DO I remember it? I’ll never forget it. If ever a defender was destroyed by an attacker it was the time Scotland played Northern Ireland at Windsor Park, Belfast, in the British Home International championship of 1967.

The unfortunate defender was me, the attacker was George Best and the details are still seared on my mind after all those years. It was a muddy pitch but it would not have mattered what the state of the surface had been, the outcome would still have been the same, because the Belfast-born George Best — starring for one afternoon only in his native city — was simply tremendous.

I started the game at right-back and Bestie began on the left wing. He tore me apart. Inside, outside, I couldn’t even catch him to kick him.

That’s when he was flying and he was absolutely unstoppable. We went in at half-time and the manager Bobby Brown almost wailed: “Tommy, what are we going to do about George Best?” I thought to myself that he was the manager and that was his job. However, I said we should close up the middle of the park and try to stop the supply to George, I would go tight on him to discourage his green-shirted mates from putting the ball to his feet, and if they stuck the ball inside me, one of our central defenders would have to advance to cut it out.

I fondly imagined it would work, and everybody seemed happy with it. We went out

for the second half and I looked around for my opponent, only to see George was on the right wing.

I looked across to Eddie McCreadie, who as Scotland’s left-back would now have the job of marking George, and shouted: “All the best, Eddie.” He did exactly the same to Eddie as he had done to me. He simply destroyed us. The only guy who stood between Scotland and the mother of all defeats was our goalkeeper Ronnie Simpson, and I’m not just saying that because he was my Celtic teammate.

He made at least five magnificent saves, including a penalty stop from Johnny Crossan. He was beaten only once by Dave Clements, who scored the game’s solitary goal — from a cross by you-know-who that gave Northern Ireland their deserved 1-0 victory.

George Best was the greatest player I ever faced as a direct opponent in a competitive match — and he could do it drunk or sober. I know from personal experience because it’s all in my CV.

He once took me to the cleaners in a friendly match against Manchester United in Toronto. It was a night game, and we had set ourselves up for it with a nice little afternoon drinking session involving Bertie Auld, Billy McNeill, Willie Wallace and myself, and United were represented by Pat Crerand, Nobby Stiles and, of course, Bestie.

We went to an Irish restaurant and George, funnily enough, suggested we should have a drink. So we started with seven half-pints of lager, and then repeated the round. Bestie then declared he had had enough lager and we switched to Mateus Rose, the Portuguese wine being a favoured tipple of the late Sixties.

Suddenly we realised it was four o’clock and we were supposed to be in our bed resting for the game. It was time for some serious discussion, so we reached an agreement with the United lads that we would just knock the ball about in the game, there would be nothing strenuous such as tackling. They said they would pass the word on to their teammates, and we would do the same with regard to the other Celtic lads.

I was in direct opposition again to Best, this time in our usual positions, myself at left-back, he on the right wing. He got the ball in the opening minutes and went past three of us, including myself, as if we weren’t on the park.

As he trotted back, I shouted to him: “Hey, you, what about our agreement?” He just grinned and answered: “I’ve never felt so f****** good in my life.” United won, and he tortured us. You would have thought he had never taken a drink in his life.

I encountered him again after my playing days when I was manager of Dundee, and he had that brief spell with Hibs when he had implants put in his stomach to try to stop him drinking.

I had got to know him pretty well by then — we had also played as teammates in various testimonial games — and I invited him into my office.

Stupidly I forget about the treatment he was undergoing to stop him drinking and I offered him a drink. Realising what I had done, I apologised, but it didn’t upset George, he just asked for a vodka and tonic.

At his peak George was a better all-round player than Jimmy Johnstone, but for individual skill Jinky was streets ahead. Bestie was like the great Alfredo Di Stefano, similar in the way he could see things happening, but for pure ability there was no one like wee Jimmy, at his greatest he was unstoppable. I’m glad I only had to face him in training games. However, I count myself fortunate to have seen both in action when they were at the top. They were both incredible.

I’ve long since washed away that Windsor Park mud from 1967, but I’ll never lose the memory of having a close-up of George Best — even if I did come off very much second best.

Tommy Gemmell was capped 18 times by Scotland. Interview adapted from Tommy Gemmell, Lion Heart, published by Virgin Books, £9.99

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