Look Upon My Works Ye Mighty

Last night I filed my piece for this mornings Scottish Times (distribution: seven people and a potato) then went to bed early to bask in the warm feeling which engulfs me whenever I write disparagingly about the Rangers. As I stood there in my brown corduroy pyjamas and kissed my wife goodnight, she looked at me with an odd look on her face and told me I need help. She just doesn't get the machinations of my one man crusade against this repugnant football institution; I don't need help at all although occasionally young whippersnappers attempt to join me on my mission, I always bat them off with a witty quip and continue to sit on my own, tippy tap typing away at my laptop, my lips moving in time to the magnificence that appears on the page.

Tomorrow I will know if all those letters and emails I sent to UEFA have made any difference to the disciplinary panels' decision. Eighty three emails, thirty six letters and one large envelope containing a pair of my wife's knickers which I sent to Delaney (I know he likes this kind of extra thought) should do the trick.

While lying in bed listening to Elton's I'm Still Standing, it reminded me of my fellow travellers during the Ban the Billy Boys campaign and I decided to phone them in spite of the late hour to discuss our current mission. Professor Tom Devine answered his phone breathing heavily and I asked him if he was okay. 'Fine, fine, young man. I'm just taking a rod to one of the servants, what can I do for you?' I told him I couldn't sleep. 'It's only half past six in the evening, ye bloody nancy boy, what are you doing in bed at this time? Hold on, I see. Want to meet me to discuss the Rangers UEFA hearing, eh? Meet me in Cottiers in half an hour.'
Excited that I could again do some additional damage to Rangers, I got up out of bed, got out of my corduroy pyjamas and into my corduroy slacks and matching jacket and tried to creep down the hall without my wife hearing me. 'I can hear you, you know', she called from the lounge.

Cottiers was quiet but there were enough people for me to mingle at the bar and then sit discretely in a corner to await the good Professor. He didn't take long to appear, slamming open the door and striding purposefully into the bar with his arm around a common looking tart. 'This is Janette Findlay of the Celtic Supporters Trust' he said, slapping her on the arse and sitting down beside me, ordering a Guinness and three large Bushmills with a wave of his hand. 'Now then, Spiers, what can I do for you, eh? Come on, speak up man!' Janette Findlay giggled and adjusted her suspender straps. I told him I wanted to liaise with him on the issue of the Rangers hearing and to make sure we'd done enough to ensure a good result for the forces of catholicism. 'Why you're not even Celtic Minded, you purblind idiot' he sighed. 'Oh well, you are a useful idiot though. Look Spiers,' he fondled Janette Findlays legs and his hand moved between her thighs as she gulped down the three large Bushmills one after the other. 'Don't you worry your pretty little head about UEFA, alright? Leave them to the big boys. Just you go home and treat that lovely wife of yours' and he threw a bunch of tenners at me and emptied his Guinness in one go. 'Although..., why don't you come with us for a moment?' he asked and he and Janette Findlay got up from the table and made their way to the toilet with me following. The three of us squeezed into the disabled toilet and I was just about to ask what fenien brotherhood secrets he had to tell me in here when Janette Findlay grabbed me by the arms and held them behind my back. 'You're for it now, boy' growled Devine and wrenched down my trousers. Then he spun me around and Janette Findlay held me in a head lock while Devine pleasured himself into me from behind. He finished with a roar, sneered, Janette Findlay spat on me and they left me lying among the loo roll, gasping and wondering what had happened.

I crept home after that and shuffled slowly into bed. I could hear the wife in the lounge watching Coronation Street and I thought I could hear sobs. Tomorrow my destiny awaits, Rangers are in trouble and I am to be king of all I survey - MY NAME IS GRAHAM SPIERS, LOOK UPON MY WORKS YE MIGHTY AND WEEP!