Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

[EIM]

Are you a McClair fan? Did you ever meet Choccy? Did you ever play in a team who played against Brian? Have you got an interesting story to tell? I am a researcher working with best-selling author Chris Taylor (four or five WSC articles way back when) and we'd like to hear from you for a forthcoming book to be published by Random House...

'A Good Place On The Bench: an Oral History of Brian McClair'

No player made more of an effort to meet their public than McClair. As MEN journalist David Meek noted, out of the hundreds of thousands of people who saw him live, it sometimes seemed like Brian McClair met every single one. Shortly before his death Nigel Winterburn said, ‘He changed lives. Made people go to university. Stopped them from jumping off bridges. People come up and tell me every day.’

This book will try, in some small way, to gauge the depth of this statement. We're looking to speak to who saw and met Brian McClair at every stage of his career - from the pub dates of Motherwell to the stadiums and arenas of post '93. If you have an interesting story about an encounter with Choccy - it can be small or big, funny or serious - please drop me a line at the email address here...

We're especially interested in anyone who might have a photograph of themselves with Brian.

[EIM]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

I tried to get his autograph before a preseason friendly in August 1993. I think we were playing Benfica, and we lost 1-0.

In these days, the players would park over the road from Old Trafford and walk across the forecourt. I'd all ready snared Kanchelskis, Blackmore, and nearly got Irwin but he didn't have a pen.

I ran up to Choccy, who was surrounded by more people than Blackmore but fewer than Kanchelskis. But just then, a car pulled up with a registration that started with LMH. Leslie Mark Hughes. Everyone fucked off from McClair and legged it over towards the old club shop.

I suppose by 1993, McClair was used to being snubbed in favour of Mark Hughes.

[Stumpy Pepys]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Shortly before his death Nigel Winterburn said ...

Nigel Winterburn's dead? I must start reading newspapers more often.

[EIM]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

He's dead to me.

Anyway, I used to have an old video where four "United greats" sat around a table in some Manchester Bistro chatting shit about the old days.

Paddy Crerand was there to wax lyrical over George Best. Steve Coppell told tales of what a corrupt old cunt Tommy Docherty is/was. Brian Robson was quaffing down pitcher after pitcher of house white wine. And Neil Webb was there wondering how the fuck he ever got invited along. Presumably it was because he was the expensive new signing at the time.

In one very boring bit they were talking about the club joker, and Webb revealed it was Brian McClair. He prattled on about how McClair came up with the nicknames. "He calls him God!" he said, pointing to Robson. Webb neglected to mention his string of nicknames, from 'best ball playing midfielder in England' to 'Spaghettit Achilles' to 'GET OFF THE FUCKING PITCH YOU LAZY FUCKING FAT USELESS FUCKING CUNT' to 'Postie'.

"McClair gets called Choccy." added Webb. "It took me a while to fathom out that one." It took me equally long to fathom out what fathom out meant. It took me at least another seven years to work out the whole Choccy thing.

[garcia]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

i played at old trafford in a nike press event in summer 2007. the two team captains were brian mcclair and denis irwin. i sustained a crippling dead leg after three minutes of the warm up and hobbled through the various drills and small sided warm up games on my right leg, with my left (kicking) leg virtually paralysed. i was on denis irwin's team for the 11 a side full-pitch game, but i only lasted five minutes before realising i couldn't actually move around the pitch and was a liability to my team, so i took an early shower. afterwards irwin came up to me and sympathetically enquired how my injury was doing. opposing captain mcclair didn't seem to care at all and he kept his distance.

[beak]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Brian McClair is one of the first professional footballers I have knowingly met in real life. He was sat in the row in front of me and my dad when we went to watch Argentina-USSR at Old Trafford, in something called the 1991 England Challenge Cup.

We'd got the tickets by collecting coupons in the Evening News.

Anyway.

I hadn't recognised Choccy, but I had certainly heard of him. And the chap next to him - his name rang a bell. Clayton Blackmore (I think he later lent his name to a type of anti-personnel mine). So my dad asks me if I would like Brian McClair's autograph and I said "YEAH!" (I do not know why).

So my dad leans forward with his programme and a biro and asks Mr. McClair for his autograph. And quick as a flash, Clayton Blackmore turns around and says "can you leave us alone, we're trying to watch the fucking match."

At half-time they left their seats and didn't come back; who knows if they still exist?

(Me, for one. At least in the case of Brian McClair, cos I got his autograph the next summer when I went to BILLY GARTON'S SOCCER SKILLS SCHOOL BONANZA or whatever they called it, and that included a day kicking balls around at The Cliff.)

[ad hoc]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Back in 1993, while staying with a group of indigenous Mexican Huichol Indians, I underwent a ceremony involving large quantities of peyote. During that ceremony Brian McClair revealed himself to be my spirit guide. He passed on to me a great deal advice on life, football, and drinking with Brian Robson, but sadly when I awoke from my trance, I had forgotten all of it.

[beak]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Brian McClair is a very bad dog! And as such has to be sent to dog prison! "No!" barks Dog Brian McClair, "I'm too handsome! Do you know what happens to a sexy dog like me in dog prison?"
Prison Dog Brian McClair reclined in his basket. Undoubtedly, this was the best part of the day: breakfast had been eaten, washed down with a bowl of tea, and now there was a brief lull before the dog prisoners were sent off to exercise or the workshop. Despite having a dog's paws, Prison Dog Brian McClair somehow managed to roll up the last of his baccy, and was blowing lazy smoke rings at the ceiling.

"Frigging hell", Prison Dog Brian McClair thought (probably in black and white), "nine more months of this."

The number nine kept on cropping up, mocking him. Nine had been his number when he was banging them in for Manchester United Dog Football Club. How often he had relived those days, during the sleepless dog nights of his confinement. Getting on the ends of crosses from Dog Andrei Kanchelskis, or Dog Lee Sharpe or any number of his ex-dog-colleagues - all of whom had now abandoned him, when he needed them most.

He was a bitter dog, Prison Dog Brian McClair. There were enough dogs in HMDP Holloway to remind him of past glories. Scouse Dogs, and Manchester City Dog Football Club fans. All of them desperate to rub his snout in it, and hit him with a rolled-up newspaper, and bark 'NO' in a firm voice.

He couldn't wait to get out into the exercise yard, for walkies. If the guard was a good egg, he could coerce them into throwing the tennis ball for him. A pathetic reminder of who he used to be, but enough for him to cling onto. For a brief hour he would no longer be Prison Dog Brian McClair, he would be Football Dog Brian McClair. He who'd won the Dog European Cup Winner's Cup pretty much single-pawed. Dog Choccy Drops. He'd had it all. Chew toys, pig's ears, fine b-tches and dog champagne - the rest he'd just dog squandered.

(sorry)

[David Agnew]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

I wasn't sure when we'd got split up, but the ladies had decided they'd had enough of the party and wanted to go to Crazy Barry's instead, which sounded like some sort of Crazy Golf themed pub. Normally that would be a problem, but J had left me her keys so I could get back in.

I understood why they didn't want to stay. It wasn't their scene, they didn't know anyone there, but then neither did I. How could I? These cats had only just arrived in the country and were hoping that the one guy they did knew could round up some people to make it go with a swing. And one of them knew M. Which is how I'd made it here.

Anyway, we'd been at the party a while, had a few to drink, as people do at parties, did a few other things, and then, in the corner of the garden, was someone who just shone like a beacon compared to everyone else who was there. One person who radiated over everyone else.

I think her name was Lisa. I forget, it's been a few years.

Anyway, on the way back from the party, we'd got a cab, and I'd dropped M off at his, and I was on the way to Js and then it happenned. The car in front, it was red - that's all I remember, it was dark, I'd been drinking, and and my eyesight's not the best - looked like it had jumped the lights. We stopped, and before we knew it a copper was banging on the window, and he was in, and he said the words we all dream of hearing.

"Follow that car!"

This gave the taxi driver carte blanche to jump the lights - or at least, that's how he interpreted it. The copper didn't mind, as it meant the red car didn't get away. The taxi driver's now going as fast as possible, turning left and right in pursuit, but without the sirens and blue lights, whoever was driving the red car either didn't know he was being followed, or did and was trying to lose us. This goes on four fully forty minutes, and we're now miles from Js, and the meter's looking alarmingly high. Finally, the red car reaches a set of traffic lights and stops. The copper gets out and tells us to wait.

He walks over to the car, gets the driver to wind down the window and leans in. I can't see what's happenning, but the lights have gone green and the red car's still there. After what seems to be five minutes, with the copper not moving, the taxi far slowly rising, and a build up of traffic behind us, the copper stands up, and waves the car on. He comes back into the taxi and waves a piece of paper.

"I've got it" he said "that was Brian McClair - I've finally got his autograph". Oh how we laughed, as the taxi first of all dropped the copper back where he flagged me down, and then as he pulled up a couple of streets away from Js, at the house next door to the alley. The meter was now reading over £60. "I'll just need to pop inside for the cash, mate, I said. I walked slowly up the drive, fiddled with the keys outside the door, and as soon as I noticed the taxi driver stop looking in my direction, I nipped down the alley. Fuck that, I wasn't paying for some copper to get someone's autograph. What did the taxi driver think I was?

I never did meet any of the people that lived at the house the party was at again. Or the girl at the party. And I never did meet Brian McClair.

[Ray de Galles]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

I friend of mine (from Banbury, natch) danced down the white line in the middle of Oxford Street singing "Hughes, Bruce, McClair" to the tune of 'Y.M.C.A.' after the '91 ECWC Final.

Because of that, I always initially mistakenly remember them as the scorers in a 3-1 win in that game but I am confusing it with the first leg of the semi.

Am I in the book?

[De Geas Clean Linen]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Edit: He's a qualified chartered accountant.

I was thinking of someone else...

[AMMS]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

I foiled an attempt to kill Brian McClair when he played for Celtc. I didn't like him at the time and I don't like him now but I felt death was a bit harsh on him, had it been Peter Grant I might have felt differently.
This may be the only true story in your book.

[Sundeporino]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

Sometime in March 1995 there was a picture of Brian McLair on the back page of the Lindisfarne Bugle and one of me on the property pages. McLair was expected to pass a late fitness test prior to the Pan-Europa Cup Final against Newcastle Utd, while I was exhibiting a shiteating grin in an attempt to convince potential alcoholic hermits as to the desirability of an Island bolthole from the pressures of the Cheshire highlife.
Imagine my surprise when the bell tinkled over the Lavender Eggshell painted door and McLair himself strode manfully towards the desk.
"I need a place to stay in the future" he growled.
"When exactly in the future?"
" Any time, as in the future every ex Manchester United Legend of the 90s will manage a North east club for 15 minutes and I need to be prepared".
"Ive just the place"
"Ill take it"
"sign here"
"Done deal"
" You didnt see me and when Betfair comes around remember Im the "East Coast Ghost".
"Ok your toast to me"
"No Ghost"
"Theres never been any reports of paranormal activity in the property that we know of. sir"
' Ill see you when Fat Freddie takes over again"
" See you then".

[Crusoe]

Ever met or seen Brian McClair live? Then read on.

EIM wrote:

"McClair gets called Choccy." added Webb. "It took me a while to fathom out that one." It took me equally long to fathom out what fathom out meant. It took me at least another seven years to work out the whole Choccy thing.

Bugger. I've only just worked it out now, aged 34.

[EIM]

Anyone know what the fuck I was on about in this thread?

I've got some great Brian McClair stories if anyone wants to hear them. He's incredible and now an official friend of the pub, given he signed something (other than the shirt he did the other week) and made it out to Chris and all at the Grey Horse.

Anyway, he's now my favourite footballer after Eric. He's here! He's there! He's everyfuckingwhere!

[Toby Gymshorts]

None at all, but Beak's dog Brian McClair post made me howl (sorry).

[Crusoe]

EIM wrote:

Bugger. I've only just worked it out now, aged 34.

Jesus. Nothing to make you feel old than yourself posting your age nine years ago.

[DCI Harry Batt]

EIM wrote:

Bugger. I've only just worked it out now, aged 34.

I had to look it up.

[Uncle Ethan]

That really takes the cake.

[EIM]

Choccy ar la!

Today is the day he comes to the pub.

[E10 Rifle]

Isn't he a bit of a leftie?

[E10 Rifle]

Anyway, the only Brian McClair anecdote I can muster up is from Boxing Day 1990: we all went up to Bury for our old Division Three festive derby clash, only for it to be called off at a quarter to two. Remarkably, within an hour, we were in the Stretford End, having rocked up and paid on the day to watch an unremarkable 3-0 win over Norwich. The only memorable feature of the game was the bloke behind us repeatedly shouting "too many pies McClair, too many fucking pies" at the chunky Red Devils frontman.

Did he eat any pies in the pub?

[longeared]

Ask him about his composed finish for his second goal at Hillsborough in 1991, it really is a strike of wonder and beauty.

(About 3:55 in if you don't want to watch the full thing)

[ad hoc]

Ooof bad day at the office for Warhurst.

[The Awesome Berbaslug!!!]

Football from the 90's is so hilarious. You can see clubs taking their first faltering steps out of what worked in the 80's, trying to move into the new world of the backpass rule, the offside rule, and foreign players. You have a footballing culture that is very slow to change, and isn't great at it. One thing that is really obvious watching football from this period, is how stiff the players look. People bang on about how much fitter players are now, but one of the really visible things is that they've spent a lot of time working on improving player's balance.