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.