From Lawwell With Love

Another huge party at Bairds last night to celebrate the signing of Robbie Keane. All the usual suspects were there and intriguingly, Lawwell was out of his usual Nazi regalia and dressed in a toga with laurel leaves in his hair. He was brought into the room on the shoulders of the sports staff from the Daily Mail while BBC Scotland and STV executives threw green and white streamers over him and everyone from Radio Clyde waved sparklers and set off party poppers. A great hush then fell over the crowd as Lawwell raised his arms and said, 'Friends, Romans, countrymen, I give you Robbie Keane' and everyone went mental, screaming, popping champagne and singing maudlin Irish laments.

I stood well back, in a corner beside Tony Mowbray who whispered to me, 'You do know I had nothing to do with that signing, don't you?'
'I guessed that' I replied.
'I signed the other guys whose names no one can remember.'
'Yeah, who were they again?'
'And what was all that about in your column on Sunday?' he asked, looking at me funny.
'The Traynor recommended I write that to get everything back to normal, didn't you like it?'
'I liked it alright but you do realise that Traynor's setting you up with that? He's Daily Record, they're persona non grata at Celtic just now thanks to my little faux pas with Scott Brown. Until Lawwell receives a personal apology and the audio tape from Keith Jackson then they're not welcome at Parkhead. He's outside too.'
'Who?'
'Keith Jackson. He's outside in the street pleading to be allowed in to join the celebrations, full Celtic kit on and everything to show how big a Celtic man he is but Lawwell's having none of it until he gets what he wants and he'll wait a long time as the sociopath Traynor won't allow Jackson to back down. It's all very entertaining. When I signed up to manage a football team I didn't realise I was volunteering to be part of this soap opera, all very strange...' and his words trailed off as he noticed Charlie Gordon watching him intently.
'I need to mingle Spiers, catch you later' and with that he was off.

The night wore on, the noise got louder and as news reached the outer estates, more and more Labour MPs and councillors arrived in their green ties and socks. Lawwell by now had a few of his closest agents in the media surrounding him as he regaled them with stories of how he put one over Martin Bain and there were plenty of those tales. His cronies guffawed and spilled whisky, fawning over him something awful but then I was summoned and he beckoned me and the others into a private room. There was me, Hugh Keevins (allowed because of his Clyde connections and therefore exempt from the Record ban), Hugh MacDonald, Iain King, and a few young turk television producers. I was nervous as experience tells me in situations like this we're either going to be given an almighty exclusive or the thrashing of a lifetime. Lawwell waited for hush which was instant and then he started to walk among us, all the time saying, 'So what do you think of this signing then, eh? I'm sure none of you actually believed I could pull it off. In fact I'm sure most of you thought it was just the wishful ramblings of some of our more naive fans but no, I, Lawwell, have brought Robbie Keane to Celtic, his spiritual home. Yes, Mowbray's signed a few others whose names I can't remember right now but this is the big one, and I did it on my own without any prompting from the media... Without any hysterical incitement from anyone on the radio... Radio Clyde to be precise.'
All eyes turned on Hugh Keevins who blushed.
'Yes, Radio Clyde, Keevins,' Lawwell went on. 'I heard you loud and clear with your shrill pronouncements that Celtic must do this and must do that - our moron fans thought you were just being anti-Celtic but I knew different, I knew you were trying to cajole us into spending big to make up for Mowbray's failings as a manager. But do you know something Keevins? I didn't need your input, never have and never will and to tell you the truth, I've taken care of much better Keevins than you and will do again in the future so say goodnight.' And he pulled out a gun and shot Keevins through the heart.

Everyone else in the room backed off and stood gaping at the prone body of Keevins the third, fourth, fifth? Who knows? This was obviously a message to the rest of us. 'This is a message to the rest of you' shouted Lawwell. 'Never, I said, never doubt me again' and he threw down the pistol and walked calmly out of the room leaving us all standing in a silence which was disturbed only by the sound of Hugh MacDonald wetting his trousers which was nothing new really.

By the time I'd found the courage to venture back out into the pub, the party was in full swing, Mowbray was nowhere to be seen and a new Keevins was being introduced to the pack. Tuesday night's call in should be interesting to find out just how on-message the new Keevins would be, absolutely spot on would be my guess. I made my apologies to a few people before leaving but all they would do was laugh at me, accusing me of backing the wrong horse right at the last minute and asking me how I felt about my Sunday love letter to Mowbray now. I smiled at one of the republican girls as she opened the door to let me leave and then walked alone down the wet and grimy street as the wind whistled along the Gallowgate.