Le Fantome de Hampden

I visited Lawwell yesterday and found him in the process of upgrading his office. Gone were the oak panels, replaced by sandbags and barbed wire and two sentries now stood on guard at his door. I was frisked and allowed in only to be confronted by him naked except for a pair of comedy Freddie Starr Hitler underpants. He was marching up and down his office brandishing his horse whip and swatting at imaginary mice. This didn't exactly set me at ease and  I took my usual seat on the floor to report to him what I knew about Lennon, leaving out practically everything I'd found out about the android replacement and the involvement of Rangers - no point in upsetting him while he's fragile I thought.  Plus there was also the little matter of my being paranoid that Bat-Cosgrove might be spying on me. Lawwell eyed me suspiciously then turned and thrashed Tommy Gemmell with the horse whip. After about ten minutes of this I realised he'd quite forgotten I was there so I got up and backed towards the door and got out without him noticing. As I was leaving Parkhead, I observed a Rentokil pest controller at work in the corridors laying down traps for the infestation of imaginary mice Lawwell had reported. As the man was laying the traps, Lennon stood behind him in a scruffy tracksuit shouting 'Exterminate! Exterminate!'  All very strange but since he's like that every night in his cups anyway, nobody noticed any difference.

Not as strange as it is at Hampden where I went next. As I got there, George Peat was lying in a horses' drinking trough, up to his neck in water. 'Hello George, got a replacement for Smith yet?' I asked. George harrumphed and got out the trough and accompanied me up the steps to the SFA offices where in the distance I noticed Darryl Broadfoot leave his office into the corridor, notice us walking towards him then scurrying back into his office and locking the door.

We arrived at Peat's office which was a mess of various splashes across walls and the floor - some white paint here, black tar there, feathers covering almost everything. George sat down behind his desk and I sat on the chair in front of him, the chair farting in protest. He looked at me and said 'I didn't get where I am today without noticing strange goings on in the dungeons and alcoves of Hampden. Something odd is happening in these hallowed halls, Spiers: maniacal laughter late at night, a dark figure flitting around in the shadows, singing. I tell you Spiers, I think this has something to do with Gordon Smith - he knows I stabbed him in the back and somehow he's returned to exact revenge.'
'Sounds damned odd to me George,' says I.  'Couldn't there be another more rational explanation? I mean, it's a bit far fetched to imagine that Gordon Smith is haunting Hampden' and just as I said this, there was a noise from the wall at the far side of Peat's office. We both halted and looked towards the huge arras covering the wall which seemed to be moving ever so slightly. I looked at Peat in horror and he raised one finger to his lips for me to be quiet and got up from his desk, silently pulling a sword from his umbrella stand. 'How now? A rat?' he shouted, running towards the arras, his sword pointed towards the shape moving behind it.
'Dead for a ducat, dead!' and he ran the sword through the arras as someone howled in pain. I jumped up and pulled back the curtain to reveal Darryl Broadfoot pinned to the wall.
'Oh, hello Spiers, George,' he said, grinning through gritted teeth while his blood trickled down the wall.
'What in blue blazes?' goggled Peat.
'I was just looking out for you George, honest! I know how you're shaken by this phantom business and didn't want you saying to Spiers here anything that might be misconstrued. It's my job after all, remember?'
Broadfoot's babbling seemed to satisfy Peat who pulled out the sword, told Broadfoot to get to the nurse and sloped back to his seat, moving to sit down but missing the chair and landing behind his desk in a puff of feathers.

It didn't satisfy me though, Broadfoot was doing more than looking out for Peat, he was spying on him for Lawwell, I was sure of it. This didn't bother me in the slightest so I went home and put together a piece for the Times on Billy Davies being associated with the Celtic managers job which I wrote solely to remind Celtic fans that Billy Davies played for Rangers, knowing that this would completely scupper his chances - if the Parkhead hoards can't handle a non-Celtic-Minded Gordon Strachan managing them, how are they going to react if an ex-Ger took over? No, this would be quite impossible, Reid and Lawwell wouldn't allow it but just in case, I reminded everyone why they shouldn't allow it: bigotry, plain and simple. I dressed it up in language which cast a thin veil over this fact though so it wouldn't lead to a summons to Lawwell's bunker. Scuppering Davies's intentions would benefit my old friend Lennon, providing we find him that is. Even if we don't find him, who's to say the android version isn't an improvement? Happy then with the day's work, I stuck on some Elton John, got out the Martin O'Neill scrapbook and lay back in bed for a long, pleasant evening.