Celtic legend Billy McNeill’s incredible journey to pick up the European Cup, in his own words from 1967

50 YEARS ago our sister title The Weekly News produced a commemorative magazine celebrating Celtic’s historic European Cup success.

Here, in his own words from the time, are Billy McNeill’s memories after the final whistle blew.

IN five years as captain of Celtic I’ve never had a tougher job than accepting the European Cup. It was the most stirring and exciting moment of my life. But I had to steel myself for it.

I’d just crossed the safety line into our dressing room at Lisbon after almost being swamped by the congratulations of our fans.

My back ached with all the slapping. My jersey had been torn off as a souvenir. Now I had to go out and face them all again to collect the trophy.

I put on a fresh jersey. With assistant manager Sean Fallon and Ronnie Simpson giving me moral and physical support, I set off.

The trophy was to be presented at the far side of the ground. It seemed there was just one way to get there – through the throng outside and right across the pitch.

By the time we’d gone 10 yards Ronnie had got lost.

Sean was on my left. Round me was a posse of police. But the back-slapping, handshaking and general chaos never let up.

We came to an obstacle – the six-foot-wide moat round the pitch.

It was supposed to keep fans on the terracing! Some hope!

Somehow, I made it to the other side. From there it was up the steps to the rostrum.

I’m told that my smile looked a bit forced. I don’t really remember, for in the emotion of the moment everything is a bit blurred. Also I still had to get BACK to the dressing room!

It was a bit easier than the first journey. This time we were led outside the stadium, hustled into a police car and whizzed, siren wailing, through the crowds to the dressing room entrance.

We had a bit of a job getting away from the policeman – he was determined to have his picture taken with us and the cup. But Sean and I eventually disentangled ourselves, dived for the dressing room and got through the “scrum” unscathed – except for the fact I’d lost my jersey again!

It was only then I got the chance to sit down and soak up the satisfaction of being captain of Celtic.

Since I was a kid playing in the streets of Bellshill in my green-and-white jersey, all I’d wanted was to play for Celtic.

Now I was captain of their European Cup-winning team. And being captain at Parkhead means much more than merely being the man who carries the ball out.

But, of course things can come unstuck. When that happens I’m at liberty to make any switch in position or tactics that I feel might help. No nods or winks from the touchline. And no recriminations if things go wrong.

If there’s a penalty I decide who takes it – and it’s not necessarily regulars Tommy Gemmell or Joe McBride. Only last season, in fact, I gave a spot-kick to Bertie Auld because I felt he was in the mood.

But I feel my most important role of all is as spokesman for my teammates. For both the boss and directors look on me as the buffer between them and the players.

If there’s a point we want to put to the board, I do the talking. If the players’ opinion is wanted, the boss asks me to sound them out.

For instance, before we took on the Real Madrid game after the European Cup Final, the manager discussed it with me.

It’s the same if he feels a day or two at Seamill would help to tone us up. I always ask around and find out how the boys feel about it.

It can be a demanding job at times. It involves spending a lot of evenings at functions. It takes football right into your home life. Even my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter Susan can reel off the name of the team.

But I wouldn’t have it any other way. To me, it’s the finest job in football.