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.