The Mowbray Sanction Part 4: The Return of the Traynor

Mowbray squealed and tried to get up but the Traynor pushed him back into his seat. I steadied myself, cleared my throat and said to the Traynor straight, 'I thought we were okay now?'
'We're fine,' growled the Traynor. 'This is between me and Mowbray here, it's personal.'
Then Mowbray, scared out of his wits, said 'Look Traynor, it's not personal. My beef is with Keith Jackson, not you' and as he said it, his arm shifted nervously across the table and knocked over his bottle of beer. The Traynor, acting instinctively, reached over and saved the precious booze from spilling over the floor while Mowbray, seizing his chance, ducked past him and out the door. The Traynor looked at me briefly, baring his teeth, then sighed long and hard and sat down beside me. 'It's just not the same anymore, is it Spiers?'
'Eh, what do you mean?' I asked.
'All this, it's just not the same. At least when Lawwell was in control of things you knew where you stood; but now, now we have factions and sub-factions all fighting amongst themselves, the media split down the middle, civil war raging in republican bars throughout the east end while Graeme Souness and the 80s Rangers Squad Commandos mop up the survivors and for what? Well, the reason for all of this has just bolted from this pub, his great nose bouncing as he gallops down Byres Road. I wasn't even tracking him you know, I just happened to be passing this place and saw the pair of you as I glanced in the window. Remember the old days when I'd try and kill you and then Stephen Purcell would appear from nowhere and we'd have the most marvellous ding dongs? Aye, those were the days. These days I'm too busy flicking away journalistic pipsqueaks in Celtic scarves to have time to find a really good fight. I'm bored Spiers, bored.'
Well this was a turn up for the books, here was the most feared animal in all of the Scottish sporting media confiding in me, but why?
'I've got an idea Spiers' said the Traynor, suddenly brightening up. 'Why don't you write a huge love letter to Mowbray in your column this Sunday and that just might get everything back on an even keel? You know how other journalists look up to you, they'll follow your lead, Mowbray will gain support, the in-fighting will stop, Lawwell will be back in charge and everything will be back to normal.'
I beamed in the knowledge that my integrity was a beacon for others in the sporting media and almost immediately began to form a new story in my head which would take the place of my usual Rangers baiting. 'I'll do it' I said and the Traynor shook my hand, downed the bottle of Mowbray's beer he'd saved and left the pub and as he did I thought I could hear the slightest, almost imperceptible sound of giggling coming from him. Strange.

So I got fully behind Tony Mowbray and now I wait for others to join me in my campaign. The only thing is, I've had an uneasy feeling since my column was published yesterday, a queer feeling that something's not right. I can't quite put my finger on it but it'll come to me eventually.