It is almost a crime to start this tribute to Mail man Brian Scott with a cliche because he would never resort to their use.
So with heavenly forgiveness in mind here goes…
Scotty, as we called him, was a giant of Scottish sports journalism, envied by many of his peers but loved and admired by them all.
Brian died at the age of 82 on Thursday and friends and colleagues reeled as news spread that he had succumbed to illness.
Although Brian fully retired from this newspaper almost 15 years ago after a star-spangled association over two decades, there are still enough of us ‘old timers’ around to ensure the jungle drums were banging loudly as stories and memories of this outstanding man and brilliant writer were shared and his life celebrated.
The cut, thrust and shark-infested waters of Scottish football has claimed many a nearly man over the years but there was never a prospect of Brian Scott becoming a victim.
He took his work very seriously and while he never shirked from the tough questions, his quiet, considered and understated demeanour — allied to his brilliant writing — won him many friends on his journey to legendary status.
Even when criticism and admonishment were required, Scotty delivered in a thoughtful and respectful manner, leaving the recipient content with a fair hearing.
Football has changed in so many ways of late and clubs now seek to control all vibes good and bad. But Scotty enjoyed the days when a personal and fair-minded approach to the game’s personalities reaped a reward and resulted in a bulging contacts book.
Players stayed in touch with him — many becoming friends — and managers were happy to lift the phone when he called. All were the better for having met his acquaintance.
Sure, Brian would have had his favourites and there may have been a very rare ‘enemy’, but that person would never have known and neither would anyone else. Scotty was too much of a gentleman for that sort of stuff.
There is always a necessary element of creative tension between desk journalists and those like Scotty out in the field and I recall once falling foul of his good nature. Davie Cooper had collapsed and died suddenly and Brian produced a magnificent double-page tribute, as heartfelt and respectful as you would expect.
Now, Rangers legend Cooper was known by some as ‘the Moody Blue’ and I slipped this into the copy only to be politely pulled up by Scotty, who protested that he had always found the wing wizard a friendly and talkative subject.
As the desk-bound deputy sports editor of the Scottish Daily Mail, this correspondent was never afforded the pleasure and privilege of joining Scotty on the countless foreign excursions reporting on Scotland worldwide and our club hopefuls on European battlegrounds.
But we revelled in the stories that filtered back — hardly ever from Scotty himself — of laughs and adventures enjoyed by the huge characters populating the elite of the football-writing fraternity.
A constant in these tales was the holy trinity of the journalist abroad — good food, good wine and a lot of laughter — all supported by a generous expenses account.
Often to be found in their company was sports PR and marketing guru Alan Ferguson. Alan knew them all but one stood out. ‘There were a lot of big personalities amongst the football writers and Brian always came across as their elder statesman. He was great company — they all were — but Scotty had a calm dignity that set him apart.
‘I loved his writing but that was not his only talent. Standing at the bar as the evening wore on, Scotty would suddenly burst into *My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose*. He sang it beautifully and I will never hear it again without a smile on my face thinking of Scotty.’
Back in the office, we revelled, too, in Scotty’s presence as he chased the big football stories of the day and we basked in the glow of satisfaction when his trademark Saturday column landed.
We purred over every word knowing that each had been hand-crafted and shaped with the greatest care and attention, Scotty making his mark once again and enhancing our post-production pint as *Scott on Saturday* hit the streets.
His letters ‘My Dearest Berti’, written to Scotland manager Berti Vogts, were particularly loved and we assumed that the failing German boss found them amusing too.
Scotty loved his football and he loved Hearts — it’s down at Tynecastle we bide, we can hear him sing — so how fitting it would be if the Gorgie boys proceed to lift the Premiership title in the coming weeks.
There was much more to Scotty, though, than football and his pearly prose. He loved Scotland and her history, he loved a good book and he loved music. He also loved his wife Myra, children and grandchildren and our thoughts at this sad time are with them.
Despite the sadness, though, there will be a smile on the face of all who knew Scotty. And there can be no greater tribute than that.
