I played two first-team games, against St Johnstone and Morton. Both away and both shit in the sense that I played 20 minutes and 10 minutes. Of course it's so competitive that when I made it into the squad of 18 I wet myself with excitement, I was over the moon. But I was also very, very nervous. The games were really violent, not like the football we see nowadays.
And then I got my bad injury. I tore my ligaments, and it was a heart-ache. I worked my way back to fitness but Jock Wallace was the Rangers manager then, and he was a Scottish version of Mike Tyson. When he wanted to rip your arse out, he would crucify you.
Some people ask me today how I can be so firm - but when you worked under Jock Wallace there is no pussyfooting around when you want standards. I still remember him telling me they were letting me go. He was fucking ruthless. We were only in there about five minutes and I wanted to cry but I couldn't cry because I wouldn't even dream of crying anywhere near Jock Wallace, and I wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing me crying, and I wouldn't give the pleasure to my father of seeing me crying.
I didn't know it was coming. I had to take it on the nose, and he said, quite clearly, 'We will continue to monitor your progress and you will be invited back but we cannot commit a seasonal contract for second year on the trot'. I just thought, 'You bastard.'