FOR a student and supporter of the Marxist-Leninist theory, the politics of football never cease to amaze Fraser Wishart. The Scottish Professional Footballers' Association, which he heads, this weekend reveals

its annual list of professional footballers who have been discarded by their employers.

More than 300 names, 25% of the beleaguered industry's workforce, appear on the list; men who have been freed and and are now left clinging to the dream of continuing their football careers against ever-increasing odds.

The list has been compiled, with little co-operation from the clubs, by Wishart, a man whose influence is far greater than at any time during a distinguished playing career.

Wishart is a campaign socialist. As secretary of the SPFA, the players' union, the former Rangers and Motherwell full-back is unquestionably one of the most important figures in the game today.

It is indicative of the precarious business of professional football that the demands placed on the three men who operate out of the dusty old offices of the GMB union have never been greater.

In the past three years, Tony Higgins, the long-serving SPFA chairman and champion of terms and conditions, has been joined by Wishart, Jackie McNamara Sr and, most recently, Warren Hawke.

That the SPFA is one of the few football establishments increasing staff levels tells its own story.

Sitting in Wishart's cluttered broom cupboard of an office in Charing Cross, Glasgow, the roots of his socialist background are reluctantly traced. ''I don't want to come across as some radical socialist,'' he said with mild concern.

The Herald photographer's polite request to picture her subject on the roof of the building with a distinct 1970s feel was met with a look of horror. ''Sorry, health and safety . . .'' he insisted.

We are all familiar with Wishart the public figure, issuing standard titbits as another club is forced into administration or another member is forced to train on a bicycle park adjacent to, yet at the same time a million miles away from, the first-team field.

His public profile has been further enhanced by his intelligent comments on various radio and television sports

programmes.

Yet his past remains a relative mystery, not least his unheralded arrival midway through Rangers' nine-in-a-row crusade less than a year after a whispering campaign left him on the scrapheap over which he now presides.

Unsuccessful trials with Clydebank and Hamilton Academical led him into academia at Glasgow University, where studies in French language and literature, European history, and politics were eagerly undertaken.

At 19, Wishart, whose performances for Pollok Juniors had been noted, was lured back into football by Motherwell and his degree suspended, if not completely discarded.

''I signed on (pounds) 70 per week to play in the Premier Division,'' he recalled of his first contract. ''The union rep, Andy Dornan, left and I took over at the age of 20. I just put my hand up when the boys were asked who would take over and I think the other guys were delighted that they avoided the hassle.''

It runs in the family. His brother, Gordon, is a member of Tommy Sheridan's Scottish Socialist Party and his parents held firm socialist views.

''It really came from my aunts and uncles, though,'' he recalled. ''The kind of people that would have been kicked out of the Communist Party for being too radical, you know?''

Wishart remembers vividly the day Jean-Marc Bosman changed the football world. In December 1995, the European Court of Justice upheld his claim against FC Liege, who had ordered him to take a 60% pay cut yet refused to allow him to join Dunkirk.

''I was leaving Rangers to go to Hearts. Because of the SPFA's involvement in FIFPRO [Fifa's umbrella organisation of professional footballers' associations], we knew what was happening before many club chairmen but UEFA had insisted all along 'ah, we'll pay him off'. I just could not believe it had happened and I remain convinced a middle-ground could have been found had UEFA not been so arrogant and dismissive.''

It has been both a blessing and a curse. The gravy train has long since been derailed. Wishart's list of unemployed footballers reflects a worldwide problem. Yet he remains convinced the Bosman ruling was essential to protect players.

''At 24 I was made Motherwell's highest-paid player on (pounds) 100 per week. I had been on the fringes of the international scene. Then, after six years, I left Motherwell for St Mirren and the club asked for (pounds) 500,000 for me. I looked at my P60s and in those six years, including bonuses, I had been paid a total of (pounds) 54,000. There was just no correlation between what your employers thought you were worth and what they actually paid you.''

Wishart is gripped by Michael Moore's savage satire, Stupid White Men. He can relate to the conspiracies. When St Mirren were relegated from the Premier Division in 1992, they could not afford to keep one of their highest

earners.

He waited by the phone awaiting offers. For five months, the phone did not ring. ''I did nothing but wonder until I spoke to Bruce Rioch. He was interested in taking me to Bolton Wanderers but admitted that he had been warned off signing me,'' he said.

''There was a whispering campaign and it was because of my union activity. To this day I still have to deal with people I suspect were involved.''

He was finally invited to join a Falkirk side deep in relegation trouble. They were relegated and the traditional last in, first out rule prevailed.

A summer of searching, the soul as much as the situations vacant, passed. However, while on trial at Middlesbrough, he received a call from Higgins. ''He told me Walter Smith wanted to see me. I assumed it was union-related but when I called him he said 'just come up the road, you will like what I have to say'.''

He is still best remembered for his cameo role in Rangers' record-equalling title charge. He still keeps tabs on Rangers, most recently helping smooth the departures of Emerson and Nuno Capucho after they were forced to train alone by the management.

The Kofi Annan of Scottish football turns 40 next year. Socialist and occasional socialite, Wishart lives a comfortable life but without the riches enjoyed by lesser professionals in football, on the field or off.

What next for this complex character? A career in politics? ''Aye, a few people have

asked why I have not become a chief executive or director of football.''