Charnley was very much the hero of the most notorious story to involve him. As one of Partick’s assorted rogues and rapscallions, presided over by enduringly oddball manager John Lambie (a man who once hurled a dead pigeon at a player, and dropped a medicine ball on Charnley’s head), Chic and teammates were training in Ruchill Park – not-so affectionately known as ‘dogshit park’. The club’s lack of a training ground meant they had to train on whatever loosely-termed greenery they could find, leaving the players open to the occasional interaction with their adoring public. On this particular morning in 1990, they met with a torrent of abuse from some local ne’er do wells. Charnley invited them to take their leave and to come back in an hour if they wanted to continue the ‘conversation’; the duo took him at his word, and returned a short while later with a carving knife, an Alsatian and a samurai sword. At this point, most of the squad wisely took a powder. “I’ll argue with a player all night,” said Lambie, “but I’m not arguing with some fucking nutter with a sword”. Charnley and a couple of teammates however, remained to face down the would-be ronin. When the dog blinked first and scarpered, causing a distraction, Charnley’s mates acted quickly to take down the man with the knife. That left Charnley with the swordsman, and he bravely charged towards him, inexplicably taking a stray traffic cone as a makeshift weapon, only to see a flash of the blade and blood pouring from his hand. That his assailant dropped the weapon in the process allowed Charnley to deliver unto him an absolute pasting and drive him off, but he still bears the scar to this day. Just another day at Partick Thistle.