THERE is a hint of Gary Bloke, the Private Eye cartoon strip figure, about Tony Higgins.

As he walks into Glasgow's Mitchell Library, discarding his shades, he looks like a veteran rocker rather than a former footballer and life-long trade unionist.

Higgins, whose 59th birthday was earlier this month, has been banging the drum for players' rights since the 1970s, when he was a member of a feted Hibernian side which briefly included George Best. Although there were strong figures, including Pat Stanton and Alan Gordon, in the dressing room, the union rep, and indeed the PFA Scotland chairman at the age of just 25, was Higgins.

These days he is president of the body which looks after Scotland's footballers, but his day job is with Fifpro, the world players' union, and its 50,000 members. It is no accident that their office is close to Schiphol Airport in the Netherlands, a perfect hub for work that is getting ever tougher as criminals and gangsters seek to influence footballers and clubs for their own ends.

Where once Higgins played a pivotal role in setting up players' unions in Africa – delegates from that continent still smilingly greet him as "Tony, Mr Africa" – he is now increasingly engaged in trying to protect players from being embroiled in match and spot fixing. It is becoming epidemic in Asia and Eastern Europe, to the extent that even such a seasoned observer as Higgins admits he has been shocked.

Compared with tales of players being beaten up if they don't accede to the demands of criminals, his own interest in protecting the rights of footballers stems from an entirely more innocent age. He was born in Milton, a scheme in the north of Glasgow which spawned, at around the same time, Kenny Dalglish, Frank McAvennie, Kenny Burns and numerous other boys who went on to become professional footballers.

"In those days, not long after the Labour Party had introduced the Welfare State, the peripheral housing schemes were a godsend for families like mine," says Higgins, the youngest of seven children whose father was an engineer. "It was a great upbringing – we were on the edge of the countryside but had all the benefits of living in a city.

"We played football in the fields and streets, and word travelled fast if there was a good player. That's when I heard about Kenny Dalglish, and we played some bounce games. Like him, I played for my school, St Augustine's, and Glasgow Amateurs. I remember it wasn't just football; there was a rugby team and in the summer we could try tennis, cricket and hockey, all for free.

"There was a strong community spirit with work for everybody who wanted it, unlike now when the area is blighted by high unemployment and drugs. Everybody in our family, including my three sisters, was interested in politics and football. My father was an activist in the Labour Party and the church, and I find it harrowing that despite all the advances made in the last 40 years we have largely moved away from that social cohesion."

Espousing his family's values, Higgins opted to get his Highers before becoming a footballer. He became aware that his future would lie in that direction when he arrived home one day to discover Eddie Turnbull, the Hibs manager, talking to his parents in the living room while a Manchester City scout sat in the kitchen. Turnbull agreed to wait another year until the exams were over and secured the signature.

On arrival at Easter Road, it took Higgins about 60 seconds to realise Turnbull's charm and eloquence was not his training ground style. "He was a wolf in sheep's clothing at our house, but I saw straight away how much the senior players at Hibs respected him, and I did as well," Higgins says. "Although he was very bright and articulate, he liked to present a gruff exterior. He thought that was what players understood."

Higgins delivered the eulogy at Turnbull's funeral two years ago. In reciprocation, he is happy to accept his former manager's assessment of his own playing career, which also encompassed Partick Thistle, Morton and Stranraer. "Eddie mentioned in his biography that I didn't make the most of my ability and should have gone further," he says. "He's probably right. Although I loved playing football it was never my whole life. In any sport the most successful people are single minded. As a player I used to go on marches against cuts and wars. I suppose guys like me and Jackie McNamara were unique in that respect."

Higgins' myriad interests all merged in the curious case of ABC Chewing Gum. There was a craze for collecting cards of footballers in those days, and when Higgins broke into the Hibs team he got a letter from ABC offering him £5 over five years to allow his image to be used on a card. His hackles raised, the teenager approached Stanton. "I told Pat, 'I know I'm not Pele, but this is a joke.' He replied: 'If you do well, they give you a fiver every year.'"

Higgins later raised the matter again. This time it was with Alex Ferguson, then the PFA Scotland chairman, on a train from Glasgow to Edinburgh. "I told him, given the sums involved, it would be better if every player gave the money to the union," he recalls. Shortly after, Higgins replaced Ferguson and when Panini took over the card contract all payments in Scotland were made to the union, who used the money for educational purposes.

Higgins has been a lifelong fighter for players' rights, even when the union was not recognised by the Scottish Football Association or the Scottish Football League. When he took over, clubs were able to retain players and demand compensation when they went out of contract. His own highest salary was £11,000, but the basic was £4000 with most of the money coming in bonuses. In the 1970s that was the norm for the top clubs in Scotland, including Celtic and Rangers. "We got the same as skilled tradesmen," he says.

The boot finally switched to the other foot when union pressure led to freedom of contract then the Bosman ruling in 1995. While all footballers have benefited from being accorded the same rights as other workers, it is perhaps ironic that the top 10% have been the biggest winners. As Higgins points out, most of the rest are just grateful to be in a job; in Scotland, salaries in the lower half of the top flight, and certainly first division, are returning to the levels of tradesmen.

This paradox, of vast wealth at the top and increasing hardship for everybody else, is also reflective of a societal trend that Higgins abhors. The growing gulf creates ideal conditions for the unscrupulous to exploit – whether it be agents and club officials guzzling off the dripping roast which is the elite end of football, or criminals taking advantage of wages not being paid on time, sometimes for months on end, to lure footballers at the other end into their match fixing schemes.

"My work with Fifpro has really opened my eyes to the extent of what is going on," admits Higgins, who helped to compile the organisation's "Black Book" on player intimidation in countries such as Russia, Croatia, Serbia and Greece. "We in the west shouldn't be complacent, because these gangs work internationally."

These are not issues likely to concern Gary Bloke, whose interests are more hedonistic, but Higgins has remained true to his principles. When he retired as player-coach with Stranraer he had approaches to become an MP and a players' agent, but fighting for their rights and hill walking in the west Highlands are his passions. "I've never been obsessed by money," he says. "What motivates me has always been my political instincts."