Thus I Refute Lawwell

The thing about the Green Brigade is that no matter how many of their heads Donald Findlay pulled off or how many of them fell on the bayonets of the Rangers 80s Squad Commandos, there are always more spotty faced youths to take their place. They resurfaced like Hydra again on Sunday, waving some badly illustrated banner and haranguing the bigots of Rangers while utterly failing see the irony in their hatred of the Rangers fans. Of course I was in amongst them, singing along like a good 'un and why not, it's refreshing to celebrate diversity in this manner and who out there is going to chastise me? Certainly not the Scottish press who almost to a man, missed the Celtic match due to the impromptu meeting Lawwell called after watching Rangers take three off Hibs at Easter Road. Lawwell, never one to miss an opportunity to tell the media how to do their job, had watched Kyle Lafferty receive a red card and figured that there was no time like the present for another campaign of intimidation against the Northern Irish protestant. Since being hunted from John Reid's mansion last week, I'm not sure if they know it was me or not and have been keeping a low profile anyway, just in case. So I lurked around the back of the queue to get into Lawwell's office and then when no one was looking, ducked down a corridor and hid in a cleaners cupboard.

I stood there in the dark, appreciating the silence after the din of too many fat journalists smelling of Scotch and yapping in excitement when suddenly from behind me, I heard a match being sparked up. I almost jumped out my skin and would've shrieked like a girl had I not been even more scared of Lawwell hearing me. I turned and there behind me was Jorg Albertz, Demon Hunter, lighting up a cigarette. The small flame of the match illuminated his face briefly then he shook it out and blew cigarette smoke in my face.
'How did you get in here?' I whimpered, holding my chest and trying to keep my lunch down.
'Quite by accident,' said Albertz. 'I was poking around the City Chambers and finally found the secret tunnel that leads from there to Parkhead. I've always suspected it existed, indeed Donald Dewar tried in vain to find it in his final years as he attempted to rid the Scottish Labour Party of institutionalised bigotry and we all know what happened to him. So now I've found it, it's quite a walk and I chanced upon some sights to chill even me to the marrow - in the tunnels below, there are creatures; foul, dank creatures, descended from those Glasgow City Councillors who got lost in their hurry to get from the Chambers to Celtic home games and remain scurrying around the tunnels in all that's left of their cheap suits and emerald green ties. They were easily avoided, I reached the steps leading up here and found you hiding in the entrance which looks like it's disguised as a cleaners cupboard. So I take it you're avoiding Lawwell?'
'Too right I'm avoiding him, he's briefing the press right now, to not let a day go past without lingering on the Lafferty and McGregor incidents today. He's also heard somehow, that Kenny Miller hasn't got long to go on his contract and has everybody primed to cause him unrest with strategically placed subterfuge about who is interested in buying him and anything else that might unsettle his game, especially after he pumped three goals past Hibs today. But how did he find out about Miller's contract? I mean, I know he has moles everywhere but surely not inside Ibrox?'
'Screwtape,' said Albertz.
'I don't know if I even know what that looks like, how about cellotape? That should be around here somewhere,' said I, looking around the cleaning cupboard.
'No,' said Albertz, 'Father Screwtape. That's how he found out and guess what Spiers?'
'What?'
'He's coming in through the ducts right now and is forming at your ankle.'
I looked down and shone my keyring torch at my feet and Albertz was right, there was a disgusting brown mist coming through the ducts and swirling around my leg which froze at its touch.
'Don't worry,' said Albertz, 'he can't hurt you without physical form, he won't even be able to possess you - no, these demons need someone with no will power of their own, someone with the intelligence of a cretin, someone unable to resist the power of evil... Come to think of it Spiers, we'd better get you out of here.' And with that, Albertz opened the secret door into the tunnels and we disappeared into the darkness to escape the malevolent spirit of Father Screwtape.

What we didn't realise as we ran down the steps was that having lost us, Screwtape's essence had slithered into the corridors of Parkhead where coincidentally, right at that very moment, Neil Lennon was passing on his way to the changing rooms. The malignant brown smoke enveloped him and entered through his nostrils and Lennon's eyes turned a bright, burning red, he fell to the floor jerking, his arms and legs in spasm, green bile vomiting out of his mouth and ears. Although such is Neil Lennon's behaviour these days, no one noticed that he'd been possessed.