Happy memories of Brian Clough’s sparring partner

I empathise and sympathise. One prolific shoplifter – a very familiar face at the magistrates’ court I covered – once tailed me relentlessly through a shopping centre chanting: “Mike Lockley, b******s reporter.”

At Tesco’s frozen foods aisle, I’d had enough, rounded on my stalker and pointed out: “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”

He mulled over the advice for a few seconds, then shouted: “Mike Lockley, b******s reporter.”

An audience with Newbon is a glorious journey through a yesteryear where footballers sported tight shorts and even tighter perms, managers wore sheepskin coats, boxers entered the ring to the stirring renditions of a military band, not rap.

And darts players swilled pints and chain-smoked on camera.

For years, Gary has been a friend and advisor, our conversations invariably descending into a belly-laugh recital of the broadcaster’s anecdotes. An accomplished mimic, he impersonates each legend – from Black Country boxing hero Pat Cowdell to maverick football manager Brian Clough – with polish.

This is not a sporting story, though it is built on sporting stars.

It is a glance at a very different time, a time before those in the media spotlight were trained to be bland by PR gurus. A time when stars had not learned to erase anything controversial or entertaining or passionate from their public proclamations.

A time when footballers were not afraid to be “as sick as a parrot” – and letting viewers know it.

The glint in 78-year-old Newbon’s eye shines brightest when discussing Clough, the eccentric genius who led Derby County and Nottingham Forest to glory.

The pair became “must watch” sparring partners. “Cloughie”, when grilled about a particularly lacklustre performance by Forest players, clutched his shocked interrogator, uttered “because they’re just like you and me, Gary – a bunch of pansies”, then planted a kiss on Newbon’s cheek before walking away.

Today, Clough’s antics would trample through so many “isms”, the politically correct brigade would bestow pariah status on the man.

Back then, it was simply glorious TV.

Newbon chuckled as he recalled a fiery meeting between Clough and Forest midfielder Martin O’Neill, who would go on to forge his own stellar managerial career.

O’Neill stormed into “the boss’s” office and demanded: “Tell me here, to my face, why I’m playing in the second team.”

Newbon, adopting the manager’s clipped tones, mimicked Cloughie’s reply: “Simple answer, Martin – we don’t have a third team.”

Today, football agents would make hay over that riposte. Today, the press would be fed leaked stories of their client feeling “unloved, unwanted”.

At Derby County’s Baseball Ground – famed for a pitted, sand-dusted pitch that resembled Blackpool beach with the tide still in, Cloughie made a call from his office to young apprentices polishing boots in the dressing room.

He wanted tea and biscuits.

“Do you know who this is speaking, young man?” he barked down the blower. One apprentice answered: “Yes, it’s the manager, Mr Clough.”

The teenage soccer hopeful then dared to ask: “Mr Clough, do you know who this is speaking?’”

“No.”

“Then **** off.”

The furious manager sprinted down the corridor only to find his apprentices had fled the scene.

Gary recalled a moment when the simmering animosity between Ron Atkinson, then Manchester United’s tanned, bling-draped manager, and Ron Saunders, dour boss of Aston Villa and Birmingham City, came to a public head.

As Big Ron held court for the press corps, Saunders couldn’t resist passing a comment while walking through the media melee.

“Giving them the usual bull, Ron?” he remarked.

“Actually, I am,” said Atkinson. “I was telling them what a good manager you are.”

After West Coast American heavyweight Jerry Quarry demolished our own lumbering Jack Bodell in a single round, he was asked: “Did you find him an awkward opponent?”

“He did fall kinda awkward,” drawled Quarry, deadpan.

The stories are fired at machine gun speed by Newbon.

His career has been a dance with true legends, such as Pele, Muhammad Ali and Billie Jean King, it has chronicled triumphs and tragedies.

He was there for Maradona’s infamous “hand of God” goal against England in the 1986 World Cup. He was at the 1972 Olympics when the Munich terrorist massacre unfolded.

Away from the big stage, he was an ever-present at Black Country boxing shows, particularly Wolverhampton Civic Hall.

It was there Gary forged an equally entertaining double act with Warley champion Pat Cowdell, highlighted in his recently published book Newbon, Bloody Hell. The title is a play on Alex Ferguson’s “football, bloody hell” line after Manchester United’s thrilling European Cup final win over Bayern Munich.

“I always loved interviewing Pat because he gave me plenty of name checks,” said Gary. Newbon recites Cowdell’s side of the interviews in a broad Black Country accent.

His book includes the boxer’s response to the medical profession’s bid to ban his sport:

“All I know, Gary, is I’m 9st 4lbs, Gary, I do not smoke or drink, I run nine miles a day, Gary, and I go to bed early.

“My doctor, Gary, is 18st, Gary, he drinks half a bottle of whisky a day, Gary, and smokes 20 cigarettes a day, Gary. And he tells me what I’m doing is dangerous.”

Newbon travelled to Houston, Texas, to cover Cowdell’s 1981 world featherweight title fight with Salvador Sanchez.

“Pat was relaxed and in a good mood as I interviewed him for ATV Today back home,” he wrote. “We sat on the edge of the ring as it was being constructed.

“I had bought an expensive big Texan hat and was wondering how I could justify it on my expenses. So, at the close of the interview, I put it on my head and asked Pat: ‘What do you think of this hat, Pat?’ He quipped: ‘Well, Gary, I’m just surprised they found one big enough’.”

Following Cowdell’s lopsided win for the European title, Newbon, with the cameras rolling, dared to suggest the local lad had enjoyed an easy night.

“It might have been easy for you, Gary,” miffed Cowdell replied. “I saw you at ringside smoking your big cigar. It was bloody hard in here, mate.”

Newbon has helped a host of sporting stars launch careers in broadcasting. One, Wolves legend Derek Dougan, failed to heed his advice fully and paid the price.

The Doog was originally considered for Newbon’s Star Soccer football highlights show, but rejected because, frankly, he had too much to say. And he took too long to say it.

“A great but verbose talker,” Newbon describes the terrace idol in his book. “I really liked Doog, but I had severe reservations about his on-screen discipline.

“As it turned out, Yorkshire TV appointed him as presenter. He rang me and I took him to my favourite restaurant to pick my brains.

“I said to him, ‘keep everything simple and short until you get used to this new world. Presenting is different from being interviewed. Also, you should get a moulded earpiece with a tube to take instructions from the control box. It needs to fit your ear so it doesn’t keep flopping out’.

“Derek took the latter advice, but his opening link was so long that he messed it up. I am not aware of what followed in further programmes, but suffice to say it did not work out in the long run. I was sorry, but my consolation was that I was right about Doog and Star Soccer.”

*Newbon, Bloody Hell, published by Biteback Publishing, is priced at £20.