Der Sängerkrieg auf Wartburg

The Traynor's not as dumb as he seems. Oh yes, to most he'll always just be some blundering behemoth, out of time and lost in a world of young Celtic Minded turks taking over the Scottish football press with their laptops, their iPhones and their years of indoctrination but to me, now at least, he's much more. Sometimes on those dark nights when I'm alone in my bed in the dark, I wonder about him - did he know what he was doing when he tossed Raman Bhardwaj to the Ubiquitous Chip Celtic Supporters Club that is Scotland Today or was it just the act of an ignorant beast which accidentally exposed the greatest horror ever to be planned by Peter Lawwell?

Thanks to recent events though, I was perfectly happy to tag along with him as he was the only friend I had among my peers right now thanks to my little fluff at Ibrox the previous week, a fluff which led me to try to sneak up on Walter Smith only for the wily old fox to overpower me and take me to his secret underwater lair where for some reason he was also holding the Traynor and according to the Traynor's suspicions, he did something to us. I didn't feel any different so didn't share his concerns but as I said, having no other friends I was keen to cling onto the Traynor's considerable coat tails. Especially since we were now flying out to Lisbon to watch the Rangers play Sporting Lisbon.

I sat at the back of the plane, the Traynor being put in a box in the hold as usual, so it was a lonely flight for me and I sat quietly, minding my own business, writing my diaries - lips moving as I read back my astonishing brilliance, erection rising in my corduroys as I marvelled as just how wonderful I am. The rest of the cream of the Scottish media were dotted around the plane, drinking trebles, playing cards in little groups, chatting up the stewardesses and trying to keep their Celtic scarves tucked into their pockets. I only got up once and that was to go to the loo but when I got there Keith Jackson was standing outside.
'After you,' he smiled, too pleasantly for my liking then as I edged past him he pushed me into the tiny room and came in behind me locking the door, pushed my head against the mirror and rattled me roughly up the arse while I squeaked with surprise. Then he sneered, spat on me and went back to the party on the plane.