“Dad, who was the greatest player you’ve ever seen?” came the question from my thirteen-year-old daughter when returning home from Reading after the fourth round replay last season.  I reminisced over Pele’s shot from the half way line, Charlton’s thirty-five yarder against Mexico, Best’s goal in the European Cup Final, Beckenbauer’s superb passing skills and Maradona’s solo goal against England in Mexico.  But as good as these players were, I had to say Johnny Scott was the greatest.

Now I know I was only ten when I first saw Scottie, and that when you are young the memory can play tricks, but I swear on Mick Lyons’ life what I am about to describe is the truth.  Johnny Scott was a right winger (young readers should ask their fathers what a winger, centre-forward and inside-forward are because these will arise later in the article) for Grimsby Town in the late fifties and early sixties.  Now there were two kinds of wingers; the bat out of hell type, who when they received the ball set off like some kind of demented greyhound.  They had one aim in life; to get to the by-line as soon as possible and sling over a cross, whether the centre forward had arrived in the box or not.  He usually hadn’t, no-one could match the winger for speed.  In this category came Jimmy Pennington, Freddy Jones and, of course, Paul Emson. 

The second winger was the give me the ball at my feet or you can sod off type.  Scottie was one of the latter.  Scottie never went into his own half to help his own full back.  Many a time I’d hear De Gruchy screaming at Scottie to get back and lend a hand.  This request was always treated with the contempt it deserved.  Johnny’s philosophy was that he was there to entertain, to play to the gallery.  Not for him the running around like a mother looking for a lost child in Woollies.  I often heard “Move it Scott” when Johnny failed to chase a pass that was played a little in front of him.  Scottie wanted the ball at his feet and then the crowd would hold its breath in anticipation.  Was he in the mood or would he give one of his couldn’t give a toss performances?  Johnny was temperamental, but on a good day he was from another planet.

The performance that stands out in my mind was a match against Accrington Stanley.  The Accies never had the best left-back in the business but on this day it would not have mattered if it had been Ray Wilson; Scottie was unplayable.  The game started quietly, Town’s inside-forward Mick Cullum was knocking balls into spaces no Town player had dreamed of going.  The first half finished rather tamely, but at the beginning of the second half Scottie got the pass that he’d been waiting for.  The full-back came charging in like an enraged bull intent on smashing Scottie into the Main Stand, but as the crowd winced in anticipation of seeing death on the pitch Scottie, a fraction of a second before impact, moved the ball to one side and jumped over the raging bull as he skidded under his legs.  Over went the inch perfect cross for centre-forward Ron Rafferty to send one of his headers towards the top corner of the goal. 

Johnny was in the mood, and the Blundell Park faithful knew they were in for a treat.  Rocket Ron Cockerill (so named for his immense shooting power) was now feeding the kind of passes Town’s winger loved.  The full-back, after diving in once more and getting skinned, decided after much frantic screaming from his manager to back off, and did just that.  He backed off so much I thought he would soon be joining us in the Pontoon.  It made no difference.  Scottie dipped his shoulders and sent the full-back and the fans in the Main Stand one way, while he went the other.

With just minutes to go, Scottie delivered the coup de grace.  The luckless full-back was beginning to resemble a human corkscrew, he had been turned and twisted that much.  Scottie had the ball once again and motioned as if to push the ball past him and run, but as the Accie man began to cover the run, Scottie checked again and made the same gesture.  Again the full-back covered; twice more this happened and then Scottie delivered the best trick I’ve ever seen. 

He set off from the halfway line with the full-back bursting every vein in his body to stay up with him, determined to deliver one successful tackle before the final whistle.  Suddenly Scottie stopped dead; the full-back went skidding on like a duck on a frozen pond.  Johnny had set off on his run and deliberately left the ball behind. The defender looked up to see Johnny casually walking back to the ball where he flicked it up and juggled it a couple of times before sending a superb cross-field pass to Jimmy Fell on the left wing.

Yes, Johnny Scott, you were the greatest.  Thanks for the memory.