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21-05-2025
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Big Dunc - From Barlinnie hell to Goodison heaven
As the sunshine beats through the window in a studio by the River Clyde, Duncan Ferguson is talking about the darkness in his early life. Barlinnie Prison, where he spent 44 days and nights, is six miles away and 30 years in the distance, but right now, as he discusses the opening chapters of his autobiography, he's back there. The sights and sounds and smells - they don't go away. They stay. Forever, you sense. Ferguson's life story - the recently published Big Dunc - couldn't begin anywhere else. Rangers vs Raith Rovers, Ibrox, 1994. John McStay, a 'headbutt' while on probation for some fracas at a taxi rank and then a jail sentence in its wake. "Hell," as he calls it. Tom English: You were 23 when you went inside. Reading what you witnessed, I cannot believe that they sent you to a place like that. Duncan Ferguson: I'd locked it away until I started to do the book. It all comes flooding back. I couldn't do that time now. I don't think I could cope. Back then, it was frightening. Sometimes you look back and you think, how did you get through it? How did you actually get through that? Because you're on your own. There's nobody backing you up, there's nobody helping you. TE: You say there was also a bit of excitement involved. DF: I was upset. I was worried. I was frightened. Of course I was. But I was also a wee bit excited to see what the nick was like. Because I was young and stupid. You've seen the movies, haven't you? You've seen movies of prisons and you think, what's it like to be in there? So there was a wee bit of that, maybe not excitement, but certainly I was intrigued to what was actually going to happen in there. TE: How long did that last? DF: Not long. Because I realised it was hell. TE: You describe your first night inside - the lights go out and the voices in the dark. DF: Sitting at the end of that bed. Everything echoed. They're screaming at you. 'You're going to get cut in the morning'. That's what happened. They pinpoint where you are. It was like they were focusing on me. You're worried sick. You've got to face that in the morning. I never slept a wink all night. I was terrified. I'm going to walk out on this landing in the morning and you think someone's going to stick a knife in you. TE: You ended up working in the kitchen? DF: The hospital wing. You've got designated jobs. The first few days, I'd slop out on the wing. There was a block in the middle of the prison and there were about 12 cells in there for inmates who were getting cut or slashed or harming themselves. The paedophiles and that. Some of them get kept in there. It wasn't too bad, because you're away from the main population during the day. TE: And in there you were asked to go and counsel a young boy. DF: I can't remember his name, but he tried to take his own life. He'd come over to the hospital wing. The guards had found out that he'd played for the Rangers as a kid. They asked me to go and speak to him. TE: You were only a kid yourself. DF: You think you're a man, don't you? I thought I was a man. I've got everything boxed-off. I was just a baby. I had to go and speak to the boy and he was in a bad way. He told me a wee bit of his story. He was a good football player and it never quite happened for him. He got released. He ended up on drugs. I hope he's doing well now. I still think about the boy sometimes. As Ferguson recounts his spats in his early life, all the fighting and the endless grief, you ask him what he would say to his teenage self if he could sit him down now and talk to him. DF: Don't drink. That would be the first thing I'd say to myself. A lot of trouble in my life has been through booze. We were young. We'd come off the estates. Everybody drunk. If I wasn't drunk when these incidents happened, I might have walked away. TE: Your upbringing. You describe yourself as a stupid, daft laddie. But then you also say, I see myself as shy. Nobody really knows me. You look at the pages and stories you tell in your book, it doesn't look like the life of a shy young man. DF: To this day, I have no friends. Good friends. I was a loner. At school, I was on my own with my ball. I took my ball to school. I never mixed. I walked my dog. I had my ferrets. I wasn't a mixer. I never mixed with my team-mates. I had some friends, but not a lot. I was a bit shy. I'm coming out of my shell a wee bit now. TE: You're shy, but you were fond of a night out. Again, it goes back to the drinking. These fights at taxi ranks. This abusive guy who's on the crutches. DF: I can't remember him on a crutch. He swung at me a wee bit. I was daft. I was drunk. You're chasing girls. I was 16 or 17. Stirling's a small place. I became a target. I was Duncan Ferguson, the football player. Look at the way he walks. Look at the way he's drinking that beer. Look at the way he's dancing. He thinks he's gallus. People were approaching me. TE: I'll read you a quote from the book, after some sort of incident. The police came to see you. "I was laid out on the sofa, rotten, stinking drunk, buck naked, aside for a pink hat that someone had given me earlier. I had lipstick on, an earring and a silk glove." Now that's a picture. DF: I can't remember the police coming. I was on the couch, gone. That's right. It was one of those crazy nights. I got young player of the year for Dundee United. We went into Anstruther. Not a pretty sight. I'm sure it wasn't a pretty sight for the police when they came to have a look at me. TE: Your parents at this time, they must have been worried sick about you. Is there guilt there? DF: Absolutely. My mum and dad, I put them through it. That phone rings in the morning. Somebody knocks on the door. I put my mum and dad through hell. TE: You're a dad now and you can put yourself in their shoes. DF: Yeah, they must have been worried sick. The police were starting to knock on the door all the time. Headlines everywhere. Journalists outside the house regularly. The press were a bit naughty, but I gave them plenty of ammunition. I must have put my mum and dad through hell. When Ferguson left Tannadice and joined Rangers for £4m, the move was the measure of his dreams. He was a Rangers boy. He revered the manager, Walter Smith. He idolised the iconic striker, Ally McCoist. The whole thing became a nightmare. Wild living, not enough game-time, scrutiny, trouble, minders, claustrophobia. And then he went for McStay. Smith sat him down and told him he had to leave Glasgow for his own good. Sentencing was coming - Barlinnie not far away - but in the meantime he needed a new start. He went to Everton for a three-month loan that became a love affair. TE: When Walter said you had to go, how did you feel? DF: I cried my eyes out when he said it. I'd let him down. He was telling me I was coming back after the loan and I'm sure he was genuine at the time. But I cried. I'd failed. I was drinking heavier. I was out of control. TE: The book is so honest. It's a terrific read. You weren't at Everton long and you got done for drink driving. DF: That's right. On my own. Middle of the city centre. Saturday night. What do you do? I went for a drink, stupidly. We've got a game on the Monday against Liverpool and I'm out on a Saturday night. Nuts. TE: This was Joe Royle's first match as Everton manager? DF: Yeah and I'm in the police station, 3am Sunday. Liverpool on Monday. The star striker's in the nick. TE: There's a good end to that story. DF: Yeah, they let me out. TE: Well, yeah, but you scored? DF: Of course. That's me, isn't it? That's me. No preparation. In the jail. Get out and the rest is history. I battered them. Second half particularly. Guilt. That's what I was running on. Guilt. TE: And you win the FA Cup? You scored 73 goals in 273 games for Everton across two spells spanning a decade. They love you down there. How long did it take for you to realise Everton - this is the place for me? DF: About a week. Once I was in that city, I wasn't coming back. I had no minders. Nobody was targeting me. They knew me, but it wasn't the Rangers-Celtic thing, was it? There's no sectarianism. I felt free. And I was fitter. And I was getting minutes. TE: Why does this club mean so much to you? DF: The fans took to me. There was never any trouble off the pitch, only the drink driving offence. They needed somebody like me at the club. The team wasn't very good. They had a good tradition of big Scottish number nines. I fitted that mould. TE: They could see the honesty. DF: I was aggressive. The fans liked that. They wanted somebody to get stuck in for them. It all turned for me then. You're playing against Liverpool, Man United, Chelsea, Arsenal and Tottenham. You're playing against some serious teams. It brought the best out of me. I still love the city. I still live down there. It's a great place to be. TE: Striker, captain and then manager. That must have been cosmic for you? DF: What a feeling. It was an incredible moment in my life and my career. One that I'll never forget. I'd captained the team, I'd scored a lot of goals for the club and then to manage them. So I've done it all there, really. TE: You worked under Carlo Ancelotti at Everton and speak glowingly about him. DF: I was on my mate's boat in Croatia, right? And Carlo's in the vicinity on his own boat. He's on the phone. "I'm coming to see you." "OK, no problem, Carlo." I gave him the coordinates and he's coming out of the horizon in this big boat. He paid a right few quid for it. I could see him waving. As he's getting closer and closer, his boat is getting smaller. Our boat was about four times bigger than his. He spent his week on my mate's boat. His boat got left. It was really funny, like. A great fella. We just bonded. It's not hard to understand the reasons why Ferguson brought a madly premature end to his Scotland career. Everything goes back to the fateful McStay incident. The Scottish FA handed down a 12-match ban before his court case ever came around. He felt they sat as judge, jury and executioner. When he came out of Barlinnie, they went after him again, trying to force through that suspension even though he had done time in prison and was now at Everton. He thought it was a vindictive pursuit while reminding you that he went to jail for the McStay confrontation and "I didn't even get a yellow card". TE: You quit Scotland in December 1994. You say, "I fell out of love with Scotland. I felt bitter. I felt the Scottish press had done me in, so I chucked it". DF: I should have played. There's a massive regret. I should have played. I pulled out a lot of squads. Craig Brown, God bless him, protected me. He just said I was injured. I told him I didn't want to go and play for Scotland anymore. He said, "You're crazy man!" My heart wasn't in it. I went back a couple of times. I didn't like it. TE: You went back for Austria 96 and Estonia 97, but that was it. Stubborn? DF: My God. I wish I could go back, but you can't, can you? You're a young man. You're daft. You just don't listen. I was on my honeymoon in the Bahamas during the 1998 World Cup. We played Brazil, didn't we? I should have been kicking off the ball. Daft. I was in my prime then as well. They asked me every year for 14 years to go back. Bertie Vogts came to Everton. I brushed by him. Didn't even take him into a wee room, sit him down and listen to his spiel. There was more, of course. More on his early years, more on his Dundee United boss Jim McLean - who fined him so heavily once that Ferguson's pay packet was minus £10 - more on Barlinnie, Rangers, Everton, Newcastle, his financial bankruptcy, his stints in management and his desire to have another go. He's 53 and looking well. Is he happy? "No, not 100% happy, no. I don't think any of us are totally happy. I'm in a good place. You know, I've been in a lot worse place. I've been looking down the back of sofas for a few quid, you know what I mean? "So I'm not there. And I'm healthy. I'm off the booze. I suppose I'm happy as the next man. My dream is to be a manager at the top. That's what I want. And when that happens, I'll be a real happy man." If you are affected by the issues in this article, help and support is available at BBC Action Line
The Herald Scotland
10-05-2025
- Sport
- The Herald Scotland
'I might not have got through it' - Duncan Ferguson on Barlinnie hell
'I had a disaster today,' he begins. 'The fob in my car … the battery ran out. I had to walk to the garage and get them to run me back to the car.' I'd say he's had worse days. Because the boy from Stirling was always a source of good copy. From his teenage days at Dundee United, his big-money transfer to Rangers then his years at Everton, where he became something of a club legend, and his run-ins with manager Ruud Gullit at Newcastle United (run-ins with managers being something of a theme in his career), Ferguson has been a headline-maker wherever he has been. Rangers striker Duncan Ferguson against Partick Thistle in 1993 (Image: SNS Group) In the early years of his career in Scotland he was notoriously labelled 'Duncan Disorderly' for his run-ins with the police and eventually ended up being sent to Barlinnie for 44 days, the first football player to serve time for a clash on the football field. But that was 30 years ago now. A lot of water has flown under Stirling Bridge since then. The Duncan Ferguson sitting in his home in Liverpool is a 53-year-old family man who doesn't drink. But he does talk. There's a lot to talk about. He's ageing well, by the way. Still lean. He looks like he could pull on a pair of boots and turn out for Everton tomorrow. You imagine any defender playing today might still feel a jolt of fear if they saw him looming up out of the corner of their eye. Ferguson has just written his memoir. Big Dunc, in conjunction with the football journalist Henry Winter. The reason we're talking. It's a good reason. The book is honest to a fault about Ferguson's own failings - and those of others - as it charts his career. It covers the fall-outs (his relationship with his manager at United, Jim McLean, was explosive from the off), the fights and the injuries that plagued his playing days, as well as the goals and the glory. 'When I played I was good, but I never played enough,' Ferguson suggests today. 'Even now my career is better than most people's, absolutely. But I never played enough. I should have had bigger numbers because I should have played another 200, 300, 400 games. 'The reason why I never is because I had 10 operations, I got suspended ... Or something like that,' he adds, laughing. Well, yes, eight red cards in his Everton career. A Premier League record he shares with Patrick Vieira and Richard Dunne. Duncan Ferguson with Everton (Image: SNS Group) There are a few laughs in the book. But there's also a thread of anger that runs through it. Ferguson feels he was poorly treated in his younger days by the press, by the SFA and by the courts. He was, he would be the first to admit, often his own worst enemy, but the fact that he ended up in prison still feels hugely unjust to him. The book reads, I suggest, like the work of someone who had a lot to get off their chest. 'Yes, absolutely. Obviously I was a wee bit bitter towards how it happened towards me when I was younger. I felt I was a wee bit hard done by with the local press up there.' When he says 'there', he means Scotland, in case there's any doubt. I guess he's a proper Anglo now. The legend of Duncan Ferguson began when he started making a name for himself at Dundee United. In his hometown of Stirling he would be recognised every time he went out. And sometimes targeted. There were regular run-ins while he was standing in the taxi rank at Stirling Train Station waiting to go home after a night on the town. He once headbutted a policeman and on another occasion punched a man on crutches. In all, Ferguson would pick up four charges for assault over the years. 'I just defended myself,' he says now. 'I was young, between 16 and 19. When I went into Rangers I had minders with me. Walter [Rangers manager Walter Smith] advised me to get minders. I did that. That stopped the trouble. Because all of a sudden when people wanted to mouth off there was someone to go through. It stopped. It was potentially you going through someone else to get to me. People didn't want to do that. That stopped that part of it. 'And when I went to Liverpool they loved me. I didn't need minders. It's a different type of city. There's no Rangers and Celtic. Yes, there's Liverpool and Everton, but they're all together so all the wee firms, all the wee close-knit communities, are mixed. It wasn't: 'My mates are all Rangers', or 'My mates are all Celtic'. They're all mixed, so there was never any problem. Read more 'I never had one bit of trouble in Liverpool in my whole life, other than that stupid drink driving offence.' Ah yes, he got caught over the limit on the night before he made his Everton debut. He admits he was 'daft' in his younger years, but he is still quietly seething about his spell in Barlinnie. It all started when he clashed with the Raith Rovers player John McStay during a game at Ibrox in April 1994. Rangers were cruising to victory when Ferguson tussled with McStay. He appeared to headbutt the Raith player. Ferguson says he barely touched him and the referee Kenny Clark took no action on the pitch. But after the game things kicked off. Ferguson was on probation at the time for another assault and he remains convinced that the Scottish press goaded McStay into making something of the incident. 'I felt that they pushed McStay into saying it was a headbutt,' he tells me. The press, he argues, were accusing McStay of diving to goad him. 'And he said, 'I never dived. He connected with me.' That was it. They got their headline then and pushed that. I was a bit upset by that.' 'I don't know if I was right. They're just doing their job at the end of the day.' Whatever the truth of it, there were consequences. 'That headline drags in a Procurator Fiscal who wasn't at the game, who was nowhere to be seen, watched it on the television, knew I was on probation, knew then that if I got a conviction there was a good chance I'd go to prison. I probably wrongfully blamed the press for chasing that headline. I was young.' What galls him still is what he sees as the injustice of sending him to prison. Zinedine Zidane headbutted Italy's Marco Materazzi in front of a global audience in the World Cup final in 2006 and didn't end up behind bars, he points out in the book. Ferguson served time in Barlinnie (Image: free) Ferguson was just in his early twenties in 1994. 'I had a job, I had a salary, I had a career ahead of me. I think there was another option for the judicial system. They could have put me on community service. That would have been the right thing to do in my mind. I think it was a bit of a stitch-up in the end.' And so he ended up in Barlinnie. 'That to me is wrong and it's still wrong to this day and I'm lucky I got through it. I might not have got through it. I could have broken my probation. I could have hit a couple of people in the prison which would then have put me in for another three months and I could have kept rolling it on.' In the end he only served 44 days of a three-month sentence but the way he writes about it and the way he talks about it today, it's clear those 44 days remain painfully vivid to him. The noise, the violence, the excremental stench of the place. 'There are some things in there you won't forget,' he suggests. 'It's a scary place for anyone going in there, but imagine playing for the Rangers. Imagine playing for the Celtic or the Rangers and going into Barlinnie. 'You're playing for the Rangers, man. It's ridiculous. They could have put me into a different prison. But I went into Glasgow and I was an ex-Rangers player and a current Everton Premier League player. Not easy.' I wonder what his first night inside felt like? 'A lot of people started screaming in the night that they were going to cut me to pieces and they were going to get me in the morning. It was worrying. I never really slept. There were bars. You could hear everything. Duncan Ferguson at Rangers in the 1993/1994 season (Image: SNS Group) 'My hall backed onto another hall. D Hall backed onto C Hall. And they were all screaming and they were pinpointing your cell. They shout along, saying they know where you are and what they're going to do to you in the morning. 'Not an easy night.' He shakes his head. 'My first night was the worst night. It takes a lot of bottle to step out onto the landing in the morning. I was on my own. That door opens up in the morning, it takes a lot of bottle to step out,' he repeats. 'It was a tough night because you're getting these threats and of course it's not just idle threats from the terraces. It's actually people in prison who are obviously in prison for a reason.' Of course the sentence all added to the legend. Big Dunc, the toughest man in football. 'Absolutely. I'm the hardest man who ever put a pair of boots on, who has ever walked this earth. I'm the toughest guy in Premier League history. A load of crap. A load of absolute rubbish. I've never even been the toughest guy in any of my dressing rooms, never mind in the history of the game.' Well, yes. Then again in the book he does go into a couple of times when he had a few words with some of his teammates who were throwing their weight around. And then there were the couple of occasions burglars broke into his home in Liverpool and found themselves confronted by 'Big Dunc'. There may be a few people out there all willing to believe the legend. The thing is, speaking to him now, it's hard to see your way back to the younger man he was. In conversation he is funny and open, his answers astute and nuanced. You wonder what might have happened if he had spoken out more during his career rather than kept his counsel. Would the 'hard man' legend be quite so engrained? But then he's a different man now. He stopped drinking in his thirties, with, it would appear, no real difficulty. Ferguson as Caretaker Manager of Everton (Image: SNS Group) 'Yeah, if I want to stop drinking, I stop drinking. If I want to go on a diet or start training I do it. That's my biggest regret - touching booze. I feel as if I am the person now that I should have been through all those years. I got rolled into a lot; invincible, burn the candle at both ends, 'look at me, I'm Big Dunc, I can do what I want.' 'That to me is not me as a person. The person I'm looking at now is the person I should have been. You cannae roll back the f****** clock, you can't turn back time, and the biggest regret in my mind is touching booze.' Football is a very different game today than the one he first played in, of course. Players don't behave in the same way. 'We are more educated now. Back in our day we were going around the estate, buying bottles of cider and vodka. We just did that, didn't we?' What must have it been like to be that younger man in the eye of the hurricane that is fame - or infamy, if you prefer - and money? (Despite all the wealth he earned from football he ended up declaring himself bankrupt in 2016.) It must have been difficult to deal with, I suggest? 'I think so, but I don't think it's much of an excuse for me. I wasn't that bothered about money. I gave most of it away, stupidly. Didn't respect money. 'But I don't know if it was the money. It's just the way I was, really.' There are other regrets. That he only played for his country seven times. He was pigheaded about the SFA's decision to suspend him for 12 games when he was charged with the assault on John McStay (before the case even came to court). The ban was later reduced to five, but he never really committed himself to the national side in the wake of it. Another regret now. But enough of the lows, what of the highs? What, I wonder, has football given him over the years? 'Oh, it gave me incredible highs, fantastic moments, real euphoria.' Ferguson at Inverness Caley Thistle (Image: SNS Group) Given the chance, he says, he thinks he could be a good manager despite the fact that his two jobs in management - at Forest Green Rovers and most recently at Inverness Caley Thistle - did not go well. But he's not burning up with frustration. Life is good, he says. He's built a family after all. 'Yeah, absolutely, my three kids. And my missus is still there. I've got a good family life.' The distance from Duncan Ferguson then to Duncan Ferguson now is more than just time. But some things haven't changed. Have you still got your pigeons, Duncan? He perks up at the word, lifts his laptop and starts crossing to the window. On the back of the sofa I can't help but see a small air rifle. 'That's my gun, right. In case anybody comes in.' He's joking. It's to protect his birds, I'm guessing. Anyway, he's already framing the view of his back garden. 'There's my pigeon loft. See that green thing,' he says proudly of an impressive, imposing shed that sits outside. 'So, I've still got my pigeons. I still love my pigeons. I've got about six pairs at the moment, but a lot of young ones. They breed like mad. You've got to take the eggs out and put wee plastic eggs underneath them to stop them hatching to con them. They sit on wee plastic eggs.' He is glowing as he talks about them. And for a moment I think I see the ghost of the boy he once was. Big Dunc is published by Century
Daily Record
02-05-2025
- Sport
- Daily Record
Duncan Ferguson's "blood ran cold" as prison guards marched him to be banged up in Barlinnie
"Outside, I was Big Dunc. Striker. Everton and Scotland targetman. Inside, I was the target. And I was terrified." Duncan Ferguson has told how his 'blood ran cold' as he was taken handcuffed into the notorious Barlinnie jail. With a reputation as the hard man of football, the striker had been sentenced to three months for headbutting a rival player. Now 53, Ferguson reveals in his new book: 'That first night it was the longest night of my life.' I believe I'm a brave man, tough physically and mentally, but when I was led handcuffed into HMP Barlinnie on October 11, 1995, my blood ran cold. I was only 23 but my life was on hold, even at risk. I was entering Britain's most notorious prison with its huge stone walls, barbed wire wound around the top and forbidding metal doors that had all the charm of the brass plate on a coffin. Outside, I was Big Dunc. Striker. Everton and Scotland targetman. Inside, I was the target. And I was terrified. I'd just lost my appeal against a three-month sentence for what the courts claimed was an assault on another player, Raith Rovers' John McStay, at Ibrox Park on 16 April 1994. I hardly grazed the boy, I promise you. It happened while I'd been playing for Rangers in Glasgow and I just ended up feeling like some people in the Scottish judiciary didn't like the club. They were probably delighted to see me banged up in Barlinnie. As I entered the prison, I thought, 'What on earth is happening to me? What's happening to my life? How has it come to this?' Yes, I connected with the lad, but to face this hell because of that incident felt terribly unfair. I was marched through the small, dingy reception area and into the holding cubicles, known as doggy boxes. I sat for several hours on a bench inside, with food and cigarette butts on the floor, and graffiti on the walls, surrounded by men with 'Mars bars' – scars. Everywhere I looked I sensed menace. My stomach knotted as I completed the cold, clinical elements of being processed. Clothes off. An invasive inspection. A lingering sense of humiliation. Unsmiling guards gave me my number – 12718 – and handed me my gear, a red shirt with white stripes and blue denim trousers. Every part of the process dehumanised me further. Everyone in Barlinnie knew I was coming. It was all over the news I'd lost my appeal. I was the first British footballer imprisoned for something that had happened on the pitch. Three months. The 'brevity' of my sentence meant I couldn't be transferred to an open prison or an English jail. It deepened my anger at the verdict. But my new neighbours weren't bothered about the rights and wrongs of the decision. They just wanted to see this famous footballer. The one who'd broken the British transfer record with a £4million move to Rangers from Dundee United. The one who had played for Scotland. And the one who had helped Everton win the FA Cup within a year of coming to the club. What a fall from grace. Earlier in the day I'd handed my watch, rings and some cash to my dad as I left the courtroom in Edinburgh. God only knows what my mum and dad were feeling, with everything I was putting them through. All I had in my pocket was £5 to buy some phonecards – prison currency – as I was taken by guards from the doggy box towards my cell in D Hall. It was late afternoon, early evening. Processing had taken three hours. I was classed as a Category D prisoner, which meant I was considered unlikely to make an effort to escape. The only effort I made was not to betray the fear growing inside me as I stepped on to the metal spiral staircase connecting the ground floor to the four floors above it. I was still a kid in many ways. Hearing the keys clanking and the locks rattling shut was terrifying. I'd just lost my freedom. But I was determined not to lose my mind. I'm strong, I told myself. And I needed to be. The name Barlinnie carried a grim association, with condemned men imprisoned for crimes ranging from gangland violence to multiple murders, the Lockerbie bombing to paedophile depravity. The name alone was enough to send a chill down the spine. Mine, anyway. Barlinnie is home, they say, to Europe's busiest methadone clinic, with statistics suggesting up to 400 inmates are injected daily with the heroin substitute. The atmosphere was claustrophobic and oppressive, exacerbated by chronic overcrowding. Slopping out, an unspeakably degrading practice, not to mention a fundamental breach of human rights, was abolished only in 2004. Barlinnie's uncompromising reputation meant I was well aware I'd have to stand up for myself from the outset. Predators prey on the weak and there are plenty of both in there – with no means of escape until your time is up. I looked around my cell on that first day and quickly took in the window with metal bars, a bed, a rickety little table and a pot in the corner. (I honestly didn't know what the pot was for at first. I would find out the next morning. No en-suite here.) On that first evening, lights out came at 10pm prompt, but then the night sounds began. It wasn't long before a thick, sinister Glaswegian voice cut the atmosphere like a knife. I'm Protestant, at a Protestant club, Rangers. Being in a prison in Glasgow, with half the joint supporting Catholic club Celtic, meant sectarianism flowed through Barlinnie like sewage from a broken pipe. 'Ya dirty Orange b*****d, Ferguson, I'm gonna f***in' kill ya!' Several more brave boys took up the cudgels. 'Ya'll get it in the mornin', ya big Orange ****!' 'We're gonna slash your f***in' face!' I sat at the end of my bed listening to all these threats, shaking. On it went. It was hard to deal with, it wasn't how I was brought up. Sectarian songs weren't the soundtrack of my life in my home town of Stirling, not like in Glasgow. In fairness, if I'd been a Celtic player the Rangers fans would have been just as tough on me. The dire warnings continued unchecked until a single heavy Glaswegian voice boomed out with all the authority of a man accustomed to being listened to. 'Shut up, the lot of ya. I want to get my head down and sleep. The next f***er who opens his mouth, he'll answer to me in the mornin'.' The whole nick went quiet. Bang, dead. I never found out who he was, and I would learn that those boys tend to protect their anonymity. But I would also discover that during my time in Barlinnie there were certain people looking after me. I never heard another word directed at me that night, not a peep. But, believe me, it was the longest night of my life as the images of a blade kept me awake. Welcome to hell.
Daily Mirror
02-05-2025
- Sport
- Daily Mirror
DUNCAN FERGUSON I feared being slashed inside Britain's most notorious prison - it was the longest night of my life
Everton hero Duncan Ferguson was sentenced to three months at the infamous Barlinnie prison in Glasgow - now he speaks for the first time on his terrifying time inside I believe I'm a brave man, tough physically and mentally, but when I was led handcuffed into HMP Barlinnie on October 11, 1995, my blood ran cold. I was only 23 but my life was on hold, even at risk. I was entering Britain's most notorious prison with its huge stone walls, barbed wire wound around the top and forbidding metal doors that had all the charm of the brass plate on a coffin. Outside, I was Big Dunc. Striker. Everton and Scotland targetman. Inside, I was the target. And I was terrified. I'd just lost my appeal against a three-month sentence for what the courts claimed was an assault on another player, Raith Rovers' John McStay, at Ibrox Park on 16 April 1994. I hardly grazed the boy, I promise you. It happened while I'd been playing for Rangers in Glasgow and I just ended up feeling like some people in the Scottish judiciary didn't like the club. They were probably delighted to see me banged up in Barlinnie. As I entered the prison, I thought, 'What on earth is happening to me? What's happening to my life? How has it come to this?' Yes, I connected with the lad, but to face this hell because of that incident felt terribly unfair. I was marched through the small, dingy reception area and into the holding cubicles, known as doggy boxes. I sat for several hours on a bench inside, with food and cigarette butts on the floor, and graffiti on the walls, surrounded by men with 'Mars bars' – scars. Everywhere I looked I sensed menace. My stomach knotted as I completed the cold, clinical elements of being processed. Clothes off. An invasive inspection. A lingering sense of humiliation. Unsmiling guards gave me my number – 12718 – and handed me my gear, a red shirt with white stripes and blue denim trousers. Every part of the process dehumanised me further. Everyone in Barlinnie knew I was coming. It was all over the news I'd lost my appeal. I was the first British footballer imprisoned for something that had happened on the pitch. Three months. The 'brevity' of my sentence meant I couldn't be transferred to an open prison or an English jail. It deepened my anger at the verdict. But my new neighbours weren't bothered about the rights and wrongs of the decision. They just wanted to see this famous footballer. The one who'd broken the British transfer record with a £4million move to Rangers from Dundee United. The one who had played for Scotland. And the one who had helped Everton win the FA Cup within a year of coming to the club. What a fall from grace. Earlier in the day I'd handed my watch, rings and some cash to my dad as I left the courtroom in Edinburgh. God only knows what my mum and dad were feeling, with everything I was putting them through. All I had in my pocket was £5 to buy some phonecards – prison currency – as I was taken by guards from the doggy box towards my cell in D Hall. It was late afternoon, early evening. Processing had taken three hours. I was classed as a Category D prisoner, which meant I was considered unlikely to make an effort to escape. The only effort I made was not to betray the fear growing inside me as I stepped on to the metal spiral staircase connecting the ground floor to the four floors above it. I was still a kid in many ways. Hearing the keys clanking and the locks rattling shut was terrifying. I'd just lost my freedom. But I was determined not to lose my mind. I'm strong, I told myself. And I needed to be. The name Barlinnie carried a grim association, with condemned men imprisoned for crimes ranging from gangland violence to multiple murders, the Lockerbie bombing to paedophile depravity. The name alone was enough to send a chill down the spine. Mine, anyway. Barlinnie is home, they say, to Europe's busiest methadone clinic, with statistics suggesting up to 400 inmates are injected daily with the heroin substitute. The atmosphere was claustrophobic and oppressive, exacerbated by chronic overcrowding. Slopping out, an unspeakably degrading practice, not to mention a fundamental breach of human rights, was abolished only in 2004. Barlinnie's uncompromising reputation meant I was well aware I'd have to stand up for myself from the outset. Predators prey on the weak and there are plenty of both in there – with no means of escape until your time is up.I looked around my cell on that first day and quickly took in the window with metal bars, a bed, a rickety little table and a pot in the corner. (I honestly didn't know what the pot was for at first. I would find out the next morning. No en-suite here.) On that first evening, lights out came at 10pm prompt, but then the night sounds began. It wasn't long before a thick, sinister Glaswegian voice cut the atmosphere like a knife. I'm Protestant, at a Protestant club, Rangers. Being in a prison in Glasgow, with half the joint supporting Catholic club Celtic, meant sectarianism flowed through Barlinnie like sewage from a broken pipe. 'Ya dirty Orange b*****d, Ferguson, I'm gonna f***in' kill ya!' Several more brave boys took up the cudgels. 'Ya'll get it in the mornin', ya big Orange ****!' 'We're gonna slash your f***in' face!' I sat at the end of my bed listening to all these threats, shaking. On it went. It was hard to deal with, it wasn't how I was brought up. Sectarian songs weren't the soundtrack of my life in my home town of Stirling, not like in Glasgow. In fairness, if I'd been a Celtic player the Rangers fans would have been just as tough on me. The dire warnings continued unchecked until a single heavy Glaswegian voice boomed out with all the authority of a man accustomed to being listened to. 'Shut up, the lot of ya. I want to get my head down and sleep. The next f***er who opens his mouth, he'll answer to me in the mornin'.' The whole nick went quiet. Bang, dead. I never found out who he was, and I would learn that those boys tend to protect their anonymity. But I would also discover that during my time in Barlinnie there were certain people looking after me. I never heard another word directed at me that night, not a peep. But, believe me, it was the longest night of my life as the images of a blade kept me awake. Welcome to hell. Big Dunc: The Upfront Autobiography by Duncan Ferguson, with Henry Winter, is published on 8th May by Century Join our new WhatsApp community and receive your daily dose of Mirror Football content. 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Scottish Sun
02-05-2025
- Sport
- Scottish Sun
‘The place fell deadly silent' – ex-Rangers star Duncan Ferguson opens up on ‘terrifying' first day in Barlinnie jail
FORMER Rangers star Duncan Ferguson has vividly recalled how it felt to enter Barlinnie for the first time. The former Ibrox hero spent a total of 44 days in the tough Glasgow prison after headbutting Raith Rovers defender John McStay during a game while he was on probation. 3 A general view of HMP Barlinnie in Glasgow Credit: PA 3 Duncan Ferguson during his time Credit: Ken MacPherson - Commissioned by The Sun Glasgow The big striker went on to grace Everton and Newcastle with distinction, even if the fallout from the affair stopped him going on to become a Scotland hero. And now Ferguson, last seen in the Scottish game as manager of Inverness Caledonian Thistle, has lifted the lid on the affair in his new autobiography, Big Dunc. He told the Daily Mirror: "I was a young man, I was fearless, I didn't care. "I had this approach that I had to get in there and get it done but it was obviously terrifying. "They knew I was coming. I was in D Hall and when I walked in there for the first time, the place fell deadly silent. "People were all on the landings. It was like a coliseum, all eyes were on me. It was not an easy experience." Ferguson, who insists he's "not the big hard case everyone makes me out to be", also lifted the lid on the struggles with alcohol which dogged him before he made the decision to give up drinking some 15 years ago. He said: "When I retired from playing and I was still drinking, I got myself in a wee bit of trouble. "I had stopped playing football but the violence was still there off the field. I knew then that I had to stop. "I moved to Majorca and it was easy to drink every day. And, before you know it, you ARE drinking every day. Duncan Ferguson advertises vegan croissants and fans are absolutely baffled "But one day, I woke up and knew I had to stop - and did. I have not touched a drop since." Ferguson admits he looks back and winces at some of the 'hard man' stuff - including shunning David Beckham when he offered to shake his hand following a match. Ferguson said: "I think Manchester United had just won the league at Everton - or just a crucial game there - and David Beckham shouted over to me. "He said 'Hey Dunc', and was wanting to shake my hand, putting his hand out. 3 Rangers striker Duncan Ferguson headbutts John McStay Credit: SNS "I turned round and said, 'F*** off'. I then turned my back as if to say, 'Why would I want to shake your hand?' "It was just daft. It was David Beckham, a legend of the Premier League, a world-class footballer, won everything, incredible player - and there was me blanking him. "As the years go on, you just think, 'What a tw*t I was'! I should have been ripping the shirt off his back and keeping it as a memory for my kids." Keep up to date with ALL the latest news and transfers at the Scottish Sun football page
