In part two of our serialisation of Ally McCoist's new book Dear Scotland, the legendary striker recalls his relationship with a man who filled his heart with joy at Rangers, but broke it with Scotland at Euro 96, Paul Gascoigne. The mercurial Englishman was one of many stars from south of the border whom McCoist struck up a friendship with, although few will have produced as many amusing anecdotes. 

When Gazza scored his wonder goal for England against us Scots at Wembley in the Euro ’96 championships, I was unable to enjoy the sheer skill of the man, but when it comes to my relationship with England and its people, I will always cherish the time I worked with Paul Gascoigne and the enduring friendship that still exists today. 

Gazza came to us in 1995. Walter had headed to Rome and literally doorstepped him, asking him to come from Lazio. The two very special men got on well together. Gazza fancied playing for him, and with Walter’s perfect support and man management, I do believe that the Scottish game got the very best of him as a footballer. 

He took to us as much as we took to him, and whilst we suddenly had to be on our toes every day at training, Gazza helped to make not only the team better, but our lives. That’s how fun it was to be around him. Even on the many occasions when he would walk away from training in your clothes, leaving you with something of his, the whole dressing room would be close to hysterics. 

Gascoigne was a madcap presence at IbroxGascoigne was a madcap presence at Ibrox (Image: SNS)There are so many stories, so many examples of Gazza’s dedication to fun, and whilst we were all on the very sharp end of his antics at some point, recalling our time with him always brings a very big laugh. 

Another classic was the day I decided to put on a bit of a firework display for the kids. I am in the dressing room chatting to Durranty and Ian Ferguson about my plans, when over slides Gazza with an odd look in his eye, that suggests he has a secret to tell. Without looking at me, but from the side of his mouth, he says, ‘By the way, I couldn’t help but overhear your plans, Coisty.’ ‘Aye, what about them, Gazza?’ I say. ‘If it’s fireworks you’re after, I’m your man.’ 

Now at this point, any rational or vaguely sane human being would have stopped the conversation there. Gazza and fireworks are not the most compatible pairing, especially to anyone who hopes not to burn their house down, but when he tells me he can get £100 boxes for fifteen quid, the prudent side of me prone to a deal kicks in, and I ask to know more. 

‘Can you get me a couple?’ ‘Aye, no bother.’ I am told to meet Jimmy Five Bellies, his great mate, at the back of the Celtic End the next morning with the cash. Again, with Jimmy involved I should be running a mile, but the next morning there I am bright and early, and there is Jimmy in his Range Rover with tinted windows, waiting to make the drop. It looks like a drug deal, but he’s out of the car, the boot is opened, I give him the cash and I take the huge boxes, packaged in two big black bags. 

Available from all good bookstoresAvailable from all good bookstores (Image: Hodder) We say our goodbyes and Jimmy is away in the car up the Copland Road, whilst I go training before going home to ready myself for what I hope is an adequate firework display. A few of my mates, Knoxy and others, are over, the kids are there and soon I think it’s time to have a look at Gazza’s rockets. When I say rockets, I should say Exocet missiles. 

The first rocket has this head on it the size of a football. The next one up must have been manned. That’s how big it is, and so we push its stem into the ground, get the kids safely back and toss a coin to see who lights it. I lose, so I approach it tentatively like some sort of Sellafield employee, light the thing, and quickly head back to watch as it flies up into the Bridge of Weir sky. 

It keeps going and it keeps going for what seems like an age, and just as I am turning to Knoxy to say, ‘Tha’ bastar’ has conned us here,’ the entire village is lit up as it explodes into a cacophony of colours, shapes and sounds, like I have never seen from any firework before. The kids are in raptures, everyone is ecstatic, and we all agree that it is the best display anyone, anywhere has ever seen. 

A few nights later, my missus and myself are coming home from a club dinner. I get into bed and she’s washing her face, when the phone goes. She takes the call, and comes running up to the bedroom and says I have to get up! I have to get up because that was Gazza, who lives in the next village, and he wants to use one of those rockets he has left. He’s going to point it in the direction of our village, to find out if we can see it. 

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I’m moaning about wanting my sleep. It’s half two in the morning and I have training the next day, but before I can say another thing, our bedroom has lit up, and outside the whole village is iridescent with this explosion and I am falling on my bed, howling with laughter. 

We go back to bed, but I can’t sleep as I am still sniggering, when the phone goes again. This time it is the police. A serious sounding sergeant, who tells me they have a Mr Gascoigne there, as they’ve had to pay him a visit after fireworks came from his property at this ungodly hour. He has told the police that he only did it to find out if Ally McCoist could see them. 

I am trying not to laugh, but not knowing if the sergeant finds it funny, I stop myself, and the guy tells me that he will be providing Mr Gascoigne with a bed and some breakfast and he can be picked up any time after half past six the next morning. 

Ally McCoist's affection for Paul Gascoigne was clearAlly McCoist's affection for Paul Gascoigne was clear (Image: SNS)I return to bed again, half-laughing but half-worried, knowing that this will get back to Walter and he is going to kill us. The following morning, I’m up early. I drive to the police station, and there is Gazza at the bottom of the steps, a blank stare on his face. I pull up, he opens the passenger door and, without looking at me, he sits down and puts his seat belt on, pauses and then says, ‘Not one of my better ideas.’ 

To be sat with Paul Gascoigne in my car at 6.45 a.m., me doubled over with laughter, these are memories I will never forget, but when I think of my English pal, it isn’t all madness. There is such a gentle side of his character too, and one story underlines that. It also confirms that he was a wee bit of an eavesdropper because once again it starts with me chatting to a teammate saying it is my son’s birthday, and on hearing the news, Gazza asks what my son is after in the way of a present. I tell Gazza that he loves animals and we are wondering what pet to get him. 

Later that early evening, I’m sat in the living room and my missus comes in and says she thinks she has seen someone at the end of the drive, and I should go and have a look. I get there and I am greeted with the following. There is a beautiful fish tank and a goldfish in a bag, there is a bird cage and in it are two budgies, a green one and a blue one, and there is the most beautiful, ornate rabbit hutch with the most gorgeous white bunny sat contently in it. Next to them all are bags providing a load of food for each animal and on top of that is a card, with the words: ‘Dear Alexander, have a great birthday, Gazza.’ 

That sums the man up. For all the mayhem, for all the crazy stories, and there are plenty, the guy has a heart of gold. 

You can purchase Ally McCoist's new book Dear Scotland here.