the Euros and the English were celebrating this in their usual shy, retiring way: a pop hymn to their cleverness for inventing the game, the middle-classes
appropriating "footie" as the pastime du jour, stand-ups and other chancers pretending they'd always been supporters... and The Fast Show sending up the whole malarkey with a character, Roger Nouveau Football Fan, who was capable of switching allegiances to bitter rivals at the drop of a gourmet pie.
There was even a TV comedy entirely devoted to football, Fantasy Football League, presented by Frank Skinner and David Baddiel. At that time – Yogi re-appears soon, honest – I was working for one of Scotland's small, funny papers, which was in thrall to telly stars. When I suggested getting Baddiel – in Edinburgh for the Festival – along to Hibs for a photo-op, my boss was delighted. By attending Thursday morning training, the famous funster would sprinkle stardust on the Scottish game, but this Features Ed seemed to think he would bestow credibility as well.
I would always have chosen Hibs as representative of oor fitba, of course, but new signing Chic Charnley had just scored a wonder goal from inside his own half and it was official: we were sexy. Even Baddiel had heard of this mighty blooter, so when I picked him up in a taxi en route to training, I didn't try to correct his pronunciation of opposition "Allo-hah Athletic", or his impression they were a great force in Scotland.
Chico may have been the name- above-the-lights in that Hibs team of off-Festival performers but Yogi was definitely the impresario. He was first to welcome an apprehensive-looking Baddiel to the session – and, once he saw how rubbish the comic was at football, the one to suggest he take a break and go in goal. Training turned into target practice, and the players weren't aiming at the goal, they were firing at Baddiel, with every shot a direct hit. At that moment I understood the meaning of the post-match interview favourite: "So-and-so does that all the time in training." Every footballer can put the ball exactly where he wants in the relaxed atmosphere of bibs and cones, and none more so that day than Hughes himself.
Baddiel was battered to blazes, specs hanging off one lughole, and worse was to follow, or so he thought. For the final fotie, when he lined up with the team, classic-style, with him among those kneeling, Yogi poured a water bottle over his head from the back row. Baddiel turned round and looked up, only to be confronted by the captain of Hibernian FC, his tackle very much oot, giving the impression the dousing had been far more dire. Oh how we laughed!
Every time since when I've seen John Hughes – in the away dugout at Easter Road with Falkirk, in the Sportscene title sequence flashing the trademark grin as wide as Leith Walk – I've thought back to that day and laughed some more. The snapper captured the moment although the pic was never used. Doubtless it would have been seized upon by those who, over the years, have reckoned Yogi was too unsophisticated to manage a club for whom they believed the No.1 choice should always have been Noel Coward. But I re-tell the story now in his favour. Baddiel effortlessly fitted the role of trendy football interloper and Yogi, just as effortlessly, saw him off. Maybe I'm being unfair on the comedian when noting that old mucker Skinner remains prominent as a fan while his own loyalties are less apparent, but the truth is I'm not bothered about him. John Hughes is the manager of my club now and I think that's a good thing. I honestly believe his metaphorical wee was for all true fans of football, those who survived caveman toilet facilities and are still there.
