Life of Lie

 

Neil Lennon held a party at Jintys last night to celebrate his first victory as caretaker manager of Celtic. It was a very pleasant affair, Neil being one of the more civilised men in football that I've ever had the good fortune to befriend of late and his bouncers only had to restrain him three times from running into Ashton Lane to pick fights with protestants. None of the team were in attendance, all of them being too embarrassed to show their faces anywhere in public these days but Neil still had the capacity to attract the usual hangers on; the republican girls were there dressed as sexy leprachauns, Tom Devine was standing at the bar drinking port from an old boot and challenging people to press ups competitions and the Scotland Today bhoys were there drowning their sorrows as they were due to lose their jobs since they'd lost the tender for the Scottish news although the ceremonial dooking of Raman Bhardwaj and the thought that being Glasgow, their jobs would obviously be taken up by fellow Celtic supporters who would keep up the good work cheered them a little.

Later on I got chatting to Darryl Broadfoot who after complaining about George Peat and Gordon Smith's tendency to crack eggs down this trousers, told me the remarkable tale of the time recently when fellow journalist Tom English was sailing home from attending the sale of his father's zoo and his ship went down leaving only he and Peter Lawwell on a twenty six foot lifeboat along with a zebra, hyena and orangutang. I couldn't believe my luck in hearing this tale since Lawwell's private life if off limits to everyone and so fortunate was I to be hearing this astonishing tale from Broadfoot that as usual, I didn't check the background and am reporting this conjecture as fact.

I got in the drinks as Broadfoot told me the story. English had pulled himself onto the raft only to meet the hyena, orangutang and the zebra which had a broken leg when all of a sudden this great man eating beast came swimming towards their boat, sending the animals into a frenzy of fear. English backed off as Lawwell climbed onto another raft attached to the one English was on and they all sat and regarded each other in the hot blazing sun. It wasn't long before Lawwell spoke up, 'So the protestant work ethic works for us while the Celtic Minded approach misses silverware, eh English?' and he sprang at English but the zebra got in the way and was mauled instead, blood and limbs flying as English and the orangutang tried to get as far away as possible within the confines of the boat, the hyena sitting where it was hoping for a piece of the zebra.

They continued to drift in the sea, the heat becoming unbearable until Lawwell, hungry and bad tempered again, rose up shouting at English, 'Our paranoia is in danger of spiralling out of control, eh?' and he lunged at English but this time the orangutang wasn't fast enough and Lawwell savaged that, dragging it back to his boat to feast upon. More days passed and nothing stirred on the horizon and once more Lawwell approached the other boat. 'We're so wrapped up in our own myth as victims nobody is standing up, is that what you think?' he screamed at English who wasted no time in tossing the hyena over to Lawwell who tore it to pieces and devoured it. By this time English was beginning to regret writing such an excoriating article on Celtic as he'd run out of offerings for Lawwell and was on his own now. Fortunately for him, the boats washed up on land and Lawwell gave him a long hard stare and skulked off into the jungle and disappeared.

'Are you sure about this Daryll? It's a bit far fetched, even for the director of communications of the SFA,' I said to Broadfoot who took a swig of Guinness and thought about it for a moment before replying.
'Well, if you substitute the hyena, zebra and orangutang for Neil Cameron, Kevin McCarra and Glen Gibbons then you might be somewhere closer to the truth. Lawwell's been on the warpath since he was forced to bullet Mowbray and the temporary revolution while he was still recovering from the shock of the Haughey betrayal didn't help so anyone he considered not Celtic Minded enough was brought to him and slaughtered in his office.'
'I see. So the stuff about the boat, that didn't happen?' I asked.
'What are you, a moron? Of course it didn't happen, it was a parable now get to the bar and buy me a drink you great poncing cock.'

I got to the bar and remarkably who did I bump into but Glenn Gibbons himself, looking dishevelled and covered in bite marks. 'Hullo Glenn, been to see Lawwell then?' I asked.
'Who the fuck do you think you are talking to, me? Beat it, squirt,' growled Gibbons so I got Broadfoots drink and went back over and then as I was sitting down, Neil Lennon finally managed to break free from his bouncers and was out in Ashton Lane rolling around the cobbles and brawling with a couple of teenagers. I just knew Neil would make a terrific Celtic manager.

The Gathering Storm

The glider came in low over some fields just outside Inveraray and my earlier misgivings about Souness's ability with an aircraft dissipated as we skidded through the grass and came to a civilised halt watched only by some half interested sheep who figured that as long as we weren't going to try to shag them or eat them, they weren't bothered. In that case it was lucky we'd jettisoned Mark McGhee over Loch Fyne. Souness climbed out, winked at me and jogged to the edge of the field where Avi Cohen was waiting in a jeep to pick him up. 'See you later, loser!' shouted Souness and they roared off leaving me wondering how I'd get back to the west end this time.

I got home eventually though and found to my dismay that I'd missed out on some drama as Celtic had plunged to a four nil defeat to St. Mirren. After the match, during the uncertainty caused by Lawwell's breakdown since his betrayal by Willie Haughey, it turned out that a faction of Radio Clyde and the Daily Record had seized control of Celtic and imprisoned Tony Mowbray. Peter Grant however had locked himself in a room at Lennoxtown and as Keevins and the Traynor issued diktats from Parkhead, Grant issued conflicting statements from Lennoxtown until the power was cut off and he was smoked out of his room. For a while confusion reigned until Lawwell recovered from his stupor and led an assault on Parkhead through the car park. They flushed out the Clyde/Record dissenters killing Keevins in the process and cornered the Traynor by using whips and chairs until someone could locate a cage. Back in control, Lawwell immediately put Neil Lennon in charge to appease the fans and invited a few carefully chosen journalists to witness Lennon's first moments in charge. I was one of them.

I turned up late which was my own fault as I'd broken my alarm clock after some particularly energetic frugging to Elton John the night I got back from Inveraray and as I was being shown into the press room at Parkhead, Hugh MacDonald was being ushered out and a clean up team were scrubbing the chair and floor where he'd wet himself. Sitting next to MacDonald's chair was the Traynor who was strapped to a gurney, a hockey mask covering his face and then there was my chair which I noticed was covered in drawing pins and which I knew I'd have to sit on lest Lawwell think I didn't have the commitment to Celtic to sit on a chair full of drawing pins.

Lawwell dressed in Hugo Boss nazi grey, opened the session by introducing Lennon who entered the room dressed like an Italian popinjay in vaguely military garb. Lawwell asked him to tell us his plans for Celtic. 'First,' said Lennon. 'From now on you are to refer to me as Il Duce and my first act as caretaker Celtic manager will be to declare war on Rangers.'
'Ahem,' interrupted Lawwell. 'Duce, I think you'll find that we're content to wage a cold war on Rangers and that all out war is something we might consider in the future but not until we are in a position of complete strength.'
'Aye well, we're going to continue the cold war against Rangers but until then, to flex our muscles and prove that we're still a force to be reckoned with, we're going to invade Burnbank.'
'Precisely,' interrupted Lawwell again. 'Burnbank being populated only with savage spear wielding natives will be no match for our tanks, good call Duce.'
'Correct,' affirmed Lennon. 'And my second act will be to give Johan Mjallby a job.'
And with those two pieces of nonsense, Lawwell broke up the conference and I left the room as men in white uniforms came in to wheel away the Traynor.

It wasn't long before Burnbank was annexed and every SPL team had come out in support of Celtic with only Hamilton Accies signing a treaty with Rangers due to the close proximity of Burnbank to their football ground and the worry that they might be next. As I walked home in the rain, I turned up my corduroy collar against the wind and shivered. There is a storm coming and it's going to be a big one.

Endless Night: Epilogue, the Fall of the House of Lawwell

That final glimpse of Purcell before the hood came down over his face will haunt me forever. We're all used to Lawwell locking up the sporting press until they're back on message but at least he lets them go eventually. With Purcell in the hands of the Spider and who knows what type of monsters those two mystery men were, who's to say we'll ever see him again? One thing's for sure, the party's over at Parkhead. No more multi-million handouts to the Spider in return for donations to Labour, no more VIP seats at home games, no more a lot of things. Everything's about to change and I wasn't the only one to think so. As Cosgrove and I waited around for things to calm down before we left, all the journalists sneaked away with their singed backsides to report on the latest in the tragic saga of Purcell; the Joker, the Piddler and Two Face all lurked off into the night having had their arses felt by Cosgrove; and Lawwell sat silently in the middle of the car park, the pilot light on his flame thrower flickering and casting the only shadows remaining at this dismal scene. Then he got up, said f*ck it and stormed off in his jeep.

Cosgrove and I looked at each other and shrugged and started to make off towards the Batmobile when who should lower themselves out of the trees but Graeme Souness with the Rangers 80s Squad Commandos and Donald Findlay.
'Just making sure everything went as planned, lads,' said Souness. 'See you around.'
Findlay just chuckled and lit his pipe and they all disappeared into the darkness.
'Did you know they were there?' I asked Cosgrove.
'No idea, but doesn't it make you feel safer knowing they were?' he asked.
'I'm not really sure about that,' I replied. 'I'm not really sure about that at all.'

Endless Night: The Gathering Storm

We lay in the undergrowth at the side of the car park and watched as the Spider got out his car leaving Purcell looking agitated in the back seat. He stood in the gloom for a few minutes until the beam of another car lit him up as it pulled in beside him. Two dark figures got out and I could see them arguing animatedly but couldn't make out what they were saying. I turned towards Cosgrove to ask if he could hear and got the fright of my life, Cosgrove was gone and in his place was Chick Young - Two Face! 'Hello Spiers,' he squeaked and leapt on me, biting and tearing at me with his fingers. I rolled and tried to throw him from me and out of the corner of my eye I could make out Cosgrove wrestling with someone. Cosgrove turned and in a swirl of his cape hit his assailant a turning side kick in the stomach and sent him flying only for another figure to grab him from behind but Cosgrove was too quick and threw his attacker over his shoulder and stood in a defensive position waiting for the next assault. Tam Cowan and Hugh McDonald, for it was they, got up and approached Cosgrove again, slowly this time then McDonald pissed himself.
'Aw naw,' he groaned, looking down at his trousers and as Cosgrove's attention was diverted, Cowan sprung at him. 'Think you're funnier than me, do you Cosgrove? I'll show you,' snarled Cowan but Cosgrove punched him on the throat and the Joker fell to the ground choking. Meanwhile, I was still trying to stop Chick Young from slapping me around the face like an hysterical schoolgirl. As I struggled with him I heard a rustling from beside me and a head popped out of the bushes - it was Mark Macaskill from the Sunday Times! 'Shhhhhhh!' he said which stopped both Chick Young and me in our tracks.
'Eh?' was all I could manage.
'Shut the f*ck up Spiers, we can't hear a thing in here.'
'We? How many of you are in there?' I asked, goggling at the sudden turn of events.
'Oh just about every journalist in Scotland who isn't in Lawwell's concentration camp or been frozen by Mr Freeze over there. Now shut up, we're trying to work here.' And with that he disappeared back into the bushes.

Cosgrove was right about me, I'm a weirdness magnet. Who else would be lying in shrubbery being attacked by Chick Young while a man dressed as a bat wasted two idiot sports journalists dressed as super villains while all around us hid every other journalist in Scotland watching Willie Haughey argue with two mysterious men over the future of Steven Purcell who sat gibbering in the back of Haughey's car? F*cking weird, eh? Especially the last part.

Then things got worse. I managed to throw Chick Young off me while he was still taken aback by the appearance of Macaskill and I was trying to get back on my feet without being seen when Young grabbed my ankles and refused to let go. Cosgrove had just knocked out the Piddler with a blow to the chin and was fighting off Tam Cowan who was biting his ankles and laughing maniacally. Then when I thought things couldn't get anymore weird, a jeep drew up by the side of the road and out jumped Peter Lawwell carrying a flame thrower.

'Right, who's got f*cking Purcell?' he asked, threateningly. Cosgrove looked up from battering Tam Cowan and realising when he was outgunned, nodded towards the car park. Lawwell strode purposefully towards where the Spider still stood arguing with his mystery friends and as he was passing, let rip a great blast of flame towards the bushes and walked on as several dozen journalists jumped out of them with their arses on fire. The Spider and his friends couldn't fail to notice the flames and the two mystery men bolted for their car leaving the Spider on his own as he stared in anger and astonishment as Lawwell approached waving the flame thrower around and daring anyone to get in his way. 'Putting money before Celtic, eh Haughey?' roared Lawwell and let burst his flames but Haughey produced some strange gun of his own and countered with a blast of freezing ice which deflected the blast.
'I'm not called Mr Freeze for nothing Lawwell and yes, money before Celtic, money before religion, friendship or any other old bollocks. You were useful to me once but I've made enough, I know when to retire; that idiot Purcell has just brought it forward, that's all,' and he let rip with another blast of ice which Lawwell parried with flames from his thrower.
'How could you?' bellowed Lawwell. 'How could you put anything before Celtic? I thought you were one of us, I thought you were the greatest of us! All that time, paying for the election of Celtic minded politicians and paying for the advancement of Celtic minded journalists, that was all just to make money in return?'
'What else could it all be about Lawwell? Unlike you we don't all enjoy power for power's sake.'
Lawwell was almost in tears but he fought on, firing at Haughey and deflecting the icy blasts.
'It's about destroying the huns! That's what it's all about, wiping those bastards off the face of the map! That and nothing else!' he shouted.
'But why?' asked Haughey.
'Because they're bigots!' replied Lawwell without seeing the irony, then he collapsed to the ground and the Spider got in his car and drove off. As he disappeared out the car park I caught just a glimpse of Purcell, looking out of the rear window, tears in his eyes as someone put a black hood over his head and then they were gone.

Endless Night: To the Car Park Declan

The spider tore up the M77, through the south side and into East Kilbride, all the while Cosgrove and I were close behind him in the batmobile. As we roared through the night I told Cosgrove I was fed up being kept in the dark - what was going on with this whole Spider and Purcell business and where was my story laying into Rangers he'd promised?
'There is no Rangers story Spiers, you mincing squirt. That was just a ruse to get you on board. I'd heard you'd sell your family for an anti-Rangers story and here we are, it was all true. If you really want to stick it to Rangers, make it up like you usually do.'
I had no argument there.
'But why get me on board? I've done nothing to help you so far save for almost being shot on a rooftop and being far too close to the Spider than I ever want to be again in my life.'
'I needed you for the success of my mission Spiers, you're a weirdness magnet. No one knows why or how but it's commonly known within the industry that strange and stupid things happen around you. With you beside me it was only a matter of time before odd characters started appearing out of the ether to present themselves to us, leading the way to the answers as to how Celtic managed to build themselves an empire within Glasgow City Council.'
'You're right about the weirdos, I'd noticed that too but Glasgow City Council has always been Celtic daft, why bother about it now?'
'Because there's a great war coming that will tear Glasgow apart. Oh you lickspittles at Parkhead think that Rangers are running scared from big bad Lawwell, his Stasi and all the weird and wonderful goons he has working for him, keeping the media in line and co-ordinating politicians. You think Rangers maintain a dignified silence allowing Celtic to get away with all sorts of indignities but they don't, they only want you to think that. Rangers are in fact working away furiously beneath the radar, preparing for the day when Celtic go too far and that day is not far away as Lawwell, empowered by the success of his recent campaign against referees, considers his next outrage. Surely you must have noticed Graeme Souness and the Rangers 80s Squad Commandos keeping a watchful eye on things? How about Donald Findlay 'chancing' upon various incidents and swaying them away from Lawwell's intentions? These are just two of the many facets of the Rangers organisation. And Spiers? I'm another.'
I was shocked, I didn't see this coming - I thought Cosgrove was just another loose cannon but the perfidious Perth street fighter turns out to be working for Rangers all along. What a mighty feat it has been for him to hide this all this time! Then suddenly I realised that if he is working for Rangers then he'd be no friend of mine but before I could begin to think of an escape plan, the Spider's car spun into a car park up ahead of us and Cosgrove drove the batmobile off the road and we hid in some bushes.
'A car park,' said Cosgrove. 'What is it about this lot and car parks?'

Endless Night: A Twitch Upon the Thread

'Endless night? Endless shite more like,' said the Spider or Mr Freeze as Bat-Cosgrove liked to call him.
'Oh my god,' sobbed Purcell and fell to the floor in front of the Spider. 'Please don't kill me, I've tried my best but those bastards are onto me - I should've known not to trust the BBC bhoys.'
'It wasn't them Stephen, it was you. You brought this misfortune down on all of us by consorting with the wrong types in order to feed your appetite. Not content with socialising with the useful idiots at the BBC, you had to go and emulate their behaviour and now look what's happened, some stray journalists who can't be touched by either my money or Lawwell's goons have broken from the pack and are ready to run with the story. As soon as that story breaks then it won't be long before your connection with me is revealed and then it'll be the worse for everyone. I haven't built up this empire for the good of the organisation you know, it's going to surprise you but religion means nothing to me - it's just another means of control over the idiot masses. Religion and Celtic: two good ways to make sure you get what you want in the west of Scotland - what's that Stephen? You can't argue, can you? It was both of these things which got you to power and once you were leader of the council it was pay day for anyone with a season ticket to Parkhead. Well your religion and your football team can go to hell, no one comes between me and my riches - come on, you're coming with me.'
And with that, the Spider dragged Purcell out of his flat and we heard a car roaring off outside.
'Quickly, we must follow them!' Shouted Cosgrove as he burst out of the closet. I of course was quite happy where I was, the closet was nice and cosy and safe but Cosgrove reached in and dragged me with him and in a flapping of capes we were in the Batmobile and rushing off down Crow Road in pursuit of the Spider and Purcell.

Endless Night: Atlas Shrugged

So what turned Chick Young from a mischievous street urchin into a major super criminal working for Mr Freeze? According to Cosgrove as we made our way across the city rooftops towards safety, it was big money of course - back handers from Mr Freeze bought Young as easily as they bought Glasgow City Council. But what of his face, how did it become so distorted? This apparently was a result of a psychological trauma brought on in Young by the betrayal of Rangers for Celtic Minded money which presented as a form of Bells Palsy thus his new nickname, Two Face. After the boot he took from Cosgrove they should be calling him Nae Baws but we'll see if that catches on.

Cosgrove's ability to pick locks impressed me and pretty soon we were secure in Purcell's west end hideout waiting for him to return home. It was a long wait and while we waited, hidden in a closet, we got into an quarrel on objectivism with me arguing that man cannot change another man's mind: a man can change only his own mind. In saying that, one man can expose another man to falsehoods in the hope that the man will make his subjective beliefs consistent with these newly-acquired falsehoods. I told him this was the philosophy of my journalism and quoted Ayn Rand and Cosgrove broke my nose. I was holding my head back and complaining about his temper when we heard the noise of a door being unlocked.

Purcell entered the room and we could hear him sit down by the harpsichord and begin to play a haunting tune which I recognised from my school days. For a moment I was transported back to those stern days when I was taught in a non-denominational school by a strict presbyterian teacher who insisted on imparting knowledge instead of the fairy tales and incense I so longed for. That knowledge stirred within me, the tune, it was Auguries of Innocence by William Blake. Purcell began to sing,
'A robin redbreast in a cage. Puts all heaven in a rage.'
Was he referring to me and my costume? The red corduroy breast couldn't be more obvious and here I am in a cage of my own misfortune, siding foolishly with another lunatic who rails against the establishment. Purcell continued to sing, his voice betraying a melancholy which seemed to possess his very soul.
'The bat that flits at close of eve. Has left the brain that won't believe.'
That does it, 'the bat'? He knows we're here, is he singing this song to warn us? The song went on.
'The wanton boy that kills the fly. Shall feel the spider's enmity.'
Oh, that does it, this was too much of a coincidence. He sang on as I felt the icy chill of danger spread down my spine.
'Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.'

And with that he collapsed sobbing onto the keys of the harpsichord and I was just about to leave our hiding space and run to him, the feelings for him from the past welling up inside me, too hard to control now but Cosgrove grabbed my shoulder and motioned for me to stay and just as well he did because then we heard another voice from outside in the room. We both peeked out the closet and Cosgrove gasped, 'Mr Freeze!' just as I at the same time exclaimed, 'The Spider!' and we turned and looked at each other - he was one and the same, it was Willie Haughey!

Endless Night: The Dark Knight Returns

The wind blew in the open window and the curtains billowed noisily. This is what woke me up and as I stood there in my corduroy dressing gown, eyes adjusting to the faint squeak of light peeping into the room, a gruff voice broke from the darkness in the corner, 'You need to get better locks on your windows.'
'Jesus Christ!' I started. 'If I'd been Hugh MacDonald I'd have shat myself there. Who the hell are you?'
The figure crouched among the shadows, his cape fluttering in the wind blowing through the open window, his pointed ears casting a spooky shadow on the wall beside my framed print of A Chorus Line.
'What on earth are you doing, all dressed up like that?' I asked.
'Desperate times demand desperate measures Spiers, this disguise keeps me out of Lawwell's gulag,' growled Stuart Cosgrove. 'Somewhere you'd be now if I hadn't intervened the other night. Now I want you to help me sort out this mess. Ever since Celtic lost to Rangers in the final seconds of the game, Lawwell has gone from barmy to downright barking - the thing that puzzles me is this, we're used to him locking up the Scottish sporting press but this time he's started rounding up political correspondents too. They've been disappearing one by one since the big game and in the same manner you lot are used to, the booting down of doors at midnight, the truncheons, hoods over the heads and black vans and those are the lucky ones because other political journalists have been found dead, turned to ice as if frozen to the spot where they stood. I tell you Spiers, I've never seen anything like it. So as your colleagues in sport post their copy from Lawwell's camps, bleating about biased refereeing in an effort to whip the Celtic fans into a frenzy and deflect from Mowbray's utter capitulation, others are dying and for what? What political scandal is teetering on the edge of discovery that would cause Lawwell and his gang to begin wiping people out? What outrage involving those denizens of the main stand at Parkhead because make no mistake, this is who is silencing the press, have we yet to discover? Something huge is about to break Spiers and I need your help in confronting it.'
'Why me? Why my help?' I asked him, fearing I was about to be dragged into yet another hair brained adventure, putting my life in danger and scaring the life right out of me.
'Why you?' Cosgrove rasped. 'Because you're only free because of me and because the world of politics and football are about to collide in a spectacular manner as I suspect...'
He paused and stood at the window, one foot on the floor and the other on the ledge, cape billowing with the curtains and for all the world, he looked like some giant bat man creature as he stared into my eyes.
'I suspect your friend Purcell is about to bring down the Spider.'
And with that he leaped out the window and disappeared.

Endless Shite: Chapter 4, A Walk Across the Rooftops

I stood on a rooftop in Glasgow city centre, holding on for dear life to a disused Georgian chimney pot as my cape blew around so much in the wind that it nearly had me off the roof and hurtling to certain death on the grimy streets below. It was no problem for Stuart Cosgrove though as he stood on the edge of the old building, legs dramatically apart as he gazed down on Glasgow as it went about its business, unaware that it was being watched by the Perth sentinel. Cosgrove had recruited me a few days earlier after rescuing me from Lawwell's stasi as they rounded up the Scottish sporting press. It didn't take much to get me on board, a promise of an exclusive story laying into Rangers and a rather fine costume which I had altered to accommodate more corduroy. So there I was dressed all in green with a red breast and corduroy cape and mask, helping Cosgrove tail Steven Purcell from the rooftops, always the rooftops.

'Follow Purcell and he'll lead us to Mr Freeze, the man who's been encasing political journalists in ice the past week or so,' said Cosgrove, binoculars held up to his eyes, scanning the back alleys and lanes. 'Someone out there has something big to hide, something these journalists might have stumbled upon and Purcell is the common denominator in all of it, I'm sure.'
I was just about to ask how he could be so sure when I heard a rattle from behind me and there was Chick Young pointing a gun at us. Only it seemed like Chick Young, on one side of his face at least - the other side being horribly scarred.
'Two Face!' exclaimed Cosgrove. 'How did you know we'd be here?'
'Chick Young smiled an obscene, twisted smile and motioned for Cosgrove to get down from the edge of the building. 'You should never trust anyone at BBC Scotland, Cosgrove. I thought you'd know that by now - they're all on our side and the moment you confided your plan to one of their number, it was only a matter of staking out the rooftops above Purcell as we had him dangling like bait down there in Virginia Street. This roof's mine but over there is the Joker...'
'Tam Cowan!' cried Cosgrove, wounded by the betrayal.
'And over on that rooftop is the Traynor and on that other one, the Piddler.'
'The Piddler - you mean Hugh McDonald's with you?'
'Yes, probably wetting himself with the cold but that doesn't matter, you came to my roof and I get the pleasure of tossing you off.'
This tweaked my attention, 'Tossing off?' I asked.
'Not like that Spiers, oh and by the way, terrible disguise. If you don't want anyone to know who you are, give the corduroy a miss. Not that it matters where you're going.'
'Don't worry Spiers,' said Cosgrove. 'From this position there are four defensive moves; two of them disable, one of them kills and the other knocks your bollocks into your mouth, which would you like Young, you two faced little shit?'
But before Chick Young could reply, Cosgrove moved with the speed of an east coast ninja and drove his boot right into Young's groin, there was a popping sound and he collapsed onto his knees, vomiting onto the roof. Cosgrove grabbed Young's gun, emptied the chamber and dropped it down a chimney. 'It's been a trap all along Spiers, come on, we have to be quick,' and he shot a grappling hook into the night, took a hold of me and before I knew it we were soaring through the sky.

The things I do to get a dig in at the Rangers...

Endless Night: The Papes of Wrath

The night after Rangers beat Celtic, every member of the Scottish sporting press was in hiding from the Lawwell Stasi who were rounding everyone up in unmarked vans and anyone who wasn't already taken was keeping a low profile. Of course being as cowardly as an Ayrshire fireman, I was holed up in a coal bunker in the back court of a block of tenement flats in Partick.

It was around midnight when I heard the stomp of men running down the close and the crash of a boot kicking open a door. There were screams from the flat as they dragged some poor soul out as a woman cried and begged them for mercy only for her sobbing to stop suddenly as the truncheons rained down on her. It was just my luck to hide out in the close of some minor sports writer for a local rag of some sort - Lawwell's goons were collecting everyone then, this must be serious. As I pondered this, a lump of coal rolled from on top of me and fell to the ground, the noise catching the attention of the Stasi who stopped beating the woman and opened the door to the coal bunker where I was hiding in the corner. A torch shone in and one of them laughed, 'We've got a big one here - it's Spiers. Come on you orange bastard, it's payback time' and before I could object I was being dragged from the coal and could feel the smack of truncheons on the back of my legs. I was thrown to the ground and my head fell beside the battered and bloodied face of Bryan Young. Just as I thought I was going to meet the same fate as him, I heard a strange sound, like the soft rustle of leather wings and then the noise of bones cracking as my assailants fell silently, one by one until I was the only one still conscious, sitting there in the dark trying to see what was happening. Then from the blackness of the night a shadow moved towards me, and as it appeared slowly under the neon fizz of a courtyard lamp, I saw a man dressed all in black with a cape and pointy ears. In a rough teuchter accent he told me, 'There is evil abroad tonight, go home and lock your doors and think long and hard about the sides you have chosen of late.' Then he reached skywards and there was a swoosh from his hand as a grappling hook fired upwards and then he rose and disappeared over the rooftops his cape flapping in the wind. I couldn't believe it, was that just Stuart Cosgrove who'd rescued me while dressed as a bat?

Endless Night: For Celtic with Love and Squalor

Who can tell when something really begins or when it ends? Could my most recent adventure have begun shortly after the recent old firm game or did it really begin all those months ago at Lawwell's country retreat, Schonhausen? The grand pile echoed to the sound of loud voices, laughter and music - everyone was happy, Celtic hadn't quite dropped so far behind Rangers at this time and Lawwell was basking in the glow of adulation from the assembled guests as he let them all into the secret that Robbie Keane was coming to Celtic.

It wasn't until later that we played party games and everyone hooted as we played blind man's buff, pin the tail on the Mowbray and then someone suggested a spelling bee. We separated into teams and after much mirth and merriment, we had a final between Lawwell and John Reid in one team and me and Steven Purcell in the other. Steven was briefly returned from the Tunisian monastery where he'd been recupirating from his final battle with the Traynor but some had despaired that upon his return, he'd fallen in with a fast set, not like him at all; the Reporting Scotland bhoys of course loved the easy access to the VIP facilities at Parkhead which was lavished upon them by an infatuated Purcell and every second Saturday they'd watch their beloved Celtic and then throw wild parties in the Chip and then everyone back to Broomhill for orgies that'd make Colin and Justin blush. I hardly recognised the Steven that I had known during our brief romance as students but it was still a pleasure to team up with him for the spelling bee at Schonhausen.

Our first word was an easy one and it was given to Steven, put to him by Mike McMahon who was our quizmaster and lapping it up.
'Steven, line?'
'Yes please!' rushed Steven, his face lighting up.
No,' frowned McMahon, 'spell line.'
'Oh, erm, yes of course. L-i-n-e.'
'Correct. Now, Mr Lawwell, your next word is integrity, spell integrity' said McMahon to Lawwell who flushed and looked at the floor.
'Uuuuuuuh.., erm, uh, u-n-t-e-g-r-u-t-y?' ventured Lawwell.
'No, sorry, wrong. Who'd have guessed it folks, Peter can't even spell integrity?' shouted McMahon and everyone started laughing. Lawwell's eyes flashed with fury and he reached towards the fireplace and pulled a poker from its stand and started to thrash it at those closest to him until everyone was back against the walls, men appalled and women crying as he foamed at the mouth, flecks of spit falling over his tunic and red swastika armband as he screamed for everyone to leave. It took a while as we all had to duck past Lawwell who was still wielding the poker and had produced a riding crop too by this time but we got out of the room and as people filed outside and into their expenses paid limousines, I felt a tap on my shoulder, it was Stephen McGowna of the Scottish Daily Mail. he winked at me and stood there smouldering so I took his hand and we sloped off into another room and began to kiss and grope each other. Things were getting very steamy and we'd rolled under the billiards table when all of a sudden the door opened and in walked what I could hear was Lawwell and John Reid, puffing on cigars and drinking brandy. They didn't see us so we stayed perfectly still and silent, hidden beneath the billiard table.

'You do understand he's a fucking moron, don't you John?' It was Lawwell talking.
'I know, I know,' replied Reid. 'But we've backed him and he cost a fortune to bring here never mind the other fortune he's spent on duds so I think we'll have to run with him for the time being. Our finances are stable, we can afford to lose one more league, we just have to manage the supporters because of course, they'll be calling for his head and we don't want car park protests again - no one wants to go back to the nineties.'
'Don't worry about the supporters,' said Lawwell. 'They're as easy to control as teh Scottish media, I'll have them eating out of the palms of my hands in no time. Incidentally, so sorry about your hands, we weren't to know that Elaine C Smith was awake that night - quick, isn't she?'
'Don't worry about it, the steel claws are useful as another weapon of fear, they quite suit me, now tell me more about your managing the supporters.'
'It's simple, first we have Robbie Keane coming, he'll be treated like a messiah, the masses will think they have one of their own playing in the team again - of course Robbie's a Liverpool fan, has been since he was a boy and is on record as stating that but for sixty five grand a week he's agreed to embarrass himself and claim he's supported Celtic since he was a child. Who knows, perhaps with him on baord our fortunes will change? If they don't however, I have a meeting set up with an unsuspecting SFA, ostensibly to discuss like gentlemen the standard of refereeing but really, I'm not worried about referees, they've actually given us terrific help over the past few seasons but this will allow us, if Rangers continue to dominate, to leak the meeting to our agents in the press and stir up such a shit storm of paranoia among our fans that they'll forget all about the results on the field and we'll be lucky if there isn't some great big fucking Roman Catholic insurrection at the end of it. You know, I'm so grateful at times for our faith schooling - where else could we indoctrinate our people at such a young age into believing the whole world is against them, leaving them all ripe to be plucked and used for our own Machiavellian schemes? Sorry John, I know I've never done it before but I think at last it's time for me to laugh - bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha!'
And Reid joined in, 'Mwah ha ha ha ha ha ha!'
As they laughed like a pair of absurd evil geniuses, I glanced at McGowan who was eyeing me suspiciously and I didn't see in his eyes, the panic which was now obviously showing in mine. He didn't seem at all surprised at what we'd been overhearing.

Lawwell and Reid then knocked a few pills around the billiard table, finished their brandy and cigars and left the room. McGowan and I got out from under the table and as I brushed the dust from my corduroy dinner suit and McGowan pulled up his zip, I asked him if he was appalled at what we'd just heard. 'No,' he whispered. 'I'm not. You see Spiers, I'm one of Lawwell's agents in the press, surely you should've worked that out by now? Never a good word to say about Rangers and always painfully on message with what's coming out of Parkhead. I know you used to show some semblance of independence, until you were thrown out of Murray's orgy in Clichy or so I heard, but me? I am on Lawwell's payroll so I'm afraid I have to advise you to keep quiet about what you heard here tonight even if it's only for your own good.'
'No, I cannot compromise my journalistic ideals' I lied.
'Then,' uttered McGowan darkly. 'You're going to have to die' and he sprung at me with a pool cue, stabbing at me with the sharp end. It glanced off my forehead, green chalk crumbling onto my face and stuck in the wall behind me. I panicked and struck out with my foot and caught him a lucky blow between the legs and he went down like Kyle Lafferty, shrieking and shouting for help. I heard the footsteps coming down the hall and looked around for a way out, there was only the window so I bounded over towards it, pulled back the heavy curtains, opened the window and was out of there in a twinkling, running through shrubs and avoiding low branches as I heard the dogs being let loose somewhere in the dark behind me. I sprinted towards the tall wire fences which ring Schonhausen but it took an age as Lawwell's pile is so huge and by the time I reached them the bloody hounds had reached me. I scrambled up the fence just as the lead dog jumped and grabbed me by the arse, tearing at my corduroys. With all my strength I pulled myself up that fence but the dog didn't let go, shaking its head, its jaw clamped tight around the seat of my trousers. I could feel my fingers beginning to loosen around the wire, the dog was still on me and I couldn't summon any more reserve to pull me once and for all over the top of the fence. My grip loosened and I shut my eyes, preparing to fall and be savaged by those merciless hounds. Then I heard the soft sound of a silenced gun and the dog fell from my backside and strong, safe hands were gripping me and pulling me over the fence to safety - it was Chris Woods! He pulled me into the darkness of the trees where I saw Graeme Souness with his smoking pistol and the ever vigilant Avi Cohen crouching beside him keeping guard. Oh for fucks sake, I'd just been rescued yet again by the Rangers 80s Squad Commandos, how embarrassing.

So that was how the whole thing started for me and I suppose too for Lawwell and Souness and everyone else who ended up suffering in this unholy mess we all got ourselves into. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have ignored McGowan's flirting and gone home to knock one off into my Martin O'Neil scrapbook but I didn't and the face of Scottish football was to change forever as a result.