Jimmy Calderwood had a simple reason for the breadth of his football career, which included successful spells in Holland.
“It was nosy,” he said. “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 see this restless intelligence hampered and at times hampered by Alzheimer's when I spoke to him five years ago for an interview with sport mail.
But desperate circumstances can reveal the exact measure of someone's character. Calderwood, who died at the age of 69 after a long battle with illness, showed that afternoon what he had done as a manager and as a person.
The former Aberdeen and Dunfermline manager was intended to analyze Aberdeen's poor performance against Celtic that week. His enthusiasm for the game outweighed what he described as his “disappointment” over the diagnosis that has ruined the lives of so many former players.
This philosophy of positivity was at the center of his life. He did not seek to trivially dismiss the trials he faced, but he instinctively grasped the only way to confront them. “You just have to keep going,” he said in a mantra that has a distinctively Glasgow resonance.
Jimmy Calderwood was an enthusiastic coach whose teams had an adventurous streak.
Jimmy, here with his partner, Yvonne Buchanan, faced his condition with positivity
Jimmy was a midfielder for Birmingham City, where his manager was Sir Alf Ramsey.
He was witty, exuberant and easy to please. But he was tough. His career as a player and coach demanded it of him and he responded to those calls with determined determination.
However, this never turned into heartless pragmatism. The Calderwood teams were easy to watch. He preached adventure in the park. He had lived off it. He was not afraid to answer the call to the touchline and his career in the Netherlands was of considerable merit, not only for his achievements but for his ability to adapt to another culture and accept what was offered to him in terms of football. and other forms of education.
If all this had a serious purpose (he was determined to be an elite trainer), Jimmy was anything but shady. He loved jokes, even when he was the target. His portrayal as a tanned Weegie on television comedy shows greatly amused him. But he had his own stories.
He could tell how his then manager at Birmingham City, Sir Alf Ramsey, caught him at a bus stop in the autumn of 1977. Jimmy was heading to the pub to meet his friends and then travel to Scotland's play-off match against Wales. The tammy and the scarf could have revealed their intentions for the day.
He politely declined Ramsey's offer to take him, citing the immediate arrival of a bus. But the former England coach was not fooled. 'The next day I had a particularly intense training session. “It was as if Sir Alf knew what I had been doing,” he said with a smile.
He also played against Johan Cruyff and was revealing about the Dutch genius. He told a story about how he watched Cruyff play billiards, pointing out to spectators the exact place where a ball should be after a shot. “If I was in a room, I always wanted to tell you things,” Jimmy said. The Scot listened and learned.
Jimmy's education in so many subjects ended with his devastating diagnosis when he was in his early sixties. But his gratitude for a life well lived never diminished. He considered himself lucky to have worked on a game he loved. He had a deep gratitude for those around him.
This is how those who found him in football responded. 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 tell myself this is a new day.'
This resilience was commendable. It was spoken as gentle personal comfort but also offered hope to others suffering, whatever the ailment.
It was typical Jimmy, a winning combination of strength and softness.