don't tell me the score

I'm a Coleraine FC fan. I'm not obsessive - I don't have a CFC duvet and pillow set; I don't even have a season ticket. I simply go to a match or two each month and keep an eye on their scores and league position. I am the only one of my friends who ever pulls on the blue and white stripes to go shout at a bunch of footballers in the rain at the showgrounds - so I was more than a little surprised when a friend asked me if I fancied going to the game today. He is the least likely football fan on the planet - he had very recently gone and got himself engaged so I just assumed he was in a weakened mental state and, thinking this was not an occurrence likely to happen again, bit his arm off.

We set off - I in my retro 1960s CFC jersey with the big red number 6 on the back - he in a sports jacket (refusing to wear the blue and white striped scarf I brought specially.) It turns out we weren't just going for the match. A project involving local children and our resident world renowned artist, Ross Wilson, had culminated in a piece of art being unveiled at the showgrounds before the match. Lots of different agencies/organisations were involved. Coleraine Rural and Urban Network, Coleraine Borough Council, PSNI... sometimes I worry that things like this involve more committees and subcommittees than the young people they are actually designed to help. But that isn't to devalue this particular project - it actually involved young people in three areas of the town. Each group identified a sporting legend, three heros who embodied something special - positive role models. Each of the legends were to be immortalised in pieces of public art - which brings me to why I was turning up to the Coleraine Showgrounds, two hours too early for the match.

A group of young people had chosen Paul Gaston as the subject for their mural. Unless you're a Coleraine fan you may not know a lot about Gacky but for me, and apparently those young folk, he is a modern legend. He made his debut for Coleraine in 1989 and was still playing for them 600 games later in 2007. My personal favourite memory was watching him play in the cup final in 2003 - the year Coleraine took the Irish Cup home from Belfast. A player who embodied pride and loyalty for his club - a firm fan favourite if ever there was one.

Ross, I'm sure I've mentioned before. This wasn't his first connection to Coleraine FC. He was the artist who created the statue of Bertie Peacock which stands in the town centre. The man is steadily making his way through my list of footballing heroes. If I had my way he'd be creating murals of each of Coleraine's players from history. Take a look at the depressing corrugated metal wall at the back of the terrace in this photo. Imagine each section covered with a mural for Bertie Peacock, Des Dickson, Victor Hunter, Felix Healey... Can you imagine how inspiring it would be for the young people of our town - the disenfranchised, the disillusioned young people - to look up when they're at a soccer match to see themselves surrounded by role models who understood the concept of overcoming difficulties, learning from failures, striving to succeed and fulfil dreams? Even as I write this I can feel how twee it all is - and yet I want it to happen all the more.

So what do Coleraine football club do? They take this mural of a loyal servant to the club - someone who gave his heart and soul for the Coleraine fans - and they stick it on the end of a stand in the corner of the ground so people can only see it if they crane their necks round. It is a crying shame that they don't take more pride in someone who showed such pride in pulling on their colours every week for eighteen years. The people that run the club should maybe try to remember what it's like to be a fan again sometimes - I think that their lovely smart crested blazers and ties suppress the memory occasionally.

So onto the match. That's what I was there for - well that and to get the opportunity to have a chat and grab a photo of Gacky. I sat through the speeches - I endured the pleasantries - I forced down the finger food - all because I was going to watch the Coleraine v Portadown match from the posh boxes at the back of the stand. I was looking forward to it. Unfortunately my friend had got his calculations wrong and informed me that we were due to meet up with his sister and her family and that we were late. It was okay, I assured him, I didn't mind; it'd probably be a pretty dull match anyway. And off we went just before kick off. It felt odd leaving the stadium as everyone else was arriving but I didn't mind. It was only a football match...

It was only the football match of the year! Twice Coleraine came from behind before scoring in the closing moments to win 4 goals to 3. A match packed with goals (including one that travelled from within Coleraine's own half of the pitch), sendings off and all kinds of excitement. I could have been watching it from the posh boxes. Instead I left before it had even begun. I won't hold it against Dave though - he's getting married - that's punishment enough.

sportsman, statesman, gentleman

A statue was unveiled in Coleraine this afternoon. Created by Ross Wilson, it was of a local football player who died two years ago. Bertie Peacock played for Northern Ireland and Celtic, managing his country (and Colerine) in the 60s. He was a legend – but not in the way that ‘legend’ has come to be defined.

Think of legends in the modern era and names such as Beckham, Zidane, Ronaldo etc come to mind. These are men who have made a fortune out of the game, married famous, beautiful women (in the case of Vicky B that’s maybe a matter of opinion, I’ll maybe substitute famous and rich women in her case) and live their lives under the intense glare of media scrutiny. Modern “legends” often appear more often in the gossip sections of the tabloids than in the sports section. It could be suggested that they have sold their souls to the devil that is celebrity. I, of course, would never make such a sweeping judgement, but it could be suggested by others perhaps.

Perhaps the most famous local sporting legends, George Best and Alex Higgins, were undoubtedly amazing talents. They could be, irrefutably, described as geniuses in their respective fields. They could also have been described as having major flaws that, again, led them to appear outside the sports pages. We love them for what they were able to do, we loved them because they grew up in places we recognise, but we pity them for what they allowed to happen to themselves. We feel admiration for their rise to fame and we feel pity for their decline into infamy.

The concept of “legend” has certainly evolved through the ages. Which brings me back to Bertie; a man who doesn’t fit either of the previous definitions. He was a naturally gifted player who became an immensely respected leader who went on to leave a legacy to his profession through the founding of the Milk Cup, an international youth football tournament in Northern Ireland.

According to historical references (my dad and the maths teacher from across the corridor from my previous classroom) footballers in Peacock’s day were a different breed. They travelled on the bus to the matches, hung around for a drink with the fans in the local, got stick from their mates at work on Monday morning if they’d played badly at the weekend. They talk fondly of a time when the players of Coleraine football club were a local bunch – born and raised within a few miles of the ground. They lived among the fans – they were fans themselves. Now I know Peacock can’t claim to have been born and raised among the fans when he moved to Celtic – but I know the fans in Glasgow took him as one of their own and respected him as much as we did over here – of course it helped that he captained them to league and cup glory in his time there.

I didn’t know the man personally (The thing for which I most admire him, leading Coleraine to their only league title, took place three years before I was born) but I know enough people who consider him a close friend and who can think of no bad thing to say about the man to know that he was truly special. As far as I can tell he didn’t marry a super model, didn’t own a super car, didn’t get Christmas cards from film stars. Yet I’m glad they unveiled a statue of him in Coleraine. In the way that Joey Dunlop represented greatness in Ballymoney and was rightly remembered and honoured by the town, Bertie Peacock embodies qualities that the residents of Coleraine could do worse than to use as an example. Just look at the base of the statue for examples - sportsman, statesman, gentleman.