It is said that time is the great healer. I would dispute that.
My confrontation with Scot Symon in a hotel on the banks of the River Tay in November 1967, just after he’d been insensitively sacked by Rangers when they were at the top of the league, still makes me feel the guilt of someone found with his hand in the till.
And that chilling experience lies rooted in the game he presided over in Frankfurt against Eintracht on April 13, 1960.
