Ride For Life: Legendary Scottish soccer star undaunted by ALS

Around 16 months ago, says Jimmy Johnstone, he knew something was wrong. He felt a little tired, a little strange, but, more pointedly for him, he had to give up doing press-ups in his thrice-weekly training sessions at his local park because his arms felt weak. A year ago this week, at 57 years old, Johnstone was embarking on the biggest challenge of his life.

One of the bravest things I ever saw was Jimmy speaking to me yesterday about his Motor Neurone Disease (ALS). He has recently returned from New York City, a place these days of poignant peace, but housing a hospital on Manhattan Island which, for Johnstone, has become the scene of a personal battle. They placed Jimmy in a semi-foetal position while they inserted a needle through his vertebrae into the spinal canal to withdraw fluid. They took smears and drew blood. The New York surgeon said something to Jimmy about stem-cells research before they put him on a double-blind trial with 20 other sufferers, testing medicine from which some might gain and others, with or without Jimmy, might not. They scoured his eyes, his ears, his lungs, his skin, his toes, even his teeth. When you contract MND, even for someone as fit as Jimmy, your body is simply lying in wait.

To be more precise, Jimmy has amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, the most common form of MND, in which the peripheral nerves that link the brain to the muscles are gradually eroded until the body comes under siege. Jimmy, still with those piercing blue eyes, nonetheless is showing the signs. Amid his amazing confidence and almost moving spiritual strength, his arms are weak, his hands are clawed, and his body seems less erect.

"But don't feel sorry for me," he told me yesterday, and, in a perverse way, when you think of his genius, no-one ever did.

His crowning glory in a lifetime of coronations came in a Glasgow hotel in front of 1000 people last Sunday night. In one of those wheezes dreamed up by the Old Firm's PR machinery, Celtic supporters had urged the club to hold a once-and-for-all ceremony to determine the greatest ever personalities in more than 100 years of fitba' in Glasgow's east end.

When it came to the moment, the little man with the big heart couldn't help having tears in his eyes. Overwhelmingly, Jimmy was voted Celtic's Greatest Ever Player and the hall erupted as he went up to receive his award. In front of Agnes, his wife, and his three children, James, Marie and Eileen, Johnstone once more took centre stage before people who have adored him all their lives. A Celtic supporter said to me later: "I always knew Jinky was the greatest, but until last night, I never really knew how great . . . the wee man's magic."

Today, though, Jimmy's greatness is in the hands of a consultant neurologist. Motor Neurone Disease is such a rare, complex illness that a cure is still being explored, most forcibly in America. In Scotland, Jimmy is one of only 250 known sufferers of an illness that asks for fortitude among sufferers almost of inhuman proportions.

Having looked into this disease and its potentially wrecking assaults last week, I have found the heroic spirit of men like Chris Anderson, the Aberdeen director who died of MND 16 years ago, and now Jimmy, almost beyond words.

Somehow, Johnstone has always produced beautiful expression amid his fractured sentences. Without the benefit of a long education, because he was too busy providing thrills for the rest of us, his language is devoid of sophisticated words, yet his verbal instincts are no less poetic.

"I still feel blessed," he said yesterday. "I was blessed with my ability, blessed to have great friends, and blessed to be a part of one of the greatest football teams of all. The adulation I've had in my life has been fantastic; you couldn't put it into words. People still mention me. I've meant to have been out of the spotlight since I stopped playing 25 years ago, but really, I never have. Celtic's supporters are unbelievable to me, which is why, with this illness, I'm no' feelin' sorry."

Eight years ago, when Johnstone turned 50, having battled pitilessly with alcohol, he blurted out to me one of those Johnstone gems about survival, guilt and happiness. In his torrid years in his 30s and 40s, he confessed, his family life had suffered. "It is now an unbelievable feeling for me just to get through each day with a clear conscience," he told me.

Yesterday, in the face of this new illness, I asked Jimmy how he coped with older demons that still return to haunt him.

"I'm an alcoholic," he said. "I've had to take steps to watch myself. Before, when you're playing, when you've reached the heights I did, you feel fantastic. But after it's finished, it's almost impossible to adjust, 'cos everything just feels like nuthin'. In a funny way, that's why this new illness has almost given me a boost. With the treatment I'm getting, I can't go near alcohol. Going near it would be the stupidest thing ever."

He was up training at his local park, he says, doing the sprints, squats and press-ups as Jock Stein always ordered, when he felt over a period of months that something was wrong. That was early in 2001, a period when he finally decided to consult Roddy Macdonald, the Celtic club doctor. On examining Jimmy, Macdonald says he had private suspicions that something wasn't right, and in turn sent Jimmy to see Professor Ian Bone, a special-ist in neurology at Glasgow's Southern General Hospital.

Imagine the fright, then the fear, then the slow, uncomprehending dread at hearing the words Motor Neurone Disease. Jimmy's hands were going into spasms and, after a series of tests, Professor Bone informed Jimmy about the illness gathering inside him, and the first of frequent visits to the USA was immediately organised.

"I'm no' feeling negative at all, because something tells me I've been given this illness for a reason," says Jimmy. "I'm going to fight it. They're searching for a cure, and I believe in them. I have faith, and I believe the big man up there has given me this for a purpose, so I'm going to get on wi' it.

"It's a disease with next to no funding, by the way, and people need to know that. At the moment, it's restricted to both my arms, but I know it won't just go away. I need these doctors and surgeons and they've been brilliant. In New York they stuck something right up into my spine which was meant to hurt, but honestly, I never felt a thing.

"You've got to think positively, and that's what I'm doing. If you get something bad into your head, it'll only make it worse. I feel like I'm at the pioneering bit of this disease. It's supposed to be incurable, but they're getting there; it's happening." Jimmy will find out later this year if his trials in the USA are proving a success.

Yesterday, Bryan Carroll, a spokesman for the Scottish Motor Neurone Disease Association, said they were aware of Jimmy's illness, and that, because of Jimmy's wider celebrity, perhaps good may come out of his fight in terms of the public's understanding of the illness.

"You often hear ghastly stories about MND," says Carroll, "but people who have it, with the support of their families and friends, can still have a life and feel that there is hope. From what I've gathered, Jimmy's been absolutely incredible about it all."

At his peak with Celtic, Jimmy earned a (pounds) 50-a-week basic pay. If he remembers correctly, the Lisbon Lions each earned a one-off (pounds) 1500 for that glorious afternoon's work in 1967 in Portugal. "It wasn't like today's megabucks, but don't get me wrong, we all earned really well compared to ordinary people," he says.

Nothing was ever ordinary with Jimmy Johnstone, and now, even confronting the challenge of his life, he is continuing the tradition. Only two people per 100,000 of population suffer MND and Johnstone has been selected as one of them. As I left this little bird-like man yesterday, his frame seemed in disproportion to his contribution to our lives.

A distinguished compendium about Celtic and all the club's players refers to Johnstone simply as "an all-time Celtic great", an accolade we now know has been further refined. It also finishes the Johnstone entry with the words: "Thank God for videotape."

Those wishing further information on MND can contact the Scottish Motor Neurone Disease Association at 76 Firhill Road, Glasgow, G20 7BA. Telephone 0141 945 1077