Thousands pay tribute to a man of rare talent

Report: GAVIN BELL and IAN PAUL Funeral pictures: PAUL HACKETT and

JEFF MITCHELL

THE bus taking the official Motherwell Fooball Club party to the

funeral had gone. The entrance to Fir Park stadium was closed, and a

cold wind whipped along an empty street, leaving Davie Cooper alone with

that enigmatic smile of his.

His image looked out from the glass portals, an old newspaper

photograph pasted on a piece of paper above a handwritten message:

''Davie you're simply the best. Your skill and talent will never be

forgotten. From your beloved fans.''

The wind stirred the scarves, the flags, and the emblems of half a

dozen football clubs surrounding the portrait, breathing a kind of life

into the cameo. A street-sweeper appeared, paused to look at the

photograph, and out came another memory of the modest magician who

enchanted a generation of football fans with his sublime skills, and

charmed them with his shy smile. ''We'll no' see the likes of him again

for a while,'' the cleaner said.

The sentiment was shared by thousands who thronged the iron railings

and the streets around Hillhouse Parish Church a few miles away in

Hamilton yesterday. The memories went back to the wee boy who did magic

things with a tanner ba'.

''There was never any airs and graces about the boy,'' commented a

woman whose sons had played with Davie for a local boys' club. ''Even

when he signed for the Rangers he wis just an ordinary workin' class

laddie, so he wis. The money never went tae his heid.''

For once the crowd was silent when Cooper appeared for the last time,

in a coffin draped with floral bouquets. As the cortege moved slowly

away from the church towards a cemetery two miles away, it was followed

at a respectful distance by a sea of humanity. Other mourners lining the

route stepped forward to touch the windows of the hearse as it crept by.

Some of us were mourning his passing for the second time. The first

was when he left Motherwell in December 1993, after four seasons of

delighting the Fir Park faithful with his special brand of magic and

mastery of the beautiful game.

We quickly forgave Davie for tearing our team to ribbons in his

previous life as a Rangers player. We welcomed him among us as a

Motherwell man, and we cheered when he tormented opponents.

When our defence was in trouble, which was frequently the case, we

heaved a collective sigh of relief when the ball broke to Davie. He

would get us out of a sticky situation, we believed, and he invariably

did.

When we had possession, the cry went up: ''Gie the ba' tae Davie.''

When somebody did, we felt a thrill of anticipation as he collected the

ball, shrugged off a challenge, and duly dispatched a defence-splitting

pass. He was our Roy of the Rovers and our Captain Marvel rolled into

one.

Our big day came on May 18, 1991, when Motherwell shrugged off the

depression of losing its steel industry, and marched to Hampden to take

on Dundee United in the Scottish Cup Final. When our team came out to

warm up, we cried like Clydebank and Rangers fans before us: ''One Davie

Cooper, there's only one Davie Cooper.''

On cue, the wee man flicked the ball from his left foot to his knee,

on to his head, stepped forward and then flicked it casually to a

team-mate. The chorus of adulation swelled, and Davie turned to wave at

us with a cheeky grin. We knew then instinctively that we couldn't lose.

Our modest magician was on form, and was about to transform us into cup

winners for only the second time in our history. And so it proved.

Now the magic has gone, but the memories and the echoes linger.

''There's only one Davie Cooper,'' we chanted at Hampden. We were right,

of course.

* FOOTBALL'S brotherhood, which rarely unites in common cause, paid

their dues to one of the greatest stars in the clan, Davie Cooper. Yet

it was the number gathered in the streets outside, many thousands of

them, which perhaps would have both astonished and thrilled the

phlegmatic Cooper.

The funeral of the former Clydebank, Rangers and Motherwell star

attracted famous managers, famous players, famous commentators and a

host of less familiar faces, every one there to declare his or her own

sense of loss, but the fans standing silent in Clarkwell Road and all

roads leading to it were the real testament to the impact Cooper's

talent had on the game in Scotland.

That is not to say that Alex Ferguson, manager of Manchester United,

former Rangers manager Graeme Souness, Tommy Burns of Celtic, Tommy

McLean of Hearts or anyone else among the representatives of every club

in the land had any less appreciation of the ability that shone at

Kilbowie Park, Ibrox, Fir Park and beyond. The Rangers team bus, packed

to capacity, was in itself ample illustration of how highly Cooper, who

died of a brain haemorrhage on Thursday, was rated at Ibrox.

It was their manager, Walter Smith, who led the eulogies and their

striker, Ally McCoist, who concluded them. ''There was nothing

complicated about Davie,'' said Smith, ''In his football he did the

simple things . . . and his skill was touched by genius. God gave him a

great gift, but I don't think He could be disappointed in the way it was

used.''

McCoist, who tackled what must have been an ordeal with commendable

courage, ended his stint with the words: ''He was a remarkable talent

and a fine, fine man.''

The attendance at the parish church overspilled into the hall next

door and into the streets outside. In the hall, the same hall where

Cooper had learned the disciplines of the Boys' Brigade, many players,

officials, wives and girlfriends were moved by the service piped through

speakers. Andy Ritchie, a player of special skills himself, was there,

as were Hibs' Keith Wright and Gordon Hunter, Celtic physio Brian Scott

and youth coach Tom McAdam, players of Hamilton Accies, Raith Rovers,

Falkirk and many others.

In the church, as well as Burns, Billy Stark was there from Celtic, as

was a devastated Charlie Nicholas, who was the last man to speak to

Cooper before he collapsed on Wednesday, former Old Firm men Maurice

Johnston and Frank McAvennie, and a host of others, including current

and former Motherwell and Clydebank colleagues.

They sang the hymns, struggling emotionally through the finale, Abide

With Me, rekindled fond memories, shook hands and strode out into the

cold, clear Hamilton air. For once, united. Coop would have been amazed.