The Masterplan

Peter Lawwell stood before me, barring my way out of Devine's dining room. He was wearing his Waffen SS uniform which he only wears when there's serious trouble afoot. I heard growling and looked over his shoulder and there was Hugh Keevins struggling to hold a chain on the end of which was the Traynor, scratching and tearing at the floor to get at me. I was doomed. As Devine and McAlpine screamed with laughter, nuzzling each others necks, spilling wine and feeding each other mouth to mouth, Lawwell slowly walked towards me leaving Keevins to close the door behind him while keeping a tight grip on the Traynor. Eventually Lawwell was face to face with me and I stared into those dead eyes, lids half shut as his gaze drilled straight into my soul. Suddenly he brought up his hand and thrashed me across the cheek with his horse whip sending me sprawling to the floor. 'Don't kill me!' I screamed as he kicked me in the ribs with one of his jackboots. The Traynor roared and struggled with his leash trying to get at me.
'I won't kill you Spiers,' said Lawwell in a voice so low, so cold that I could feel my corduroy freeze. 'No, I'm not going to kill you because I want you to suffer for what you've done. Years I've been planning this, years!' He booted me again. 'Do you know the amount of organisation it takes to have the Scottish newspapers completely and utterly capitulate to me? It's not cheap to have every Scottish politician in my pocket and it takes time have my agents infiltrate BBC Scotland and STV, rise to the most powerful positions and then sit awaiting my commands. For months now I've had Rangers in my hands, their future under my control, teetering on the edge of bankruptcy with UEFA about to hand them a European ban that would eventually send them under and all you had to do, the most tiny, infinitesimal task you had was to give the panel your arse and you couldn't even do that. Four men, in a Glasgow hotel room waiting for you and you didn't turn up. Do you understand now how much you've cost me? Un-sated, they caught the first flight out of Glasgow and promptly handed Rangers a measly eighteen grand fine when they were about to ban them forever if only you'd turned up with that pretty backside of yours which I know isn't averse to a good pummelling. This is why you were so important to our plans which now lie in tatters, just like you're going to lie in tatters once Keevins lets loose the Traynor.'

I couldn't believe it, Lawwell had sold my arse to the UEFA disciplinary committee in exchange for a European ban for Rangers! In not turning up I'd not only sealed the fate of his dastardly master plan but also sealed my own fate at the slavering maw of the Traynor. I looked to Keevins, 'Hugh, you can't let them do this, you and I are friends! I've sat side by side with you for years, piling into Rangers and not giving their fans any airtime to defend themselves, you can't do this to me now.'
But Keevins avoided my eyes and muttered, 'You were never one of us Spiers, I'm sorry. You were a useful idiot for a while but I can't help you here.'
'Tom, Tom! You must come to my aid, surely? Think about all the help I gave you in having the Billy Boys banned.' But Devine just laughed and stuck his hands between McAlpines legs as she squealed in delight, vomiting a little onto her petticoats.

Lawwell looked down at me and whispered, 'It's over Spiers.' Keevins let go of the chain holding the Traynor who launched at me, his teeth bared, claws extended. Then a great crashing sound and from nowhere, Stephen Purcell came flying through the window on a rope and wrestled the Traynor to the ground. 'Run Graham, run - as fast as you can!'
I got to my feet and shoving Lawwell and Keevins out of the way, bowled out of the door and into the hall but my exit was barred by the butler who tackled me and we both went tumbling down some stairs into a basement, crashing against a cage with such force that its door creaked slowly open. The butler looked at me in horror and spoke softly, 'Don't say a word or make a sound' as I heard snuffling coming from the darkness within the cage. Then who came blundering down the stairs but Hugh Keevins, singing 'Come out come out wherever you are Queersy' only for Elaine C Smith to spring out of the cage and start mauling him.
I bound up the stairs three at a time, throwing the butler to the side to get away from the awful screams of Elaine C Smith going down on Hugh Keevins. As I reached the top the Traynor and Stephen Purcell came rolling out of the dining room, covered in blood and howling at each other as they both tried to gain the upper hand. I made for the door and was out of there and down the street without looking back.

When I got home the windows had been boarded up and the wife was sitting watching Strictly Come Dancing. She ignored me as I said hello so I went to bed with my laptop and sat there wondering what on earth I was to do now. Was I to write the usual scathing attack on Rangers? Or has there been a lesson to be learned from tonight's experience? I pondered this for a while and then figured why change the habit of a lifetime? Surely if I were to attack Rangers yet again then Peter Lawwell might forgive me? Over time maybe? Oh well, I'll think of some way to get him back, after all tomorrow is another day...