United he stands - Eddie Thompson interview

SO MUCH for mellowing with old age, so much for gaining perspective when the end draws near. Eddie Thompson doesn't have long left, cancer riddles every bone in his body.

Breathing, he says, is no longer easy and there is a growth in his brain. He refers to that, matter of factly, as "the killer". But, while his life may not span years into the future, what time he does have left will be lived his way, absorbed by the club that's an obsession but also a very conscious diversion tool.

The interview had been set up for two weeks earlier with one proviso: Dundee United must beat St Mirren in the Scottish Cup. "If we lose, I won't do the interview. I'm sorry," said the Tannadice chairman. "But I won't speak to anyone. That's how badly I take it. You might think that's silly but that's me and you won't change me now." United did lose and Eddie Thompson was true to his word. There was no changing his mind. The interview was postponed.

"The family think about (the illness] far more than me. It doesn't get to me because football is my distraction. Look at the number of column inches written about me saying 'isn't Ed great because he is thinking about the football' but it actually works in reverse, without the football I would be lost. Imagine me sitting at home and the boys in here running things." So immersed in the day-to-day affairs at the club, with so much invested emotionally and financially, even in the confines of the imagination it seems impossible. "No, I couldn't cope with that. Already today we have had a number of fairly major decisions that I have been part of but I know that my family do worry. My wife worries greatly and I'm bad to her, I know I am, because I will be away all bloody day today and she will be sitting worrying about what I'm doing. I've got very important tests tomorrow and the family will be more worried than myself. My daughter worries about me like mad, my son Stephen has been in telling me to take the special pills I need to take before tomorrow so I know that the family do more worrying.

"I'm meant to be home by 2pm. That's the deal, I work from 9am to 2pm these days but I never adhere to that. It will be more like 4pm but if I don't have something to do I just get bored out my mind."

His kith and kin may be fretting now but he says he has done all he can to minimise the stress once he's gone. In a recent flurry of changes at board level and in the administrative side, his wife Cath and daughter Justine were added to the board, with the former assuming joint ownership of her husband's 90% stake in the club and power of attorney. Manager Craig Levein, in his new role of director of football, also joined the board and additional accountants were brought in. The decisions took months and several family meetings to finalise but with his daughter reluctant to take a more active role at the moment, son Stephen was named chief executive. The sale of Barry Robson to Celtic, combined with the money earned from reaching the CIS Cup final and a top six finish will see them turn a projected £1m loss for the year into a £1m profit, and a "seven-figure sum" has been signed over to Cath, ring-fenced and guaranteed to the bank, to safeguard the club should anything go awry in the future.

"I had to make decisions because of my health," he says. "Although I'm doing okay at the moment. I have cancer in every single bone in my body but they give me good stuff and I work away on that. Unfortunately it then moved into my head which was very unfortunate and unexpected because there was only a 5% chance of that happening." That was in December and while a leading neurosurgeon had hoped to remove some of the growth to buy more time, it is believed the radiation therapy he was receiving had thinned his blood. "It was terribly weak and if they had done the operation then, it would have killed me. I haven't had that for four or five weeks now and they gave me a few transfusions and the blood count was moving up. Up to a few weeks ago my hands were all covered in bruises and marks, they are now back to normal and that's a sign that the blood is thickening." On Friday he had an MRI scan to see if the brain growth had moved or grown. If not then the operation may now go ahead. After the CIS Cup final.

"Craig kept saying before the semi-final, 'we are going to do it for you chairman' and I said 'don't lay that on me' but we eventually won through and I turned round to him and told him it is only another game! You know, he laughed for about a fortnight because he knows I take it so seriously."

His mind is always ticking over. The medication wreaks havoc with his sleeping pattern and often all he manages is a couple of hours before waking at 2am, with only the newspapers for company. So he sits and studies form, he works out all the permutations with regards league standings, tries to assess how many points are still needed to secure a top six finish and who would need to beat who in the Scottish Cup to give them, or whoever finishes fourth, the opportunity to qualify for Europe.

In the directors' box there is little sense of propriety, he still screams and curses as though he was on the old concrete terracing in the George Fox Stand. He points out the spot he used to occupy, the place where, initially Justine and then Stephen first joined him on match days. His son would come armed with two small boxes, one was full of toy cars, the other, sweets to keep him occupied while dad watched the game.

The fan's instincts have not been diluted since he assumed control. He is almost embarrassed to admit just how much he still vilifies players. "You should hear some of the things I call them, it's terrible. I do respect the players but sometimes during a match you wouldn't know it but nobody can shut me up. My friend Tony, who takes me everywhere, sometimes tries to make a joke to lighten the mood or calm me down but I turn round and snap 'what the hell are you on about? You think this is a joke?'. Craig Levein sits behind me and I'm sure he wonders who this madman is in front of him." Later, a player walks past as the photos are being taken and Thompson whispers that he had been the unfortunate focus of his wrath in the previous game. "It's terrible because he is such a good boy but I can't help it. I was calling him all sorts. I also give them credit where it's due, though. After getting to the final the other week I went into the dressing room, which I don't normally do, and, of course, they had all been in the showers and were soaking wet. By the time I got out of there, after hugging them all, I was soaked through but I didn't care."

He knows that people saw him that night, bearing the effects of the journey south and the climb up the Tynecastle steps and speculation mounted that he may not make the cup final. "I don't know exactly how long I've got. I know some people have talked about whether I will be here for that game or not but I think I should be all right for it now. I know that tomorrow I could wake up and be struck down with something but at the moment I am still the chairman and still responsible for the running of this club."

In the past, when he was fighting a war of words with the previous regime, he was the focus of others' venom. He recalls one day at Ibrox, when he was turned on by his fellow away supporters. Shoved down the stairs, as he steadied himself, he debated involving the police. In the end he didn't. But it got to him.

Now the United supporters get to him in a different way. Feelings have changed. The man who has steadied their club and reflected their passion in his boardroom dealings, he is now the benefactor of their match day adulation. "I do get very emotional when they chant my name. I'm funny, I'm very resilient but the only other thing that gets me emotional in life now is the hugs from the family because you are weaker and more vulnerable when you have this illness."

Weaker emotionally but business-wise he is as strong as ever. His mission is to secure the future of the club long after his death, while also protecting the finances of his family.

"The good thing is that we have never been in a healthier financial position than we are now." The we he is referring to is United rather than the Thompson family. He calculates that his love of the club has cost him around £5.5m, and that's only since taking over. Before that there was thousands expended attending virtually every match, home and away, since he moved to Dundee from Glasgow in 1964 and became bewitched by the club. "It's the first time we have been in profit for 12 years and the good thing is the Thompson family should not have to put any more money in. We have been averaging £500,000 every year so, if I'm not here, it's fantastic that my wife and my son shouldn't have to worry about having to put anything in."

A few years ago he would have been "worried as hell" to be staring death in the face, fearful that the foundations weren't there and sceptical about the level of his family's commitment. Now everything is in place, and, he believes, the right people are in situ. Stephen and Levein are gradually taking some of the burden off him, although they still run decisions by him – "as they should" – but everything is looking good.

"I could easily feel robbed now. All the hard work has been done and the team are on the right path, I could feel robbed of the good times that are hopefully going to come. Maybe 20% of me does feel like that but the other 80% knows I have presented the club to my family to care for. I'm saying 'here's Dundee United, you would have to be bloody awful to lose something here because you are okay for money, the organisation is strong and the right people are in there, I couldn't do any more to leave it in a secure position'. If we hadn't worked so hard on the organisation then I would be worried as hell. I would be saying 'Jesus Christ how is Cath going to manage, how is Stephen going to manage and will they put that money in or will they think it's too big a risk?' Let there be no doubt that there have been family discussions over the years about how much I was committing financially and emotionally and don't think for a second there have not been times I went home and said to Cath that I have put in another quarter or a million that she has not turned to me and said you must be mad. But now everything is settled and I can't see how they could possibly go wrong. I would have been really worried if this was two years ago. Not now."

For all his efforts there has been "almost zero pleasure". "The pleasure came before I was involved," he says, "when we were winning cups and leagues and playing in Europe." Which is why he is determined to enjoy Hampden in a fortnight's time. He doesn't believe in omens or fate but does think his team can upset the odds and he can see another United cup triumph before he dies. Not for him the pomp and ceremony, he wants to enjoy it as a fan. He will attend the pre-match lunch but says he will give himself a time when he will leave the orchestral music and polite chit-chat behind and emerge into the arena to absorb the atmosphere. No one will grudge him his rebellion.

The greatest irony of all the recent toil, passion and fortitude is that by working so hard to ensure he won't be missed when he is gone, he will actually be missed more than he could ever know.