Odyssey Part Eight

I kept a keen eye on the horizon with my telescope and watched as Lawwell's frigates disappeared in and out of sight amongst the swirling maelstrom of rain and clouds and waves. My luck was holding as the plan would never work if Gough twigged it was a trap too soon so while the weather remained as wild as this, I was in with a chance. Then suddenly a dinghy fired up from the side of the Walter Smith, I looked over and it was Stuart McCall and he was taking off ahead of us and aiming straight for the frigates that Gough still couldn't quite see.
'If I'm wrong then I'll see you shortly, if I'm right then I'll be back for you Spiers,' he shouted and sped off into the storm. I knew immediately what he was doing; he was suspicious of me all along, poor bluff Stuart McCall with his silent ways and now he was sailing into the heart of an ambush knowing fine well that if he was right then he was going to take the brunt of the attack on his own. Gough had only just spotted him as he disappeared into the clouds ahead then there was silence for a few moments and then the flashes of dozens of heavy guns and the rumble of their noise came rolling over us and Gough immediately knew what had happened. He started shouting orders and the Walter Smith swung round just in time to head up the Clyde towards Glasgow, avoiding the ambush thanks to the courage and sacrifice of McCall. I could have wept, in fact I think I did, imagining what was going to happen to me once Ferguson and Goram got a hold of me but then from above, earlier than planned but just as welcome, came a harness dangling from a Sea King helicopter which was being tossed around in the wind above us. I jumped into the harness and was lifted off my feet and into the air just in time to avoid Goram's lunge at me with a cutlass.

I was bundled into the helicopter and pulled to safety as someone slammed the door behind me and there in front of me, grinning, was Jack McConnell.
'Welcome back Spiers,' he shouted above the din. 'We have lots of work ahead for you my boy, Labour will be back in power in Scotland before long which means the Sectarian Wars are back on and you can finish what you started. This little phoney war going on just now? Just a skirmish compared to what we've got in store for those Orange bastards.'
And he laughed. And I laughed with him, I was back. Graham Spiers, scourge of Rangers was back!

Odyssey Part Seven

 

The wind lashed rain the size of rocks off the barely visible figures of the Rangers 90s Squad Marines as Ian Ferguson negotiated HMS the Walter Smith through waves higher than our mast. All lights and engines were off so that no sound could attract the attention of Lawwell's agents as we approached the Clyde but if you ask me we could have been blasting down river all engines full on and playing Kanye West on the loudspeakers and no one would have heard us above the storm. I mentioned this but Andy Goram just smirked and suggested that since all we had on board was the Billy Boys and if we played that then no matter how loud the storm, someone somewhere would hear it, be offended and call the police.

As I clung on to a rail, I could see Gough in his white fighting coat standing proud at the front of the ship, Ian Ferguson straining at the wheel, Andy Goram covered in oil and sweat and rain, running from deck to engine room and back, and behind me was Stuart McCall keeping a silent eye on yours truly for some reason. We'd made it safely past the advance pickets of the Port Glasgow Fenian Navy and were passing Dunoon on our port side when I thought I saw movement ahead near Hunters Quay and put a telescope to my eye and shouted, 'Devine, it's Devine!'
Gough came running to me asking where and I pointed through the dark rain but although he scanned the horizon, he could see no sight of them.
'Can't see a thing Spiers, are you sure?' he bawled above the wind.
'I'm sure, I'm sure, I swear I saw my wife waving from a porthole.' I shouted back, offering him my own telescope as if this would make a blind bit of difference. He continued to gaze through his own glass but shook his head, 'Still nothing Spiers, I can't risk it.'
'Please Richard,' I begged, 'She's my wife, I saw her. Oh I know the boat's probably out of sight now but I swear I saw her!'
Gough glanced over at McCall who shook his head, then looked at Ferguson but he was too busy to notice our little commotion then Andy Goram passed and Gough asked him his thoughts and with an oath, Goram told him that if it'd been up to him he'd have had me overboard on the first day.
'This man's wife's honour is at stake, hard to port Fergie, we still have time for one last attempt - we chase Devine!' and I breathed a sigh of relief as Gough strode again to the front of the boat to stand ready then we changed direction and headed away from Glasgow up the Firth of Clyde between Blairmore and Cove.

'Can't see a damned thing skipper,' shouted Ian Ferguson through the wind as he struggled to keep us on course, the weather worsening.
'I can! Spiers, is that her?' shouted Gough as we spotted lights through the clouds. I took a peek through my telescope and saw line upon line of Lawwell's heavily armed war frigates. 'Yes, that's her,' I shouted back and we headed into the eye of the storm.

Odyssey Part Six

 

Although I'd been plotting to find a way out of these interminably long weeks at sea for quite a while, once I'd finally decided that I was definitely over ever wresting the wife from the disgusting clutches of Tom Devine it didn't take long for things to start happening in my favour. First, and this will shock my Celtic fan club, the Rangers humped my team right off the park on Sunday and as suspected, Lawwell went to war. I was kept up to date with events through the nightly appearances in my dreams of the malevolent demon, Wormwood. He'd been featuring in my dreams for quite a while now, normally reminding me that he'd be seeing me in hell very shortly and that Willie Malley had a chamber put aside for me. I put these dreams down to my lack of sea legs and even mentioned them to Stuart McCall one night as we sat in the library, McCall silent and buried in books as ever. He listened intently but offered no advice save for keep off the herring before bedtime and to 'for god's sake take a bath.' But it wasn't until after the Rangers victory that Wormwood began to issue me with instructions and a plan formulated in my mind.

I thought everything was going as planned and was taking a walk around deck yesterday morning, letting the sea spray wash the sleep from my face when Stuart McCall loafed up beside me and asked if everything was okay? I reassured him that I was tip top but noticed him eyeing me in a peculiar manner as he strolled off to catch up on the morning papers. I began to tremble at the thought that somehow McCall had rumbled me but my reverie was soon disturbed by Ian Ferguson firing a blunderbuss at the seagulls and I disappeared into my berth to continue my preparations. Monday night then passed without incident and nary a sighting of Devine's boat which wasn't unusual, if you'd told me that BBC Scotland had reported fairly on Rangers then that'd have been unusual but not seeing Devine or my wife was becoming the norm by now.

Then this morning it happened. I was awoken earlier than usual by the sound of running from all quarters and got up to see what was happening. Everyone was gathered in the radio room and not a word was said until the full message had been received. Gough looked up, 'Well there we have it gentlemen, we're at war again,' and the others looked at each other with a weary resignation which seemed to stem from the burden of too many campaigns similar to the one ahead.
'From now on,' continued Gough, 'we're on a war footing - Fergie, I want all weapons primed and ready; Stuart, I want full background on how this came about and where the first assaults might come from; Goram, you need to sober up and get rid of that barmaid from your cabin and check all engines. Spiers, our quest for your wife is at an end, I'm sorry - we tried our best.'
I tried manfully to look as if I gave two damns and then everyone left to carry out their orders. I found out later that Lawwell had annexed the SFA and put George Peat under house arrest, was keeping Stewart Regan as his personal sex slave and had launched the full might of the Green Brigade against the Scottish refereeing fraternity. All other Scottish football teams had objected to the United Nations while Rangers said nothing as usual and sat in the Blue Room discussing butter while the green hordes swept across Scottish society wreaking havoc. Of course nothing about this was mentioned in the press due to Lawwell's vice like grip and the lads over at BBC Scotland were too busy issuing death threats to Willie Collum to do anything else and so for the first time in decades, the BBC went off the air in Scotland and a test card was transmitted with the Fields of Athenry playing in the background.

Storm clouds were gathering over this little country, figuratively and literally as thunderheads gathered across the Cowal peninsula as we attempted to come into Glasgow through the Clyde and by eleven o'clock this morning, the place was as dark Lawwell's soul, illuminated only occasionally by great streaks of lightning as Andy Goram guided us through the driving rain and the Port Glasgow Fenian Navy's blockade. Meanwhile I gathered my belongings and readied myself for the coming storm.

Odyssey Part Five

You can witness many strange sights after a month at sea. In my short time searching the coast of Scotland for the vile Devine who had run off with my feather headed trollop of a wife I have seen ships on the horizon stretching into the heavens like sky scrapers, while other evenings I've seen ships upside down in the sky. Those were tricks of the light though but on Sunday I really did see Andy Goram sitting naked on the roof of a Tarbert pub singing the Sash. He stayed there for hours too, until Ian Ferguson fetched a musket and threatened to shoot him off so we could be on our way.

We had stopped at Tarbert to take in the old firm game and unknown to my travelling companions, the Rangers 90s Squad Marines, I had been emailing my match report from the pub to the Times in Glasgow via a Blackberry. Anything to stop the Times from running with articles written by the cleaner which is what they'd been doing in my absence and such is the circulation of the Scottish Times these days, nobody had noticed. After the game had finished and we'd got Andy Goram down from the roof we set off again to search the seas for Devine. That evening we had a celebration dinner to mark the Rangers victory and as usual, Richard Gough sat at the head of the table beneath a portrait of the Queen and raised a glass to her honour and as usual I stood up for the toast to the disgust of the gathered sailors whose tradition it is to remain seated when toasting the Queen. I'd never get used to this as the only experience I have of this kind of thing is roasting a queen after a heavy night on the amyl at Bennets.

That night I received texts from my only friend among the Scottish sporting press and even he hated me really but Roddy Forsyth could never resist letting me know just how in with the bricks he is at Celtic so he sent me lots of photos of Lawwell's latest meeting with the football hacks after the game at Parkhead. They showed Lawwell wearing nothing but his Afrika Corps desert cap shagging Stewart Regan up the arse while ranting at the assembled press. It was then I began to miss my life back on dry land and began to scheme to get out of finding that pair of tramps and getting back to doing what I do best, sticking the boot into Rangers.

Odyssey Part Four

We came out of the mist, the sun behind us and caught Lawwell completely by surprise, Ian Ferguson letting loose a fusilade of chain-shot which took down the Celtic Chief Executive's masts and rigging and a few of his crew who were sitting atop them, spitting at McGregor. Lawwell screamed when it happened then straightening his Dienstanzug, pulled out his horsewhip to encourage his crew into action and started bawling orders as HMS the Walter Smith fairly skipped across the waters towards him, Gough's rifles at the ready. I was watching everything from the safety of a porthole on the starboard bulwark and could see from my binoculars that Lawwell didn't seem to be worried - but he should have been, his ship was static and he was outgunned so why did he appear so calm? I crossed to the port side and checked the horizon and to my horror, there in the distance were three more vessels heading straight at us on the flanks. Gough obviously hadn't seen them, so intent was he in rescuing the man from PoppyScotland.

I ran screaming up to the Rangers 90s Squad Marines and pulling at Gough's white fighting coat, I pleaded with him to look behind him and when he did he turned the colour of his coat, fixed his telescope on the oncoming ships and cursed.
'It's BBC Scotland coming to Lawwell's rescue, dammit! And not just them, there are two Daily Record vessels there backing it up, we're in for a hot one here lads, run up the red duster and let's see if these scoundrels have what it takes to take on Her Majesty's Jack Tars - Fergie, there's a good lad, prepare yourself for a club haul!'
And at that there was great commotion about the Walter Smith as everyone found their place and waited as we sped along the Clyde coast, let off a volley at Lawwell and then just as the BBC Scotland destroyer was bearing in on us, Ferguson let go the anchor and we turned on a sixpence until we were scudding alongside the BBC Scotland cannons which fired just as we disappeared round their starboard side, their port side cannons rattling into the Daily Record ships which had been sneaking up behind us before Gough's remarkable manoeuvre. We just had time to see the astonishing sight of Keith Jackson waving his stetson hat in anger before the two Record ships went down gurgling. In a twinkling we were planing across the sea away from BBC Scotland and Lawwell but unfortunately, we couldn't rescue McGregor who remained in captivity.

Later as we idled off Kames, sitting in the Gluepot bar and mulling over the day's events over a bottle of rum while Andy Goram had a ride at the hotel manager's wife, Gough wondered aloud what Lawwell had been doing threatening the Chief Executive of PoppyScotland. Stuart McCall sighed and held out a copy of the early edition of the Daily Record and it was there for all to see.
'Just when you think Celtic and their apologists in the media couldn't sink any lower,' he said, and maybe it was the camaraderie of being with these Rangers men all these weeks at sea, maybe it was the rum or maybe it was just the outrageous lies which were as plain as the nose on my face, but I found myself agreeing with McCall. He looked me in the eyes for the first time on this voyage, clapped his hand on my back and said, 'there's hope for you yet Spiers.'

Odyssey Part Three

 

It was six am and as usual I was wakened not by the sound of the gulls or the gentle rolling of the boat but by the noise of Richard Gough doing squat thrusts. There was a definite routine to the mornings on board HMS the Walter Smith: Gough would be up first to exercise, then Ian Ferguson would take a rifle to the top deck to let off pot shots at the birds, Stuart McCall would always sit and watch the news and read the papers while Andy Goram would surface around midday if he was lucky, scratching his arse and complaining of a sore head. Me, I stayed in my bunk for as long as I could before joining McCall in catching up with the papers and wondered how on earth football reports were appearing in the Times under my name without me having written them.  But since no-one reads the Times anymore anyway, I didn't worry too much.

We had been sailing around the west coast for weeks now with no sign of Devine or his boat. I was beginning to think my wife was lost to me which wouldn't be the first time considering she'd already run off with Aamer Anwar and Jason Allardyce - I got used to lonely nights with my Martin O'Neill scrapbook then and I'll get used to them again, and I was just about to say as much to the Rangers 90s Squad Marines and tell them that I was ready to jack it all in when Ian Ferguson spotted movement in the distance and called for a telescope. I left the fo'c'sle with Stuart McCall bounding up the steps in front of me and joined the whole crew on the bow and squinted at the horizon where Richard Gough was studying something through the telescope.
'It's definitely Lawwell,' he said. 'I can make out half a dozen others and they have someone on the plank - I can't believe it, Lawwell has someone walking the plank at the point of the sword. I can't make out who it is though, here Stuart, have a look - you're the one who's up to date with current affairs, who is that on the plank?'
And McCall stood silently concentrating on the small boat in the distance then he gasped,
'It's Ian McGregor!'
'Who?' burped Andy Goram.
'Ian McGregor, Chief Executive of PoppyScotland - Lawwell's making him walk the plank! McGregor's shaking his head to whatever it is Lawwell's demanding but the swine keeps prodding him further out with his cutlass... Now McGregor's nodding, he's agreeing to something, now he's being brought back in and Lawwell and his men are celebrating. What could all this mean?'
'I don't know,' said Gough, 'but we're putting a stop to it - all hands on deck, hoist the anchor, back and fill gentlemen, let's get over there and put some pepper in Lawwell's pipe!'

Odyssey Part Two

 

The night after our skirmish with Lawwell and Regan, we anchored close to Otter Ferry and visited the Oystercatcher to have a few drinks and let Andy Goram have a leg up with the local bikes. To everyone's surprise, when we arrived, there sitting in the corner was Jorg Albertz Demon Hunter, dressed in his customary long black coat and taking his time over a pint of Loch Fyne ale.
'What are you doing here?' I asked and he put down his newspaper and blew smoke in my face.
'Been tailing a werewolf along the coast for the past few days and his trail led to here. More to the point, with such evil abroad, what are you doing here Spiers, and in such great company? I thought you were chasing that old stoat Devine before he pupped your wife?'
'Well I am but he's totally off the grid, can't find him anywhere. I don't suppose you'd care to help us with a bit of your black magic?'
'Keep away from that stuff, Corduroy Boy, there's enough darkness in your life without inviting more in. Anyway, I've got to go, the trail of dead sheep leads to another yacht moored off Portavadie and I'm popping in tonight to set it on fire. The local livestock should be safe from Delahunt for a while after this little prank.'
And with that he was gone. I mean really gone, he walked out the door and quite literally disappeared into the darkness. I know because I chased him to the door in an effort to find out what he meant about Jim Delahunt savaging sheep up and down the Fyne coast but he'd gone, just like that.

After Albertz left, we supped a few ales while Goram took the local farmer's daughter over the jumps out back and were ready to leave just before midnight. We boarded our dinghy at the jetty outside the pub and Richard Gough rowed us in on his own. We were climbing aboard HMS the Walter Smith when all of a sudden a great yell went up from the port side and dark figures pounced on us. 'Pirates!' yelled Gough, pulling out his cutlass but they were on us in seconds and a great clash of steel was heard as the Rangers 90s Squad Marines battled what looked suspiciously like a band of cut-throats led by... yes, there was no mistaking it, led by Michael Paton and Zander Diamond.

'Kill the Protestant bastards!' screamed Diamond.
'Cut their Orange throats!' yelled Paton as they crossed swords with Ferguson and McCall who stood their ground while Ferguson broke open the musket locker and threw one into my hands. Now here I was in a right old quandary: do I fire on Paton and Diamond even although I agree with everything they're saying or do I protect my mission to save my wife by siding with Rangers? In the end I didn't have to bother as Andy Goram, having been left ashore to finish off a farm girl, was bringing up the rear on his own in a rowing boat and he appeared on the scene levelling a small cannon at Paton and Diamond's freebooters who, seeing that they were totally outgunned, apologised, said their fathers were Protestants and that it was all either a big joke or a misunderstanding and they all slinked off the sides of the boat and into the water to swim to the shore.  They were met there by the police who had arrived to arrest them for sectarian crimes but upon finding out it was only Protestants they were attacking, decided to let them off and sent them on their way with a chuckle.

Odyssey Part One

We patrolled the Kyles of Bute for days, myself and the Rangers 90s Squad Marines in HMS The Walter Smith but there was no sight of Devine or his infernal boat with my wife on board. We even sailed pretty close to Largs a few times, with Andy Goram tied to the mast of course lest the sirens of that village lead him onto the rocks.  We weighed anchor once in Rothesay until the Galatea Bar emptied and we were chased by the natives along the front, throwing spears and bricks and it was only Captain Richard Gough forming the marines into lines and seeing them off with musket fire that prevented a disaster. After that we vowed never again to get off the boat.

One calm night when the winds had gone and we were resting just off Tighnabruaich, I left Gough and Goram smoking their cheroots and went aft to see what Stuart McCall was up to. I found him in the cabin watching television and paused to hear news from the mainland. I could hear Jackie Bird's voice coming from within: 'Good evening and welcome to Reporting Scotland. Tonight, three weeks after the Pope visited Glasgow - how brilliant was that? In sport, Rangers, what a bunch of Orange bastards, eh? And how great are Celtic? Later, we'll have Ann-Marie MacGlumpher reporting from another denominational school and from Ayrshire we have that comedy double act, Howson and MacMillan telling us how lovely it is to be a Roman Catholic.' I sighed with relief, nothing much had changed at home then.

I coughed and let McCall know I was there and he waved me in, frowning at the television. I was just about to ask him if things were the same in his days playing for Rangers when we heard Gough sounding the alarm and it was all hands on deck. By the time we got upstairs, Gough, and Goram were standing to, rifles in their hands with Ferguson steering the yacht and I hoped that they'd spotted Devine's boat but although it was a vessel, it wasn't the St. Bernard. No, it was Peter Lawwell and Stewart Regan in a gunboat and they were chasing Alan McGregor who was in a power boat with some screeching harpy with blonde hair. McGregor was making a decent fist of avoiding the harpoons but then Lawwell brought out some heavy cannon and started showering the little boat with grape shot. This was all very rum, what was the head man of the SFA doing alongside the Celtic Chief Executive attacking the Rangers goalie and just before a Scotland match too? Gough yelled, 'Hard to starboard' and Ferguson wrenched us round so that the Rangers rifles faced Lawwell's ship and one quick volley scared him off and we could just make out McGregor giving us an acknowledging wave before speeding off towards shore, his girlfriend all the time screaming like a fishwife and offering to take on Lawwell and Regan in a square go.