A PERSONAL TRIBUTE by David Stirling, Evening Times Sports Editor

THE first time I told Big Al I envied him, I got exactly the response you'd expect from any old friend suspecting a wind-up: "Gies peace." This was not a compliment I could have envisaged on our first sight of the new boy on the Evening Times sports desk back in May, 1970.

Big Al was a lanky 19-year-old, sporting a mass of black curls, suitably long with deep sideburns in our preferred cavalier style of the day, and he came across as reticent, almost aloof, behind his large tinted specs.

We - Jim Blair and me, ET veterans of 12 months - may have envied only the clobber.

He was dressed in the best - Big Al always dressed in the best - and I remember he had a good handshake, firm and confident.

This West End boy had arrived for a baptism of fire, succeeding the great George Manson reporting on Junior football. Fortunately for him, the seeming aloofness turned out to be a young man's front, a guard against the world, but it was a look he was to master and which kept at bay only those who never really bothered to get to know him.

At 19, the quality of his writing was already exceptional, although he resisted our urgings to improve on any of George's little gems: "Willie works in a Kirkcaldy lino factory and has a flair for scoring goals."

It wasn't long before he stepped up to cover senior football, the stringer behind Big Malky (Munro) and Sundance (Blair). That also was no picnic for a young guy eager to make his mark. In those days we made daily 9am phone calls to Celtic Park and Ibrox Stadium, where lurked Messrs Stein and Waddell, who enjoyed senior sportswriters for breakfast.

Around 1980, when Big Malky had departed for the great press box in the sky and Blair followed me on a Bosman to the Daily Record, Big Al became Chief Sportswriter.

He really dreamed of covering the cricket By his great pal Ron Scott, Chief Football Writer, The Sunday Post. I KNEW Alan for 35 years and during that time we travelled the world together covering Scottish football. Alan was an old-school journalist. He wouldn't use a laptop computer to file his stories. After midweek European games we flew straight home. You would always see Alan on his mobile phone filing his story straight to a copy taker. He would be talking on the phone at passport control, going through security, and even sitting on the runway waiting for the plane to take off. He often filed his stories off the top of his head. He was one of the great old-fashioned ad-libbers. He did his very best stuff under pressure. It flowed like poetry. He had such an extensive vocabulary he could always find the right words to fit the occasion. Alan was a man of very few words. In many ways, he was a deceptive person. People would be surprised if they knew what a wide range of other interests he had outside of football. His political leanings were very much left of centre. He was an extremely well-read person and loved American literature. Alan loved covering boxing as well as football. But, and this may take many people aback, the sport he loved watching most on television was cricket. He could tell you most things about Test cricket. I think he would have loved to have been a cricket correspondent. After the Second World War, English cricket correspondents used to travel to cover the Ashes in Australia by boat. This, of course, was in the days before mobile phones. Alan once joked that would have been his dream job. He explained: "The desk wouldn't be able to get in touch with you for six weeks!" I think he had the respect of both sides of the Old Firm. Readers of the Evening Times were always unsure which team he supported. That is testimony to his integrity and quality as a journalist.

Almost 30 years later, you could say he has established excellent grounds for envy.

He became one of the most authoritative and respected journalists of his generation, with a CV that includes four World Cup Finals, three European Championship Finals, numerous European club finals, world title fights, and every Scotland international and domestic high point in between.

All sport, of course, as one would expect of the Chief Sportswriter on the Evening Times.

However, it could as easily have been a General Election, or a coup d'etat, or the hunt for Bible John. Alan Davidson could have written with authority and clarity on any subject; he was your archetypal journalist.

I was privileged to know and work with Alan, reunited again for the last 13 years back here where we began. It was a friendship ended with cruel suddenness yesterday by his death.

He had just turned 57, and died exactly five years to the month since our dear pal Jim Blair also so tragically passed away.

Alan was Scottish Football Writer of the Year five times, on those random years when you could twist his arm to sign the entry forms.

Privately, I know he was pleased with the recognition, but he shunned the limelight that was a necessary part of any awards ceremony.

When Evening Times columnist Tam Cowan was named Bank of Scotland Sports Columnist of the Year, many of the mainstream sportswriting fraternity took it as a slap in the face. Big Al was the only sportswriter to phone Tam and offer his congratulations.

In truth, he was naturally quiet, a thinker, but he was great company, interesting, funny, incredibly well-read, and could talk in-depth on politics (a sociable socialist), the exchange rate mechanism, or the price of a pint; you name it.

When you got him really relaxed you could even tease out a Willie Nelson song.

He was a lover of jazz; if he was doing his listening in New York, as evoked by one of his favourite Lawrence Block thrillers, he was in his idea of heaven.

He was partial to Guinness, and Tanqueray gin, a duty free litre of which once memorably fell from an overhead locker on some football flight or other, and landed atop the head of Jim Traynor (which may excuse some of James' subsequent radio ravings!).

West End born and bred, he was a well-kent face on Byres Road, going in and out of the underground - he never learned to drive; he didn't see the need - having a pint in Tennent's, a fish tea in McPhees or a pint in The Chip.

In Glasgow terms, Alan was a man's man - not strictly PC these days but, believe me, he could charm the ladies. A seven-year marriage ended amicably.

Also, for such a high-profile figure in a very public industry, Big Al was a very private man.

That was another reason - on top of his gift for writing - he earned such universal respect; he valued other peoples' privacy, too.

Perhaps that's why he must be one of the few journalists who can count among his friends the likes of William McIlvanney, Billy Connolly, Peter McDougall, Jimmy Reid, Tommy Sheridan, Walter Smith, Billy McNeill, Sir Alex Ferguson and countless other Old Firm and Scottish sporting legends.

To our old friend Alex Cameron he was Torrance (Alan's middle name) but universally he was known as The Pod.

I can't remember who christened him The Prince of Darkness, it was probably Sundance. But with his dark colouring, hands deep in the pockets of his ankle-length leather coat, that distinctive, measured stride, and the aloof stare behind those tinted specs, well, it was spot on.

I'll miss our daily chats, the reminiscing, discussing the affairs (sic) of the day, putting our heads together to find a topic for his next day's column. And that parting shot, as he disappeared for a fag, "to get my head round it".

And he delivered every day, with an impressive command of language which included enough German once to provide invaluable assistance with a certain blonde fraulein on our last holiday together as single men. There were seven of us in Torremolinos well, you can imagine the rest.

So, why did I tell Big Al I envied him? Well, it wasn't for his writing class or his clobber, quality though they were, Big Man.

No, it was for his sense of self, his contentment, his 37 years of fulfilment. He lived for his writing.

I did envy one trick, though, which he performed often and most memorably after the death of Jim Baxter in 2001.

We were in the middle of edition when we got the news, and I phoned Big Al.

"Baxter is dead."

"What do you need?"

"1200 words on death of a legend for news, 1200 on the flawed genius for sport."

"Put me onto copy."

I transferred the call to a copytaker and Big Al ad-libbed 2400 words - and it was 2400 - there and then. One of the pieces won Scottish Sportswriter of the Year.

Alan's only sibling, his older sister Margaret, died last year, and he was very close to his nephew Ewan and niece Rhona. To Marie, his partner and soulmate for the last 15 years, we're thinking of you.

A man to be trusted - on or off the record

THIS game is about opinions, but Alan's was one which mattered more than most because he really knew the game. His knowledge made him stand out among sports journalists, and I know he carried the respect of the top people in football.

Jock Stein could be counted among them, and I was happy to have been able to talk on and off the record with Alan about many aspects of the game, both when I was a player and then when I became a manager.

Even when I retired, I would look to see what Alan had written, as you could always be sure it would be a well-crafted and thought-out piece which displayed all of his qualities and talents.

For many, many years I considered him to be not just an acquaintance, but a real friend.

I had heard that he was ill just before travelling out to Moscow this week but, like everyone else, had hoped he could have made a full recovery. I am very sad to learn that this did not turn out to the case.

Alan's passing will leave a huge void in Scottish sports journalism. Billy McNeill

THE manager knew Alan had passed away before last night's game with Red Star Belgrade, but he didn't tell me until afterwards. I could understand why. It was a real shock.

The news totally took the shine off the evening. I am genuinely gutted. It is a real shame. He will be sadly missed by a lot of people.

I have known Alan for 30 years, since I was 16. I first met him when Walter Smith was the manager of the Scottish Youths team I was in.

Since then, he has travelled all over the world with me. He loved his music and we had some storming nights out over the years. He was great company.

Not only was Alan a seriously good writer, but he was a pal as well. He was certainly always fantastic to me. He was a very, very clever man. But he had a really wicked sense of humour, too.

But our friendship didn't mean he spared me from criticism, don't you worry about it! When I was missing chances for Rangers and Scotland I was in trouble. Alan wouldn't gloss over anything. He was an honest writer who wrote what he believed. But it was always constructive and fair. Ally McCoist

I KNEW Alan almost from the first day I became a professional footballer, and he never changed in all of those years.

He was a man who appreciated good football, and good footballers. And that appreciation was reciprocated because he really did know the game. That knowledge always came through in his writing. I considered him to be a proper football man and journalist.

Alan was a founder of the old school. He represented the very fabric of what the job was supposed to be about, and talking to him about the game came very easily.

We spent many good nights discussing football over a beer or two on trips, both when I was a player and later when I moved into the media.

One in particular sticks in my mind. It was in Ronnie Scott's club down in London, jazz being Alan's other real passion.

His great friend, Ken Gallacher, was with us, and it is really hard to take it in that both these fine journalists are no longer with us. Charlie Nicholas

ALAN was a really nice lad and a really good journalist. He was the same age as me, as I was just starting out in football he was just starting out in journalism and we've been friends ever since.

Particularly in the early days, we used to have nights out. You could do that back then. He was quiet, but he had a good rapport because he went about his business in the right way.

He was someone the players trusted. You could tell him something in confidence and you could trust him with it.

To be honest, it's a shock that he has passed away and on behalf of everyone at Rangers I'd like to just say he'll be a sad miss and our thoughts are with his family at this time. Sandy Jardine

I FIRST met Alan 25 years ago when I joined The Herald. Alan was an acquired taste, but when you got to know him you could have nothing but respect for him. He was a great operator. He could pick up the phone and get to people others couldn't. That is what newspapers are all about.

He brought gravitas to the Evening Times through his columns. He was an old-fashioned, old school journalist, but he wrote with real intelligence. He was a bright, bright man. He definitely had a following. Jim Traynor

WHEN I retired from the Evening Times around 10 years ago, Alan wrote a wonderful tribute which would have earned me instant entry into heaven.

In it he quoted Jock Stein as saying: There are no instant friendships, no immediate respect. They have to be earned'.

Alan Davidson had my utmost respect and friendship both of which were merited tenfold after a period of some three decades and more as colleagues and pals.

He made an outstanding contribution to sports journalism; a wonderfully incisive writer with a colourful turn of phrase and a deep understanding of what sport meant from ground floor level to the upper echelons of the business His word was respected by people at the very top. His column was the first thing I sought out on getting the paper after retirement.

Over the years he touched on many subjects in sport, but always with the same professional approach and understanding. His loss will be sorely felt. John Quinn

Tributes compiled by Pod's colleagues, Matthew Lindsay, Darrell King, Ronnie Cully and Thomas Jordan