Divided City

Kenneth Roy

The day I bugged the manager

Just over two weeks ago I wrote here about sectarianism in Glasgow football, 'the filthy mess on our doorstep that we prefer gingerly to step over', and predicted that, since dealing with it would require political courage and creativity, we could safely assume the Scottish Parliament would do nothing about it. Since then, the match that provoked these comments has become the subject of a minor international incident involving the Irish government. But still I don't expect much to happen. It is too complex, too deep-rooted, a problem for it to be susceptible to one of Mr Salmond's clever gestures. The subject remains largely taboo.
     I say this from personal experience. Many years ago I worked with a maverick producer at BBC Scotland, the late Donald Macdonald, who specialised in ruffling feathers. When he asked me to front an investigation into religious discrimination at Rangers Football Club, I groaned. Rangers' refusal to sign Catholic players was, at that time, a blot on the conscience of Scotland. But what was there to say about it that had not been said a thousand times before? Donald was not to be discouraged. Not only did he persuade our mutual friend Jimmy Currie, the club's chaplain, to defend the indefensible. He then announced that I was to interview the Rangers manager, Willie Waddell.
     'Impossible,' I said. 'He'll never agree.'
     Donald replied that I should simply ring Waddell at work and record a conversation with him; I would, however, refrain from telling him that we were recording it. We would, in effect, bug the club.
     I told Donald that I wasn't sure about the legality of all this, but that ethically it was quite wrong and would almost certainly land us in trouble. He smiled winningly and said something about ends justifying means. OK, Waddell wouldn't co-operate, but he might let slip some revealing remark if he believed he was talking off-the-record. It was agreed that I should phone him on the hangover side of lunch.
     I explained to Waddell that I was 'doing some research' and would welcome his thoughts. He was incredibly abusive, and if the call had been broadcast, it would have been highly revealing of the manager's mentality. But about five minutes into the tirade, Waddell paused, drew breath, and declared in a belligerent tone: 'Wait a minute. Ye're...ye're...ye're bloody well recording this, aren't ye?' From the other side of the studio glass, Donald made a gesture signalling that I should tough it out. But my heart was no longer in this electronic subterfuge. 'Yes, I am,' I owned up feebly. 'I'll hiv ye,' he ranted. 'I'll give this tae the papers. I'll file an official complaint to yer management. Ye hear me?'
     Willie Waddell was as good as his word. Next morning one of the club's many fans in the media, the Scottish Daily Express, led its front page with a juicy new scandal at the BBC – how the manager of Rangers had had a private conversation recorded without his knowledge or authority. There were grovelling apologies from on high, promises that the offending tape would be destroyed, and unflattering references to Macdonald and Roy. Curiously, however, no disciplinary action was ever taken against us. I formed the impression that the BBC management considered it expedient to bury the affair.
     What is the point of recalling this rather shabby episode? Simply this: we all thought then that part of the problem was Rangers' refusal to sign Catholic players; that if only this policy was relaxed, a new spirit of tolerance would gradually be fostered. How wrong we were.

[click here] for Islay McLeod's photo essay on sectarian Glasgow