Remembering

When I first saw the images of Artur Numan, Ronald de Boer and Michael Mols promoting Fortuna Sittard’s new special edition kit, my instinct was to smile. A rueful smile, perhaps, but one prompted by fond memories of Fernando.

Hooked in the first half at Parkhead in his Old Firm debut, he had an inauspicious start to his Rangers’ career; however, would go on to turn that around tobecome a key component in much success. He became a captain, a leader and a serial winner under Alex McLeish. The inclusion of his motto, ‘Never give up’ on the new kit is well-earned.

I think it is fair to say that many of our most vividmemories of him are of incidents, apocryphal or not, which took place far from a field of play. The fireworks at four in the morning, waking neighbours Alan Thompson and Ronald de Boer from post-match slumber; pushing John McLelland into a swimming pool; serial-shagging, including Britain’s most obvious two-bob tick-box, Katie Price; porn on the plane which accelerated his Le Guendetermined departure. There are many I will have missed I’m sure, but the picture is clear. Fernando was a nutter. But he was our nutter, and we loved him.

My own Fernando story in unusual as it is a tale in which he plays a supporting role. In early December 2005, Rangers had held Inter Milan to a 1-1 draw at Ibrox and consequently became the first Scottish team to qualify for the Champions’ League knock out phase. After watching the match with my dad, I headed into town for one or two celebratory sherbets with a work mate. Will was a west-end boy with the swagger and confidence an expensive education can provide. He was lucky in that he also had the charm and good looks he could use to extricate himself from the scrapes his bravado would inevitably see him land.

Drinking in Royal Exchange Square, it became known to us that the players were upstairs in the private members club celebrating. Once inside, Will makes a beeline for a table at which Barry Ferguson was gallusly holding court, surrounded by players and pals. He looks up to see the bold Will whose presence could, by this point, not be ignored. A world weary expression broke out across his face as he politely awaited the approbation that he must have become so used to receiving.

An eager and excited Will speaks: “Fernando, in”?

“Er, naw mate. He’s no’”

At this, Will shrugged, turned on his heel and exited stage left (pursued by a bear…), leaving the captain of Rangers somewhat flummoxed.

Not a classic anecdote, I’ll admit, but worth it to remember the look on Barry’s face. Also, it has often left me pondering what nonsense Ricksen could possibly be up to if he was dodging a night out?

As a player he was hard-working, determined and skilled. He had a ruthless streak which saw him wonderfully ‘straightening out’ Darren Young at Pittodrie. He scored important goals and became a massive part of our success at the time.

But the most important memory of him is neither his nonsense nor his game-day nous. To think of him is to remember the fragility of existence. It is to sigh at the iniquitous nature of life and death.

In February 2021 my dad died after a long and arduous illness. Not MND, but Progressive Supra-nuclear Palsy, a condition similar in its cruel degradation of the body and mind. In his day, my father had been a fine player – an inside right with two good feet and a sharp brain. In the months before he passed, however, his feet lay still and useless and the brain had become duplicitous and dulled. His sunken facial features eerily similar to those of Fernando, a man thirty-odd years his junior.

On the same day, after much family encouragement, I travelled to watch us play Dortmund. Under the lights atIbrox, the game took me away. Exhausted and drained, it became like an out of body experience and when Tavappeared at the back post to make it two all, I was done. Exhilaration was quickly extinguished and soon I was in my seat, head in hands whilst all around bedlam ensued.

The something, I will never forget happened. The huge Ulsterman – whom I had never met before nor since seen - who was sat to my left noticed I was struggling and asked what was wrong. I explained. He took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and said:

“It’s been five years for me, mate. I get it.”

Then this mountain of a man, all red hair and beard grabbed me in the biggest bear hug I have ever experienced.

So on Saturday when I sat in GR3, I couldn’t help but look over to the empty seats in the Copland Rear. I looked over and remembered. Remembered my dad, and all the times we spent there together. I thought too of the Ulsterman who I wish I could have thanked. Knowing I was going to write this, I remembered Fernando in all his mental glory. Oh, and I watched a bit of the Rangers too.

Under the lights at Ibrox, I often lift my gaze beyond the glare into the darkness of the Govan sky and remember. Sometimes it is all that we have.

Robin Erskine