I have written so often of Alan Morton, that the world had never seen his equal and never shall, that I find myself in danger of repeating myself whenever he comes into the subject. No superlative, however, ever overstated his worth to the game. He was to all English defenders what Sir Stanley Matthews was to us - an unstoppable, jewel-encrusted winger with a fantastic sense of balance and the brain of a football professor. Unchallenged as Scotland's outside left so long as he was fit, his imposing honours list would have been greater had he been able to accept them all.
His list -
Caps: England 11, Wales 10, Ireland 9, France 1.
League honours: English League 11, Irish League 2.
Medals -
League championships 9, Scottish Cup 3, Glasgow Cup 7, Charity Cup 8.
The club paid their gracious tribute to Alan Morton by electing him to the Board of Directors in season 1932/33. he began the season as a player, but after 6 league games and a Glasgow Cup tie, he pulled the honoured jersey over his head for the last time. Co-opted to the Board, his election was confirmed with sweeping satisfaction throughout the football world, as fitting recognition of this soccer immortal. "The Little Blue Devil", as Ivan Sharpe, the noted English writer dubbed him after he had bamboozled and jinked his way around the stricken English defenders in an International, brought freshness and infinite wisdom to the Board. His ability to read a game off the field as clearly as on it, enabled flaws to be detected and repaired, while in one glance, he could analyse a new player with his X-ray eyes and predict how he would comport himself in the future. he rarely made a mistake.
I say there will never be another Alan Morton. Master players will come and go. So too will men of greater physical structure, but none with the artifice, the poise, the amazing dexterity, assurance begotten of innate skill, lightning reflexes, and perhaps the greatest of his virtues, split-second timing.
He played 495 matches, all for the first eleven, and scored 115 goals.
No defence could quiten him. He set his own standards, just as Pele, the Brazilain wonderboy, or Di Stefano, or Puskas, of Real Madrid, did at their peak. He was world class even before he reached full maturity. He has said: "As a boy, I practiced for hours at a stretch with a ball, until I felt I was master of it. I loved every minute." And he certainly showed it in his supreme composure as he prodded for a back's weakness, and played on to it until his rival was left utterly bewildered at the ghost he could not lay. The England selectors, on one occasion, tried to solve the puzzle by fielding a player almosy his own size of 5ft 4inches. The luckless Englishman was driven to distraction as Alan sped past him as though he didn't exist - and the chuckling Scots on the Hampden terracing whooped their delight.