The Curious Case of Nil By Mouth

As I sat in the study of 221b Baker Street, Newlands, Glasgow, awaiting an answer from the saturnine figure of Donald Findlay standing by the bay windows, gazing at the pea souper which had been lying over the city for a week as he contemplated my question over a number 5 pipe, I reflected on the unique set of circumstances which had brought me to this place.

I had been in Oran Mhor with my Rangers supporting friends who are always good for quoting when I criticise Rangers and their fans in print. We were standing at the bar and I'd bought the drinks which were sitting in front of us as I asked their opinions on the skirmish in a bar between the Spanish police and Rangers fans. Billy One had a lot to say about it, none of it complimentary towards his fellow supporters while Billy Two echoed his sentiments. As I congratulated them for their piercing insight and asked why they weren't drinking their pints, the barman came up to me and looked at me oddly before asking who I was talking to. 'Why, my Rangers supporting friends' I told him, then he looked around me, shot me another puzzled glance and walked off. We continued chatting and I told them of the word I'd heard on the grapevine that Dick Campbell had been caught on film singing along with Rangers fans in Seville. Billys One and Two echoed my own sentiments on this subject and I stood there loudly exclaiming that I agreed with them while people standing close to us shuffled away and stared at me from a distance - they obviously couldn't bear to stand so close to such genius at work.

After I'd finished my first pint I noticed that the Billys hadn't had a drop of theirs - probably because they were so busy helping me with my latest assault on Rangers. I asked the barman for another pint for myself and told him that Billy One would be paying. He shot me an angry look and told me I'd need to pay as it was clear I was on my own. He was so right, I am on my own on this crusade of mine, no one else will join me in constantly demonising the Rangers. Granted every other sports or otherwise journalist in Scotland has a pop at them occasionally, Lawwell sees to that, but no one else has made it their life's work to see the end of that vile sporting body. I was in the middle of saying this loudly to the barman when he said, 'right, I've had enough of this, get out you weirdo - you're barred!'
I left with my chin held high and Billy One and Two followed me but I lost them in the general hubbub and fog of Byres Road and didn't see them again that day.

Before I settled with my laptop to post my column for the Sunday Times I decided to pay the wife a visit in Broomhill. When I got there she was standing looking out of the window as she has been since her lover, Aamer Anwar went missing. Of course I know fine well what happened to him since I was one of the last to see him during the battle of the City Chambers when I'd helped him lose his grip and heard him fall to certain doom from an outside ledge. I couldn't possibly mention this to the wife though, not that she'd let me into her new flat and I spent the afternoon again, standing outside her door, ringing the bell, knowing she was inside but ignoring me.

As night fell and I left Broomhill after neighbours threatened to report me to the police, I made my way through the foggy gloom to my place in Hyndland. As I walked down Clarence Drive, a train thundered overhead on an unseen bridge, scattering pigeons who shat in fright all over my corduroy jacket. I cursed them when a figure stepped out of the fog. It was Donald Findlay, resplendent in his great coat and deerstalker hat, his whiskers bristling at me. 'Come with me Spiers, I have something very important to show you, something which might change your approach to Rangers.'
I doubt it, I thought as he whistled and a great black car pulled up beside us. He motioned for me to get in and I did, wiping bird shit from my shoulders as I stepped in. I gasped when I got in though, for sitting there were Martin Bain and my editor!
'To Ibrox! The game is afoot!' shouted Findlay to the driver and we disappeared into the mist towards the Clyde Tunnel.