A Lawwell Christmas Carol Part Two

Part Two

The door to Peter Lawwell's office opened and a heavy jackboot connected with Declan's backside with a thud, hurling him through the door and sprawling across the floor where he bumped into his desk, knocking over the single candle which went out with a fizz. Declan sat in the dark and wept. Now he'd have to strain to continue with his job from the faint glow of the street lights coming through the window; Lawwell only paid for one match a day and it was spent this morning lighting the candle the first time. It was eight o'clock at night and Declan still had an hour to go before he'd be allowed to go home to his family. He gazed at the snow falling outside and sighed.

Lawwell came striding out his office, spurs clinking as he put on his Eastern Front great coat. He ignored Declan who sat scouring a newspaper by the window and stomped down the corridor and out towards home. When he got to his house he reached for the lock with his key and suddenly noticed something strange about the door knocker - it had changed from the usual Green Man to something oddly resembling Phil O'Donnell, a spectral face which moved on its own, it looked up at him and spoke, 'Lawwell, you bastard. You exploited my death to avoid meeting Rangers when your team was depleted through injury and suspension, how could you be so cynical?'
Lawwell initially startled, grabbed the knocker and started banging it against the door as hard as he could, and the spectral face cried 'Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!' and then disappeared leaving just the plain old brass door knocker. Lawwell was puzzled and slightly spooked by the occurrence but put it to the back of his mind and entered his house and started to undress out of his uniform when he noticed a ghostly figure sitting on the edge of his bed - it was Phil O'Donnell again. 'You don't get rid of me that easily Lawwell,' he said. 'If ever a man had to change his ways, it's you and to help you towards this goal, you will be visited by three ghosts tonight who will show you the error of your ways. It's time to repent, Lawwell, repent!' and he was gone. 'Now who the hell was that?' wondered Lawwell getting into his nightgown, not knowing what Phil O'Donnell looked like in life or in the afterlife.

'I am the ghost of Celtic Past!' roared the ghost of a large man from the corner of the room.
'Christ, it's like Sauchiehall Street in here,' sighed Lawwell, turning to see who it was now. It was Jock Stein and he grabbed Lawwell and said, 'I'm taking you on a journey to the past - your own and that of Celtic. Come, and see what once was,' and with a wave of his great arms, Jock Stein magically transported them to Lawwell's childhood. They both stood and watched as a five year old Lawwell was waved goodbye by his mother as he went to school for the first time. He was with his friend Johnny from next door and they both giggled and skipped down the street in the sunshine towards their first day at school but then the sky darkened and Johnny had to leave and go to a different school from young Peter and he was left on his own to go to another school along the road a little. Time passed and young Peter left his first day of school and bumped into little Johnny leaving his own. Johnny came toddling over to Peter and said hello but Peter turned his back on him, then turned and called him an 'orange bastard' and ran off. Little Johnny began to cry, what had happened to his friend after one day in a different school? Suddenly everything became hazy and Lawwell and Jock Stein were transported to Celtic Park in the 70s. 'This was my time,' said Big Jock. 'Listen to the terraces - listen to them sing their songs of hatred. Aye, a hatred born of the same apartheid schooling which caused you to turn your back on little Johnny who was your best friend. The same hatred perpetuated by your own Machiavellian scheming to maintain the status quo which will lead to more young Peters and little Johnnies falling out. The system created a monster in you and now that monster is pursuing the furtherance of that system to create more monsters. Shame on you Lawwell, shaaaaaaame!' And Lawwell was back in his bedroom and Jock Stein was gone. 'Bloody hell,' thought Lawwell, 'this is a new one on me,' and he climbed into bed, vowing never to eat three day old chicken from the Parkhead canteen again.