Jimmy Calderwood had a simple reason for the range of his football journey that famously included successful spells in the Netherlands.
‘I was nosy,’ he would say. ‘I always wanted to know how other people did it and I was obviously interested in the way they played and worked in Holland.’
It was chilling to watch this restless intelligence hampered and occasionally stymied by Alzheimer’s when I spoke to him five years ago for an interview with Mail Sport.
But desperate circumstances can reveal the exact measure of someone’s character. Calderwood, who has died at the age of 69 after a lengthy battle with the condition, showed that afternoon what had made him as a manager and a person.
The former Aberdeen and Dunfermline manager was intent on dissecting a poor Aberdeen performance against Celtic that week. His enthusiasm for the game broke through what he described as his ‘disappointment’ at his diagnosis that has blighted the lives of so many former players.
This philosophy of positivity was at the core of his life. It did not seek to dismiss tritely the trials he faced but it instinctively grasped the only way to confront it. ‘You just have to get on with it,’ he said in a mantra that has a distinct Glasgow resonance.
Jimmy Calderwood was an ebullient manager whose teams had an adventurous streak
Jimmy, here with his partner, Yvonne Buchanan, confronted his condition with positivity
Jimmy was a midfielder with Birmingham City, where his manager was Sir Alf Ramsey
He was witty, ebullient and easy to like. But he was tough. His career as a player and manager demanded that of him and he answered those calls with a resolute determination.
This never hardened into a soulless pragmatism, however. Calderwood’s teams were easy to watch. He preached adventure on the park. He had lived off it. He was unafraid to answer the call to the touchline and his career in the Netherlands was to his considerable credit, not just in achievement but in his ability to adapt to another culture and take on board what was offered in terms of football and other forms of education.
If all this had a serious purpose — he was determined to be an elite coach — Jimmy was less than sombre himself. He loved a joke, even when he was the target. His depiction as a sun-tanned Weegie on television comedy shows gave him great amusement. But he had stories of his own.
He could tell of being caught at a bus stop by his then manager at Birmingham City, Sir Alf Ramsey, in the autumn of 1977. Jimmy was headed to the pub to meet mates and then travel to Scotland’s play-off match with Wales. The tammy and the scarf might have been a giveaway as to his intentions for the day.
He politely declined Ramsey’s offer of a lift, citing the immediate arrival of a bus. But the former England manager was not deceived. ‘I had a particularly heavy training session the next day. It was as if Sir Alf knew what I had been up to,’ he said with a smile.
He also played against Johan Cruyff and was insightful on the Dutch genius. He told a story of how he watched Cruyff play snooker, pointing out to spectators the exact spot where a ball should be after a shot. ‘If he was in a room, he always wanted to tell you things,’ said Jimmy. The Scotsman listened and learned.
The education of Jimmy in so many matters ended with his devastating diagnosis in his early sixties. But his gratitude for a life well lived never waned. He considered himself lucky to have been employed in a game he loved. He had profound thanks for those who surrounded him.
This was returned by those who encountered him in football. He was helpful and courteous in professional matters and genial and irrepressible in private chats.
He ended our conversation in 2019 with this: ‘Life goes on. I wake up every morning and say to myself that this is a new day.’
This resilience was commendable. It was spoken as gentle personal reassurance but also offered hope to others who suffer, whatever the ailment.
It was typical of Jimmy, a winning combination of strength and softness.
