Best Manager?

[Max Wall]

7 hours ago, murphy said:

Ah Jock Wallace.  It was his team that I first started watching.

 

I met him once as a seven or eight year old winning a competition for the Junior Foxes. 

 

I couldn't understand a word he said and he genuinely scared the life out of me.

I remember reading a story about him having Lineker by the throat in the dressing room.

He really was your archetypal tough, no nonsense, Scottish manager.

He was at Rangers when I moved to Scotland in 1975 and he seemed to rule there with an iron fist too.

[Sampson]

Either Pearson or Ranieri. Pearson probably feels more like "ours" which is why a lot of our fans have more of an emotional attachment than they do Ranieri.

 

Then Gillies and O'Neill after that.

 

I'm sure this will be somewhat contraversial but I grew up on Bloomfield, but people forget how rotten and inconsistent that side could be - often going on long winless runs (including still the longest winless run in the club's history) and the style of football was only great mayhe 1 game in 5. Don't get me wrong, we *could* play some great stuff, but that side was primarily a defensive side built around grinding out loads of 0-0 and 1-1 draws a lot more than people remember. I always saw it as a side of talented individuals rather than a great team, who often flattered to deceive.

Edited 7 August 2018 by Sampson

[Patrick]

13 hours ago, Max Wall said:

I remember reading a story about him having Lineker by the throat in the dressing room.

He really was your archetypal tough, no nonsense, Scottish manager.

He was at Rangers when I moved to Scotland in 1975 and he seemed to rule there with an iron fist too.

Mark Warburton said similar in an interview:

 

Warburton told Record Sport: “I was a young English kid from London and my background couldn’t have been further removed from that of Jock Wallace.

“He was always the boss and scared the life out of me – it was a case of good cop/bad cop with him and his assistant, Ian MacFarlane.

“I was just a youngster when he took over at the club from Frank McLintock and I remember travelling from London to Leicester with my parents to meet the new manager and chief scout, Frank Shaw.

“It was a case of, ‘Call me Jock,’ as he met my parents and made them a cup of tea and they thought he was lovely.

“Taking his advice, the following day I walked into Filbert Street, met him in the corridor and said, ‘Morning, Jock.’

“He smacked me in the back of the head and told me never to call him by his first name again. It was a rude awakening, a harsh introduction.