Obsession

Sit back, relax and let me tell you a tale of summer love; or as others might call it: obsession.

It started innocently enough. I just wanted something to fill the void during the summer. Like many others, I thought I could handle it. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into. In the end it proved too much. But with the love of a good woman I conquered what could only be described as a terrible affliction.

I’ve never been one for wearing any kind of perfumed products but after a while my new bird insisted I had to do something about the flies following me around. Obviously, being a tight-fisted sort of chap, I steadfastly refused to part with any of my own hard-earned social money to remedy the situation. I’m not faking a sore back and clinical depression just to hand my wages over to some wench, no matter how much I love her.

She wasn’t giving up. I came home today from an afternoon session down The Quay to find an assortment of deodorants, soaps and facial scrubs sitting on the living room coffee table staring at me, measuring me up, as if ready to put in a quote.

Being outstared by a can of Lynx Glasgow Edition wasn’t my finest moment, so I casually looked away and caught my reflection in the mirror above the fireplace.

Was it really so long since I’d last shaved?

How did the remains of my hair get so matted?

Was that a family of flies having a picnic on my balding spot or had my hair miraculously regrown after rubbing a picture of Wayne Rooney on it?

I gave my head a quick shake and watched as the flies took off together with such military precision I thought it must be part of the Olympic Opening Ceremony.

Why had I let myself go?

Only then did I try and sit down on the couch.

“Stop right there,” a voice said. “You, my smelly little soap-dodging lover, are going to have a shower.”

I turned around to find Chantelle wearing rubber gloves and standing with her hands on hips. She had a look of steely determination in her good eye.

I’d seen that look once before, when we first met at The Savoy. She’d told me then she was going to take me home and do things to me that had never been done before. She was right, too. I’d never been tied up and robbed. As I lay naked on the bed, hands bound with Gaffer tape, I knew it was love at first sight. I promised her there and then that I’d love her till the end of time, or till the new football season started, whichever came first.

For a time it was touch and go as to how it would all end. I kept hearing rumours about Armageddon, and how we were all doomed.

“I’m putting an end to this,” she said. “You either give up your latest obsession or I’m kicking you back to the streets.”

“It’s okay, darling. It’s over. The new season has begun. I’m off that shit. I’m clean.”

“Not until you wash and shave you’re not. Move it or I’ll stab you…again.”

Chantelle is some girl, so she is. You can’t buy that kind of love. Well, not if you’re on the social. In the early days of our summer romance I wasn’t even allowed out the house, but I had limited internet access and a daily thirty minute slot in charge of the TV remote control. I tried haggling, telling her that in order to satisfy my cravings for news I had to watch both Scotland Today and Reporting Scotland, but she wasn’t for buckling, unless it involved the new harness she’d acquired for the bedroom. Still, the limited internet access was a small victory.

EURO 2012 came and went, but being tied-up with a restricted view in a flat in Glasgow’s East End meant my enjoyment was sporadic at best. For a special treat I was permitted to watch the final, but only if I wore my gimp suit and doubled as a waiter for the night while she and her friends relaxed with their glasses of sparkling chardonnay, or to give their Carntyne Cocktail its street name: Buckfast and 7up.

But, as much as I’d found love, there was something missing from my life. I realised I was incomplete without an addiction to get me through the summer. Football was the drug that kept me going for most of the year, but during the close season the cold shivers of withdrawal symptoms crept up on me like a long lost enemy. I kept turning around expecting to see David Murray but he was nowhere to be seen, although there was definitely someone lurking in the shadows; turned out to be Charles Green asking me if I wanted to buy any deeds.

Next day I bumped into Bomber Brown. That’s when my hair started to fall out.

It was obvious I needed a fix of some kind. Something to get my teeth into. Something big enough to do more than just take the edge off my rattling but not so big that I wouldn’t find my way back in time for the new season, should it ever come to being.

I’d like to say the eureka moment came while I relaxed in a warm Radox bath but only Chantelle was allowed to use the hot water back then. But when the moment finally arrived I kicked myself for not seeing it sooner. Unfortunately, when Chantelle saw me kicking myself she bottled me for hitting her boyfriend. You got to love that kind of love. I mean, the scars will heal over time, won’t they?

Anyway, the clues had been staring me in the face all the time but I’d refused to see them for what they were in case the task proved too much for my fragile mental health. The truth was I kept seeing Charles Green and Bomber Brown everywhere I turned. They had to be omens, of sorts.

Perhaps on a subliminal level my conscience was warning me to steer clear because no good would come from it. It could only end in tears. Undeterred I decided to utilise my limited internet access to research what would prove to be an explosive project.

It’s fair to say the implosion of Rangers didn’t really grab my interest at first. To the casual observer it was just another tale of corporate greed gone wrong. I’d had my fix of those tales of woe from watching BBC News24 hour after hour when in the secure ward.

However, there was nothing else happening, and after one day’s research I was hooked. For a news junkie it was a wonderful story, full of twists and turns, bad guys, badder guys and baddest guys, and more laughs than a box set of My Family.

I could get a news fix with a football angle at the same time. The best result I could’ve hoped for.

I was so excited I told Chantelle I could kill two birds with one stone.

Not one for metaphors she thought I was talking about her and her mate so she took proactive action. She culled my internet access by taking the wireless router to work with her and hid the bag of green.

But it was too late. To an addictive personality the seeds of an obsession were sown and sprouting faster than a potato left in the sun.

Once allowed outside I took to the streets with renewed vigour, stealing glances at other people’s newspapers, fancy smartphones and iPads. Piece by piece I put together various parts of the massive jigsaw of the Rangers corporate collapse. It had evolved into a saga with more legs than the dwindling numbers attending the annual cultural heritage marches.

Turned out there were two conflicting stories on the streets.

The first one, peddled by the mainstream media, spoke of doom and gloom and, dare I say it without fear of being struck down by the Lord, Armageddon.

The second story, mainly on Twitter, fans forums and various blogs spoke of fans reclaiming the game from corporate bullies, liars and cheats.

Being a devoutly religious man I knew the seriousness of Armageddon and spent many an evening persuading Chantelle to stock up on tins of soup, baked beans and Fray Bentos pies. Unfortunately, my persuasive powers were no match for her physical strength and sexual appetite, so the cupboard remained bare apart from her Slimfasts, double chocolate muffins, cases of Red Bull and enough Kamagra to stiffen the sinews of an army.

Even when I told her someone of the stature of James Traynor had predicted Armageddon she still scoffed at my concerns, kicked me in the shin and told me to stop being obsessed.

That was the first time I’d been called obsessed since leaving Lochgilphead secure ward.

I took a step back after that but couldn’t get images of Armageddon out my head. I saw hail storms where over-pumped Mitre balls fell from the Heavens killing anyone attempting to header one. I saw corner flags spearing mothers as kids tried to catch the pretty flags fluttering in the bereeze. But worst of all, I saw a salivating James Traynor beat a Lambeg Drum with legs of lamb while riding a golden chariot pulled by Chick Young, Keith Jackson and what looked like a million sheep. I tried counting them, but my insomnia was no match for Traynor’s flock.

Something had to be done.

I made a sandwich board and walked around the streets of Glasgow shouting, “The end is nigh! James Traynor has spoken! Repent or die all you diddy clubs! Repent!”

Of course, I was laughed at, ridiculed and warned to go home by everyone who noticed I needed a good wash. I told them I had no time for soap. Immediate action was required to save the country from death and destruction and no telly deal for the SPL.

I don’t know what effect my campaign had on the powers-that-be; those pillars of our society who sit around smoke-filled rooms while barbecuing sacrificial lambs for their packed lunch.

In the end Armageddon was avoided. It turned out SKY and ESPN weren’t too bothered about succulence or the backstreet tea-leaf readings of mystic James Traynor and his fellow churnalists.

Like a thirsty lion in the African Savannah I, and many others, had made it through the parched dry season and rejoiced as the first goals of the new season fell upon us like Scottish summer rain, bringing joyous life and renewed optimism for what challenges lay ahead.

Things were going to be different from now on.

The mainstream media had been exposed as second-class fiction writers; Booker Prize wannabes who could only string a sentence together if it had been provided to them in the form of a Press Release. To even change a comma would’ve proved too much for those poor souls who had lost their way navigating the changing contours of the media landscape.

The demise of the mainstream media, though still in its early stages, isn’t going away. James Traynor still sits like King Canute attempting to stem the tide, but his scoffing at those who seek to expose and usurp him increasingly makes him look desperate and dated.

But the most important thing I learned about my summer of love, or obsession, is that the object of my, and perhaps many others obsession, wasn’t, as some would believe, Rangers Football Club. For during this whole summer they never played any football. Anyone who thinks I and others are obsessed by that club is, how you might say, deluded. That new club means nothing to me. Dare I say it; they’re not even in the same league as my team.

No, the object of my obsession was Rangers the company. You know, those rogues who have been providing a great deal of fun and laughs since Valentine’s Day. To be honest, I didn’t previously disassociate the club from the company. I thought they were one in the same. Just shows you how little I knew, and provides a caveat for believing anything I write. But, no thanks to those loyal fans of the club who have forever failed to hold their owners to account, or, to give them their preferred name, the people, I’ve learned many new and wonderful things about their club, sorry, company.

But, like all topical news stories, it lost its sparkle and eventually got replaced by something else: Real football.

If you’re a New Rangers fan, don’t panic, I’m sure many SPL fans will pay your new club some attention should their team draw you in any of the cups.

Maybe New Rangers will be in the big league one day, whether they take the high moral road and climb through the leagues on merit, or the low moral road and hyperspace upwards through league reconstruction.

In the meantime I hope the new club’s fans enjoy their travels around the hedge-strewn grounds of the lower echelons of the Scottish League. I also hope they don’t embarrass their new club the way they previously embarrassed the old club. We all know what they’re like once the wine kicks in and the old Billy Boys tune pops into their heads.

Hopefully we all learned something this summer. We learned not to believe anything printed in the papers by certain journalists, or churnalists, or lamb-eaters, or whatever pet name you’ve given them. I’m sure we all have our favourite term to describe those whose time has passed.

But we mustn’t leap from the frying pan of regurgitated press releases into the fire of fantastic imaginations and believe everything those pesky bloggers write either. No, we must read widely and be critical of every source. Only then can we build a truer picture of not only how we see the world, but also how the world sees us. Learning from others with differing points of view can be painful reading sometimes, but it is crucial to enlightenment.

As an example of how bloggers can distort the truth and lead readers down wrong paths let me say this: I could never attract a member of the opposite sex as sophisticated as Chantelle in real life, but in the land of words on a screen, he who writes gets the girl.

“What’s that, darling Chantelle? Yes dear, after my bath you can shave me anywhere tonight. Yes, even downstairs. Sounds like fun. Mm, what’s that you have there? After-shave. Smells lovely. What’s it called? Oh, I see. Are you sure Calvin Klein Obsession is appropriate for this occasion? Oh my, you are a little minx.”

Well, must dash, hope you all enjoy the new season whatever team you obsess about or support.

Rangers: A Public Relations Disaster

‘O would some power the giftie gie us tae see oursels as others see us.’

I don’t claim any great allegiance to the work of Robert Burns, but there’s no denying some of his classic lines are as relevant now as they ever were, if not more.

Of course, self-understanding is one of the great mysteries of life, but many either fail to fully grasp it or reject the idea completely, basing the thoughts and opinions of others as weightless.

Yet without self-understanding, as seen through the eyes of others, we can float through life in a cloud of self-deception, fooling ourselves and frustrating others.

In recent months vociferous supporters of Rangers Football Club have continually refused to listen to the opinions of others, claiming everyone was against them and their collapse was part of some dastardly Timmy plot orchestrated by Celtic’s Peter Lawwell.

This kind of outlook smacks of the spoilt child syndrome where everyone is to blame but themselves.

Instead of opening up to outside opinions during their time of need they closed ranks, which history shows, has always been the Rangers way.

In the past all Rangers problems, if and when any occurred, were dealt with in-house, away from prying eyes. If the club made any statement it was always just to confirm the matter was being dealt with, and that was that.

There was a culture of not speaking about or criticizing the club in public.

The club was always right, no matter what.

Anyone who said anything against Rangers, no matter how true, was labeled as anti-Rangers.

That still is the Rangers way.

David Murray managed the Scottish Press with considerable skill during his tenure as Rangers supremo. Few, if any, doubted his spending policy over the years. That same spending policy was to play a significant part in the downfall of Rangers.

Graham Spiers says he was frozen out by Mr. Murray after questioning his financial management of Rangers. Others, like James Traynor, continued to play by Mr. Murray’s rules and were rewarded with countless exclusives over the years.

When BBC Scotland ran a documentary last year exposing the truth behind Rangers’ new owner Craig Whyte, the call to arms went out.

How dare anyone criticize the Rangers?

Fans of the club marched on the BBC Scotland studios claiming not only were they biased against Rangers, but also that they were pro-Celtic and Irish.

Unfortunately, for the at times blindly loyal fans, everything in Mark Daly’s BBC expose turned out to be true.

By the time the majority realised this it was too late. They became the biggest story in town for all the wrong reasons.

In truth, they were years too late. Most of the damage had been done in the preceding decade.

Doubly unfortunately for them was the lack of information management and realisation that the world had changed. New forms of media had replaced traditional sources and many millions could now see, through the investigative Rangers Tax Case blog among others, a different side to what had gone on at the club over many years, not just the Craig Whyte era.

Rangers were being attacked from every corner, apart from the many staunch allies the club still had in the mainstream press. The same staunch allies who, had they not been asleep at the wheel, just might have been able to save the club from further unnecessary troubles had they done, or as some have suggested, were allowed to do, their job right in the first place.

But no-one was speaking on behalf of Rangers. Their owner flew out the country saying it wasn’t his fault.

Any directors left ducked for cover.

In their hour of need Ally McCoist stepped up to the plate and became the voice of Rangers. He spoke in a language supporters could understand. He didn’t claim to be an expert in high finance or boardroom manoeuvres. To him, and to the army of supporters, it was what happened on the field of play that mattered most.

At first he spoke well, capturing both the hearts and minds of supporters, as well as gaining lots of sympathy from neutrals who remembered Ally as being the cheeky chappy from Question of Sport.

His ‘we don’t do walking away’ statement will go down in Rangers folklore, and his place among the Ibrox legends was further ensured.

For many, he was, and still is, Rangers Football Club.

But then, in the eyes of the rest of us, it all went awry.

Rangers were getting a hammering from many sides for the club deliberately avoiding paying tax over the previous year.

The club needed someone with excellent people and communication skills to help guide them through this minefield, but with no money the public relations was left to people like Ally McCoist and Sandy Jardine: two playing legends on the field and previously great ambassadors for the club in the wider world.

Unfortunately, in their haste to protect the club from what they perceived as external threats, they made matters worse.

Rather than build support outside the club, at a time when it became patently obvious the club was going to need allies along the way, they resorted to the Rangers tradition by closing ranks and then, astoundingly, tried to intimidate others.

McCoist’s outburst demanding, not asking politely like the true gent he is supposed to be, the naming of the three man panel who sat, in accordance with agreed SFA rules, anonymously, was one of the most shameful episodes in recent times, especially when it became apparent that Rangers officials already knew their identities.

Once the names were out in the public domain these panel members were subjected to a hate campaign.

McCoist, however, claimed ignorance and was adamant that he can’t be held responsible for the actions of the ‘lunatic fringe’.

This excuse, coming from a manager who’d been briefed by Strathclyde Police about making what could be regarded as inciting remarks on the run up to old firm games, was rather irresponsible and weak to say the least, and downright dangerous and spiteful at worst.

One of the supposedly anonymous panel members, Eric Drysdale, had TV cameras camping outside his home and received death threats from various factions connected to Rangers. These same fans also threatened to burn down Starks Park where his club Raith Rovers plays.

This, at any time, never mind the twenty first century, is not how you win friends and influence people in a positive way.

When the time came for Scottish Football League (SFL) clubs to vote on a proposal which would allow Rangers to parachute into the First Division, at the expense of other clubs sporting ambitions, Raith Rovers Director Turnbull Hutton said the SFL would be doing a deal with the devil if they voted yes.

He also reminded clubs that Sandy Jardine had publicly called for repercussions against those clubs that refused to support Rangers.

Mr. Jardine said, ‘Rangers should be treated differently because of the club’s stature and that the outcome had implications for other clubs, including direct action taken by Rangers supporters groups. Rangers are a special case mainly because of the size of the club within Scottish football and what it delivers. The size of our club and the size of our supporter base, it can be a powerful weapon.’

However, not even the threat of financial Armageddon could persuade Mr. Hutton to ditch his principles.

The positive response he received from supporters of every club apart from Rangers speaks volumes about the mood of fans throughout the country.

This, in effect, is how those outside of Ibrox saw those inside.

The more threats people connected to Rangers dished out the more resilient opposition towards them grew.

Those clubs who had initially expressed sympathy for Rangers changed their minds as each day, and each public relations disaster, passed.

More wood was thrown on the Rangers bonfire as old media stalwarts lined up to cry how the world would come to an end if Rangers weren’t returned to first the SPL and then SFL Division One.

Legend of the lamb James Traynor led the way both in his Daily Record column and on BBC Sportsound. The more hyperbolic his diatribe became the more readers and listeners seen through his thinly disguised agenda of saving Rangers at all costs.

Others, like Chick Young, who tried to make an analogy about Rod Stewart getting special treatment if he wanted a table at a restaurant, made a complete fool of themselves.

Gordon Smith ran from studio to studio and camera to camera looking like a man who had completely lost his way, reminding me of Andy Carroll’s substitute appearance for England against Italy in the recent Euro Championships.

These are but a few who put personal allegiance to Rangers before professional integrity.

They have shown themselves to be out of touch with their readers and listeners and, in the case of Gordon Smith, left most of us scratching our heads as to how this man ever landed the job of SFA Chief Executive.

Then we remember Stewart Regan is the current SFA Chief Executive and we reassure ourselves that being an imbecile isn’t necessarily a barrier when it comes to running our game.

Mr Regan tried everything but cast the votes to get SFL clubs to ‘do the right thing’ and vote Rangers into SFL Division One. When it became clear his strategy was one of creating fear any respect he had among fans or club chairmen withered overnight.

Even Rangers fans were, and still are, disgusted by this man’s efforts to bully the smaller clubs. After all, that appears to be their job.

All in all, the Rangers saga this summer has been an unmitigated public relations disaster, not just for the club and its fans, but also the game’s ruling bodies and those in the mainstream media.

Their propaganda and bullying might have worked in a previous age but, in this age of 24 hour social media where some terrific bloggers and activists produce factual accounts that dispel many of the media-spun myths, their time is up, as falling sales continue to show.

So what have we learned from this?

Most of us have learned how the problems at Rangers ran much deeper than one dodgy owner, no matter what Mr. Jardine may claim.

We have also learned that Mr. McCoist isn’t the cuddly buffoon loved by many a bored housewife who wish he was their Mr Gray.

Rangers learned that when they needed others to help them escape prolonged hardship, those others turned their backs on Rangers.

This is why they feel the burning desire to punish everyone and anyone who didn’t support Rangers at this time.

But what they haven’t asked themselves is why.

Why did everyone turn their backs on their mighty Rangers?

Perhaps, by going back to the words of Burns, they might begin to understand the answers.

‘O would some power the giftie gie us tae see oursels as others see us.’

The Empire Tries To Strike Back

Last night I watched what many regard to be the best football team ever destroy Italy 4-0. As the passes flowed I glanced around the room at the smiling faces of my friends and thanked God for being alive at this time in the history of the game. Spain pass and win the ball back like no other. Some tried to describe them as boring for not going forward enough or for playing without a recognised striker. Where are those critics today?

Such is the love of and popularity of football half the world probably went to sleep last night dreaming about their team playing like the Spanish, myself included.

Today, however, I woke up back in the real world: the sordid little world of Scottish football; a tiny backwater where the ideals and spirit of the game are secondary to commercial viability, according to those who are supposed to be running the game; where the same authorities bend and invent rules so the establishment club, who have been caught cheating on an industrial scale, as well as being forced into liquidation by HMRC for deliberately not paying taxes and trading whilst insolvent, can keep calm and carry on while laughing at and looking down their noses at everyone who indirectly paid for their tainted success by being tax-paying citizens.

This story - one of corporate corruption and cronyism - is the kind of story a free press should be shouting about. It’s not as if they don’t have all the details. The authorities aren’t doing anything behind closed doors that doesn’t get leaked. They don’t have to. In fact, one of the reasons they’re so open about their plans to accommodate a club from the ashes of Ibrox, is to try and appease the baying mobs roused into affirmative action by the likes of Ally McCoist, Sandy Jardine and now John Brown.

Brown’s ‘conference’ last week was a bit like a crossover of Mark Anthony burying Caesar and The Life of Brian’s Stoning scene. As the disgruntled bears argued among themselves while trying to be heard and listen at the same time I half expected Bomber Brown to lift his hand, silence the crowd and ask, “Are there any Fenians here today?”

Brown’s statement about how Charles Green, the current dude in the chair at Ibrox, will be hunted for the rest of his days if he was to declare something Green said to him, only strengthens the resolve of all those who believe this embarrassment of a club has run its course.

Is it only a matter of time before Brown’s black shirts are roaming the streets of Glasgow looking to round up those who vociferously disagree with him and his band of Merrydown-swallowing thugs?

Is this really what anyone wants in Glasgow, or in Scotland, or indeed anywhere in the twenty first century?

Well, yes, I’m afraid it is.

There is a section of society who believes they are different from everyone else. Superior. Entitled. The chosen few.

For they are the people…and the people always get what they want…precisely because…they are the people.

I know, it’s a weak argument, but don’t shoot the messenger, they really do believe that.

It’s important at this stage to inform those from outside Scotland reading this, if there is anyone out there remotely interested, not to be misled into thinking the people means all the people. Note the lack of italics. We are not an arrogant nation by any stretch of the imagination. Proud? Yes. Arrogant? No.  In all reality, the people people represent a sizeable minority of football fans and a smaller minority of the population as a whole. But with the backing of the establishment their voice is loud.

Most ordinary citizens of Scotland would be only too glad to see the back of those who claim to the people. For it those same people who have been a permanent embarrassment and occasional disgrace to the country for decades.

Unfortunately, those in positions of power in Scottish football don’t want to listen to the ordinary citizens, even though those fans are, and always have been, the lifeblood of the game. The authorities think these ordinary citizens are uneducated and not able to make grown-up decisions about the future direction of the game. They spout a ‘Do as we say and not as we do’ mantra, and attempt to bully the ordinary citizens and their clubs into submission through financial blackmail and threats of total destruction.

This remarkably short-sighted view is promoted aggressively in the majority of mainstream media outlets by journalists whose sense of integrity and fair play is coloured by their primal loyalty to the people. Of course, some have more to lose than others. Those on the way up are following the well-worn path of their predecessors. These predecessors made their name by keeping on the right side of ex-Rangers’ owner David Murray and enjoying cosy nights at his dinner table.

How many will deny knowing him when the Romans, sorry, the police, come knocking on their doors? I wonder if they’ll all gather round once more when it’s time for David’s last lamb supper before he’s carted off to Saughton in the back of a meat wagon.

Will his loyal followers smuggle in succulent contraband during family visits?

Imagine James Traynor transferring a piece of lamb to David Murray through a passionate kiss at the start of visiting time. On second thoughts, don’t let such an image spoil your day. Start a petition now for closed visits.

But, as sure as Rangers are dead, David Murray’s day in court will come, as will Craig Whyte’s and many others. I wonder if they’ll adopt any well known slogans for the occasion: Tiocfaidh ár lá springs to mind, but maybe they’ll come up with one of their own along the lines of ‘For every year we won the league while cheating we’ll do a year of porridge’.

In the meantime let’s just shake our heads and laugh at Traynor’s latest attempt at succulent propaganda in the Daily Record. We can shake our heads at the sheer brass neck of the man, and laugh at the fact that the more he spouts his nonsense, the more the ordinary citizens and fans of every other team grow resolve and determination to see him and the establishment corpse rot. There are too many belters to quote them all here, as I’ve already rambled on far too much, so I’ll pick just enough to give a flavour of the stench emanating from his latest offering to the followers of the cult of the succulent lamb.

Traynor: The trouble is too many men with influence have been working not for the good of the game but to selfish agendas.

Don’t you just love that statement?

In fact, I love that statement so much I’m not going to bother quoting any more of his diatribe. Let’s have another look at that one in super-slow motion action replay:

Traynor: The… trouble… is… too… many… men… with… influence… have… been… working… not… for… the… good… of… the… game… but… to… selfish… agendas.

Put your hands up all those who, on reading that quote, immediately thought about the cult of the succulent lamb eaters.

Yes, me too. It gave me a smile and calmed my rage towards the rest of his meandering rant. His quote will now take its place among the great quotes of recent times, like Keith Jackson’s ‘off the radar wealth’ and David Murray’s ‘for every fiver Celtic spend we’ll steal a tenner’.

So, in this little bigoted country, we might not play the game like the Spanish, but there is still a lot to thank God for. There is light at the end of what has been a very dark tunnel. The times, as they say, just might be a changing after all.

The advent of social media has empowered ordinary citizens and given them a voice like no other time in history. And, such has been the outrage at the preferential treatment given to the one club with a culture of cheating their way to success; the ordinary citizens have spoken loud and clear through fans forums, blogs, emailing clubs, boycotting season tickets and comment sections in the online press.

There can be no doubt about their feelings towards the parachuting of newcos into any division other than the bottom rung. In the fans’ eyes all decisions regarding newcos applying to join the SFA, SPL or SFL must be made without fear, favour or prejudice. This is what the fans of every existing club in Scotland have made loud and clear to their respective clubs and the governing bodies.

It is now up to the clubs and governing bodies to decide whether they are running the game for the football fans or for the people who have brought nothing but shame to the game in this country.

The old establishment empire may be rotting but ailing allies are still attempting to defend its crumbling walls. But let us not be defeated. The end is nigh and deserved victory for the ordinary citizens and vast majority of football fans is almost here. The establishment club’s media allies may be able to fool and cajole most of the people most of the time, but it no longer fools the ordinary citizens who can see through their lurid lies and devious deception.

As the empire crumbles so, too, does the network of wannabe imperialists and court jesters who sat in their ivory towers and waved their NUJ cards while saying to the internet bloggers who exposed them for what they are, ‘Let them eat lamb.’

There is a revolution coming in the world of Scottish football and those of the old imperial guard will be the first to lose their jobs, if not their heads.

The World is Not Flat

There are those at the SPL, SFA and SFL who still believe the world is flat. They believe that without Rangers in any shape or form Scottish football will sail right off the map.

But will it?

Well, first we might determine what map they think we’re actually on in the first place.

I grew up watching Scotland in every World Cup since 1974. It was a terrible shock to not be competing in the 1994 World Cup in USA. Of course, normal service was resumed in 1998 and we took our rightful place back among the game’s elite.

The 3-0 gubbing from Morocco showed us the game was changing, and so was our place in it.

1998 now seems many lifetimes ago.

We have continued to slip down the rankings at an alarming rate but, you’ll be pleased to know, we’re still just ahead of some of the giants of the game: Libya, Mali, Zambia and our arch nemesis Iran.

In Argentina in 1978 drawing with Iran was a major shock and played a big part in Ally McLeod’s team failing to qualify for the later stages of the World Cup…even though we beat Holland…with that goal. Yes, that one. God bless Archie Gemmell.

No one would bat an eyelid now if Iran beat Scotland.

We are, in the eyes of rest of the world, a diddy team not on any footballing map.

But at least our club sides continue to fly the flag in the European competitions. Well, no, unfortunately those flags are limp and never seem to get by the preliminary qualifiers.

In recent years our provincial clubs who qualify for a shot at Europe usually go out to teams I’ve never even heard of.

Sure, both Celtic and Rangers reached a European final in the last ten years, but the game’s finances, as well as Rangers’, have collapsed since then, making a repeat highly unlikely.

So what are the game’s ruling bodies and the mainstream media trying to protect by bending over backwards to keep Rangers in the top or second top league?

Is it just themselves?

But the game needs a strong Rangers, doesn’t it?

Well, no, not really. If anything the game needs a more level playing field where more clubs have a chance of actually winning the league.

However, there is still a minority who believe the game needs a strong Rangers.

What they really mean is this.

They believe a strong Rangers will stop Celtic from winning the league all the time. Or, to put it bluntly, a strong Rangers will stop the Irishmen winning the league all the time.

When the call first went out for someone to stop the Irishmen it was Rangers who stepped up to the plate and took the challenge.

It was around that time they headed down a path of sectarianism. They weren’t formed with the policy of not signing Catholics. Moses McNeill and his friends loved the game of football, the exercise and fresh air.

Sectarianism was introduced much later to cash in on the growing resentment of an immigrant team being the best in the country.

But, of course, that was 100 years ago. The country has moved on, hasn’t it?

Well, most of us have.

Rangers eventually signed a Catholic in 1989, and many other Catholics have now played for Rangers over the preceding years. I’m sure many of their fans have also moved on from their sectarian past, including, maybe, some of those filmed burning their scarves and season tickets on the day Maurice Johnston signed.

But, unfortunately, many others haven’t. Many still see the Irish immigrants from the East End as outsiders, papists, and tinkers. This sizeable section of supporters believes they are superior to these, and other, immigrants in every way.

This master race attitude has been banished in most countries around the world.

In Germany it was the seed of their own destruction and the lives of many millions.

In South Africa apartheid was shown up for what it was as almost the whole world boycotted South African goods.

In the USA black civil rights have come so far they even have a black president.

In the former Yugoslavia it led to ethnic cleansing.

So why does a large section of Scottish society still think it’s acceptable to adopt a supremacist ‘We Are The People’ attitude in this age of equality, enlightenment and social mobility?

One of the main reasons is their loyalty to the British crown and the Union.

But why are these Scottish citizens so subservient and keen to pay homage to an English monarch? Haven’t they seen Braveheart? Do they not sing Flower of Scotland when Scotland play England? Do they support Scotland? What side would they be on if there was a replay of Bannockburn?

The British monarchy remains one of the last bastions of sectarianism. The head of state is a symbol of Protestantism and anti-Rome power. In what is a remarkable example of discrimination for this modern age, it is still written that no Catholic can hold the position of king or queen of Great Britain.

One reason given for this is that the head of state is also head of the Church of England, and there can’t be a Catholic as head of the Church of England. The monarchy has fought too many battles through history to gift the crown to a Catholic who pays homage to Rome.

This fuels the bigot fire and gives legitimacy to narrow-minded, out-dated views.

Until a Catholic can be head of state in Great Britain they will always be seen by some as outsiders and inferior.

Until a Catholic can be head of state in Great Britain Catholics will view the monarchy with suspicion and disgust…and rightly so.

If a black man can be president of the USA and South Africa then sections of this country need to take a good look at themselves and be honest about what they see.

But what has this got to do with Scotland needing a strong Rangers?

By being the biggest and strongest team in the country Rangers provides legitimacy and a platform for their fans to shout about being superior to other citizens of Scottish society, which is, unfortunately, where they see themselves in relation to others.

In today’s Scotland we have refugees and asylum seekers from all over the world. We are a multicultural society. We are a nation of immigrants. Those who sing about certain segments of society going home because the famine is over are in the minority. They think it is their country and no one else’s.

These same people also prefer to be British rather than Scottish, because Britain’s sectarian monarch policy also keeps them at the top of their imaginary tree, from where they can spend their lives looking down on others.

Well, I’d like to think there’s hope for them waking up one morning and realising how wrong they are to promote discrimination in any form, but I don’t. They lack basic education skills and the ability to learn new ways. Perhaps that’s the fault of the schools, or the parents, or the environment in which they have grown up and become accustomed.

I’d like to think they’d grow out of it, but they won’t. The wannabe terrorists who sent letter bombs to Neil Lennon and Paul McBride were in their forties.

I’d like to think that with Old Rangers gone they wouldn’t have a platform to congregate in large numbers and spout their bile and hate, but I don’t. They will flock to Orange Lodges and march around our cities and towns banging war drums and playing battle tunes.

I don’t believe there is hope for this group of parochial people who think they represent Scottish Protestantism, but there might be hope of a new beginning for a Newco Rangers in whatever shape or form they re-emerge next.

Ironically, the only people who might be able to rid the club of their poisonous element are other Old Rangers fans, but it won’t be easy, and one must wonder if the desire to do so is really there.

Old Rangers are dead. Everyone now knows it, including those players who are walking away instead of signing for Newco.

Newco Rangers need not be a carbon copy of Old Rangers. In fact, if it’s to prosper, it needs to be different, if only for commercial reasons.

The dilemma for Newco Rangers is turning away customers at a time when every penny coming into the club is of vital importance.

Latest owner Charles Green has been vociferous in his requests for funding. He said in the beginning that he doesn’t care where the money comes from. His Newco Rangers aren’t going to survive much longer without a financial injection, but where is it going to come from?

Season ticket sales? Not likely when legends are in the press telling fans not to part with their cash.

It seems likely that his Newco Rangers will enter administration before the new season starts.

Soon we will be on to Rangers Mark 3.

Rangers Mark 3 might have no star players and no stadium or league to play in, but it might be owned by the fans.

So what direction will the fans take the new club? How loud will be the voice of the supremacists and unionists compared to the moderates who only want to support a football team? Will they have an open and honest debate about the direction of the new club, or will it be business as usual, with the moderates afraid to speak out against the bully boys of Follow Follow or Vanguard Bears?

They have sung about how they don’t care that no-one likes them and called the fans of the so-called diddy teams an irrelevance. But, in a tremendous victory of fan power over Murdoch’s coin, those irrelevances have persuaded their respective clubs to vote no to Newco in the SPL.

Maybe if the antagonistic Old Rangers fans change their ways and join some of their own supporters and the rest of us in the twenty-first century they might find they have more friends than enemies the next time they’re in a crisis and needing the help of the diddy clubs.

Unfortunately I wouldn’t hold my breath; too many of them seem to revel in being social pariahs, and most of them will be right behind Rangers Mark 3 as if they’d been following them since the war cries of Bill Struth.

Whatever happens, the good ship Scottish football will continue to sail with or without any form of Rangers. The world is not flat.

Sure, clubs will lose financially and Celtic will stand to lose the most. The playing field will be more level, but will never be even. Some clubs will always be bigger than others due to fan base.

One wonders what size of fan base Rangers Mark 3 might have, and in what direction they will attempt to steer the club. They might find themselves better off with a smaller fan base in Scotland that would make them more palatable to the world beyond their own guarded walls.

One Rule For One?

At six miles long the River Leven isn’t the longest in Scotland, but there was a time when it was the centre of the footballing world.

Anyone who knows a little history of Scottish football will, or should, be aware of the role played by the three teams from the Leven Valley.

Vale of Leven, Dumbarton and Renton were all formed in 1872, the same year as a club from Govan who we’ll talk a bit more of later.

Between them these three clubs won the Scottish Cup six times.

But that pales into insignificance.

If you meet anyone from the Renton they’ll proudly tell you about being the first world champions.

Of course, as football became increasingly popular, as well as professional, it became unsustainable for three teams from such a small area to survive and prosper.

Renton were first to run into trouble, and in the 1897-98 season, unable to meet their financial obligations, they withdrew from the league that they helped set up.

Their last hurrah proved to be a Scottish Cup run in 1906-07 when they defeated St. Bernard’s and Dundee before succumbing to Queens Park in the last sixteen.

They continued to play in minor leagues until 1922 before finally folding.

Vale of Leven dropped out of the professional league after only two seasons. In the second season they didn’t win any of their games and finished last so decided not to apply for re-election.

In 1905 they were allowed into an extended Second Division. Twice, in 1907 and 1909, they finished runners-up, but didn’t get promoted due to not getting enough votes from the other clubs.

They eventually dropped into the junior ranks and have stayed there ever since, winning the Scottish Junior Cup in 1953.

Dumbarton are the only team from the original Leven Valley trio that are still in the professional game.

In fact, it’s fair to say they’ve been doing the local area proud recently.

After a great campaign in the Scottish Second Division they beat Airdrie United in a two leg play-off final and secured promotion to the First Division for the first time in years.

Airdrie United were born after original Airdrie went to the wall through being liquidated. Although they had many financial problems it was the Rangers chairman David Murray who applied for a court order to seize funds from the struggling club. He said at the time, “"I feel very sorry for Airdrie and their supporters but we're running a business. We have given them repeated warnings and felt they were playing on our good nature."

Newco Airdrie United applied for membership to the league but the share was given to Gretna instead. Undeterred, they bought another struggling team’s membership (Clydebank), moved them to Airdrie and renamed them Airdrie United and took Clydebank's place in the Second Division. A precedent was set. If any newco, even if they've been rejected for membership of the league, doesn't want to start at the bottom tier then they can launch a takeover of another club.

Maybe this is why Craig Whyte's people were sniffing around St. Mirren's accounts last season.

Dumbarton’s return to the First Division is a great boost for both the young players in the team and the many hundreds who packed their stadium for the first leg of the play-off final.

It was the first time I’d been to a Dumbarton game for many years, having never even set foot inside their Strathclyde Homes Stadium.

My memories of Dumbarton were all at Boghead.

The great Scottish Cup run of 1976 with wins at home against Partick Thistle and Kilmarnock. Finally defeated 3-0 by Hearts in a semi-final replay at Hampden, helped, funnily enough, by Walter Smith scoring with a flying header…into his own net.

In 1984, needing a point to win promotion to the Premier League, they came back from 2-0 down against Clyde to earn the draw. Their second goal that day still lives with me as one of the greatest goals I’ve witnessed.

In a crowded box the ball was passed around several players without touching the ground before being volleyed home.

The locals went wild and fans flooded onto the pitch at the final whistle.

At the recent play-off a crowd of 1746 packed into the Strathclyde Homes Stadium.

The young supporters provided plenty of vocal support, taunting Airdrie United for being Clydebank in disguise, while the older ones sampled the pies and Bovril and reminisced about past glories.

It might not have been like watching Barcelona, but with a packed ground and something to play for it was a great game.

When the fixture list for next season came out I noticed Dumbarton will start the campaign away to Dundee.

Or will they?

Reports in the mainstream media are promoting the prospect of a Newco being parachuted straight into the First Division, which may mean Dundee moving up a league.

So Dumbarton may end up playing this Newco.

There is a certain amount of irony about this. Dumbarton and Oldco were formed in 1872 and were pioneers of the game in Scotland.

But is it right that a Newco team should not start at the bottom? Why should this Newco team be treated differently from say Renton, Vale of Leven or Airdrie United?

What is the game in this country, a sport or a business?

When Moses McNeill and his buddies formed the original Rangers Football Club they didn’t even have a ground to play on. They played for the love of the game, not to make a quick buck.

Both world champions Renton and Rangers couldn’t meet their financial obligations.

Both triple Scottish Cup winners Vale of Leven and Rangers didn’t get enough votes to play in the top league.

Newco Airdrie United, started  after Oldco Airdrie were liquidated were originally refused admission into any league and had to buy another club to get back in.

It remains to be seen where Newco Rangers will eventually end up, but as sure as the River Leven flows from Loch Lomond into the River Clyde, they will not be treated the same way as Renton or Vale of Leven.

And if they do get parachuted into Division One I hope Dumbarton give them a lesson in both football and dignity.