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There
are more than 300 contributions from team-mates and fans.
Nine examples of these contributions are ...
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Alex has always conducted himself as a dignified gentleman and it’s
really sad that we didn’t always hit it off during our playing days.
I suspected that he thought that I was Harry’s man and therefore was
guilty by association. Nevertheless, I’m pleased to say we’ve got
along like a proverbial house on fire over the past decade. Personally?I
wish that he hadn’t returned to Scotland after hanging up his boots.
We needed him on Merseyside to teach our children how to play with
flair and skill. I know the out-pourings of admiration at the Adelphi
dinners have demonstrated just how much the Everton family has missed
him. And anyone who knows anything about the game respects him for
his accomplishments and legendary ball skills. More recently, I took
the time to thank him for his massive contributions throughout the
Sixties and in recent times. I deeply regret that I didn’t shower
such praise on him when we were team-mates. Was he any good?? He was
extra-special. He was ‘Alex the Great’ - the most naturally talented
footballer than I’ve ever seen in a blue shirt and possibly the most
skillful British player in my lifetime. He was up there just above
Johnny Haynes, John White and George Best. Advocates of Tom Finney
will dispute that claim but on his day, which was often, Alex Young
was the very best. He was unstoppable. It’s a great shame that the
television cameras never caught Alex for posterity because he could
do breath-taking things with a football, not just in training against
a softy like me, but on matchdays when big brutes were kicking lumps
off him. It should be recognised that Alex and George in particular
were marked men and competed week in and week out against sinister
defenders whose job was to stop them at all costs. As a consequence
their legs were kicked black and blue. They became the last of a dying
breed. Personally, I feel that rugged defending and rigid coaching
has extracted so much individual flair from the British game. So much
so that we didn’t see their likes again for 25 years until the foreign
invasion started. Brian Labone, Everton
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Wembley 1966 - The Penalty That Wasn't
Given
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Alex Young must be Merseyside football’s oldest living legend. It’s
approaching 50 years since he first illuminated Goodison Park, enjoyed
great success and conquered the hearts of even the most skeptical
fans. Since then Evertonians have ensured that he will never suffer
the fate of far too many heroes - the jet black hole of oblivion.
In fact, Alex’s star shines brightly today even though the club has
been hiding in the shadows of its neighbours for far too many seasons.
Why do grown men still pay homage to him? I think that it must have
something to do with their memories of his peerless passing, dribbling,
shooting and heading. Or simply the fact that he was god-like. Tony
Hicks
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Alex
is proof that not too long ago God was a Blue and wanted us to be
happy. Geoff Norton
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I worked at Burghlee and got swept up in the cup fever surrounding Alex
Young and the Hearts contesting the semi-final with Raith Rovers. The
first game finished goalless and the replay was set for the following
Wednesday. Someone posted a notice at the colliery gates: ‘In order
that the management may know the numbers intending to be absent on Wednesday,
will those whose relatives are to be buried on that day please apply
by Tuesday for permission to attend.’ I was one of the many grieving
black-faced miners in the 55,000 at Easter Road. Willie Gordon
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Alex
Young - the Golden Vision. It started with the drama-documentary and
the opening lines from a pretty young girl with a head full of blonde
locks. 'What does your daddy do? Play football. Who for? Everton.
Is he good? Yes. What’s his name? Alex Young.' Nothing more than a
shoulder dropped here, a jink the other way, the sheer artistry that
captivated many thousands of fans lucky enough to witness the wee
man in the flesh over eight years, those fleeting moments captured
forever on reel and all footage viewed again and again, and again.
I still watch that drama, quite often to be honest, and those opening
shots of Alex’s daughter answering questions about her dad get me
every time. It should be compulsory viewing for all Evertonians -
a wonderfully real portrayal of life as an Evertonian back in the
Sixties. I grew up taking it as given that Alex Young was an Everton
Legend - one of the very finest to don the famous Royal Blue jersey.
He just was. How did I know? Quite simply, the tales of his wizardry
were passed on from parent to child and I have absolutely no doubt
in my mind that a wee Scot, born in Loanhead near Edinburgh, is acutely
embarrassed to this day when hearing how loved he remains today among
Evertonians both young, old and somewhere lost between.
Three immortal words are inscribed upon William Ralph Dean’s statue
behind the Park End at Goodison Park: Footballer. Gentleman. Evertonian.
Those three words are equally applicable to Alex Young, though I would
add a further word that I believe necessary come the day the club
ever decide to commission the erection of a statue in Young’s honour.
That word is ‘Artist’. I can only vouch for the veracity of my father’s
own words. He arrived in Liverpool at a time when the port was thriving
and the Mersey Sound was being heard far and wide across the world.
Harry Catterick was creating a team that would soon become Champions
of England and remain throughout the decade one of the best teams
in the land. Not being a born and bred Blue or Red he would watch
whoever played at home, whether that was Catterick’s team at Goodison
or dipping his toe into Division Two and the agricultural football
across the park, watching that other lot. He appreciated good footballers
no matter the colour of their shirt. If any one player changed that
logic it was Alex Young. Ably assisted by Roy Vernon, he became, in
his eyes, the sole reason to watch football. 'Worth the price of admission,
him alone,' he would often tell me.
Alex Young Heads Home Against Spurs
At Goodison Park 1963
Usually as I vainly tried to explain how in my then youthful eyes
that Mick Lyons was the greatest of all Evertonians! Like so many
others my father will forever recall the decisive victory over Tottenham
Hotspur towards the end of the 1962/63 season. Over the years I believe
it has been established that Alex, when scoring the winning goal in
that game, rose at least twenty feet to meet the incoming cross and
direct it home. We often wonder how much the legends of yesteryear
would be worth in today's inflated transfer market, where kids fresh
out of their academies earn more in one season than Alex earned over
the course of his entire career. I think we would all struggle to
put a price on his value were he playing today. Furthermore, it would
be doing him a disservice. Evertonians of a certain age will testify
that he was nothing short of priceless. It's quite startling to realise
how such a great footballer won only eight caps for his native Scotland.
Such is life, their loss being very much Everton’s gain. One of our
own and much loved, his hair may be grey but Alex Young will forever
remain ‘The Golden Vision’. Colm Kavanagh
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Alex
Young was the best thing that happened to Everton Football Club in the
Sixties. He had such a repertoire of sublime skills that I would rate
him even higher than Alan Ball. And everyone knows that the little red-head
was world-class. On the pitch, he used his god-like skills to entertain
the fans. Off the pitch, he has always remained an unassuming and private
person who has never tried to exploit his god-like adulation. Alex was
unlike other football stars in that few of them can endure even a little
criticism and very few can put up with even a pause in adulation. TG
Jones, Everton
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My
late father claimed that with ‘The Golden Vision’ in your line-up the
odds were that the big fella upstairs would be on your side too. Phil
Robertson
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In
our memories, the sun always shines on him. As if the gods themselves
desire to bathe him in a golden glow. It’s how I and thousands of
other worshippers fix him in our minds. The epitome of grace and
guile, of magic and majesty. For us, Alex Young was simply the light
in our lives. Graceful enough to have been a Brazilian, he was artist
supreme who painted the game of football in the most glowing colours.
Gifted beyond the dreams of mere mortals, it’s true to say that
he was incapable of attempting anything on the soccer field that
wasn’t steeped in style. An example: So enchanted was hard-nut sportswriter
Frank McGhee by the genius of the gentle Scot that he once wrote;
‘Alex Young can make the football say anything except goals’. We
could even forgive Frank from the slight slur on Alex’s reputation
as a marksman - 87 goals in 270 games - because what McGhee was
recognising is what all of us who flocked to Goodison in the Sixties
knew off by heart, that with the ball at his feet
you knew that Alex had been touched by the angels. The
reference to angels is not accidental. For when the sun shone, catching
his blonde curls, he seemed haloed in light.
Perhaps
that’s where Neville Smith got the title for his TV eulogy, ‘The
Golden Vision’. It was the perfect name for Alex. It summed up the
way he played. It summed up the man. And, most important of all,
it ensured that those glorious years when a legend was born, would
stay in the memory. Illuminated for ever. All of us who saw him
in his wondrous years were privileged. Those fortunate enough to
meet him, found his charm as a player extended to his warmth and
courtliness as a man. When you read of awed Evertonians, bowing
down in his presence, you can understand why - though Alex himself
was overwhelmed and occasionally embarrassed by the adoration. But
such is the power of the undying attraction that, 40 years on, Alex
still draws crowds of appreciative Evertonians. Even the youngest
of them revere his name. For it is a given that Alex’s achievements
in blue are passed from generation to generation, like a family
treasure kept shining new. ‘My dad told me about you ...’ is the
usual introduction. They’re never as tongue-tied as I was long ago
at our first meeting when I found myself unable to approach Alex
because I held him in such awe and dared not break the spell. I
needn’t have worried. He is a gentleman who still finds it difficult
coming to terms with all the adulation heaped on him. He even admitted
to me that he could have been a better player. As someone who had
seen perfection, I couldn’t comprehend the self-criticism. What
Alex meant is that the overly physical side of the game was something
his slim frame sometimes found punishing. Playing in an era when
the two-footed tackle was acceptable, his gift for ghosting past
clumsy defenders meant that he came in for a lot of rough treatment.
Not that he complained. He simply picked himself up and set off
on another dazzling run. On his greatest days, he seemed so light-footed
that you would have sworn he was floating above the ground. That’s
how it appeared to me. Alex admitted: ‘There were times when I felt
I could do anything. Beat anybody.’ Every bit an entertainer. Every
bit a special player. Every bit a natural. You can’t teach that
kind of skill. It’s a gift. Len Capeling
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Alex
Takes On Former Everton Team mate Jimmy Gabriel As Jimmy Melia Looks
On
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I
signed for Everton in March 1960 at the height of the so-called ‘Carey
Revolution’. The boss had spent heavily on Tommy Ring, Micky Lill
and Roy Vernon during the previous three weeks but Alex’s arrival
a few months later confirmed my hopes that the club was truly ambitious
and going places. Even though I had played alongside Alex on my international
debut, like most Scots I knew him by his reputation. He was a really
big name and I think that his star shone so brightly because he had
developed the most delicate of touches. While some people in Scotland
claimed that he had magic feet, I do know that on his day he could
be untouchable when in possession of the ball. Alex was a mature and
worldly 23-year old used to coping with success having won the full
set of League and Cup honours in Scotland. Of course, both he and
I were rewarded with a similar set of medals in England - which in
itself is some accomplishment. Obviously, I admired him as a terrific
professional and, because I was still a little wet behind the ears,
he helped me to develop as a footballer. However, his own career was
punctuated with problems resulting from injuries as well as not seeing
eye-to-eye with the new boss. Harry Catterick made no secret of his
preference for a burly spearhead and even handed me the No 9 shirt
a half-dozen times. I like to think that I did Alex and his shirt
proud by scoring four goals. But there was more to Alex’s game than
simply putting the ball in the onion bag. Ask his fans - they all
admired him because he understood the importance of football in enriching
their lives. And believe me, he rarely had to apologise for any lack
of entertainment. Alex was a natural and I know from my subsequent
days at the Dell that very few defenders relished coming up against
him on the ground or in the air. Jimmy Gabriel, Everton
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