Whirlpool's End

I strained to hear anything that would give me a clue to my whereabouts because when I first came to, I had no idea I was in Silence. So far beneath the ocean though, there is only silence. Then I heard a grunting noise from behind me, I turned and there was the Traynor, unconscious for now but stirring. I racked my brains to remember if we were on good terms but concluded that with a sociopath like the Traynor you don’t take any chances so I shuffled along the floor as far as I could to get out of his reach. Oh yes, I forgot to say, we were tied up and I suppose I should mention why.


Having been one of the few witnesses to the creation of Frankenlennon, I was sworn to secrecy by Lawwell. Lawwell’s favoured mode of swearing journalists to secrecy is to phone their editors and threaten to withhold access to Celtic. His second is to beat us senseless with a horse whip while dressed in his favourite Schutzstaffel fatigues – if we’re lucky. If we’re unlucky he does it naked, something he’s only started doing recently when Peter Kearney came on board, before then the sodomy was kept to a minimum. So I kept mum and watched with smug delight as Lennon gangled around the training ground, having difficulty coping with the new body and as he rolled around the ground, mouthing obscenities I observed that no one seemed to notice the change, such was Lennon’s behaviour in the past.

I carried the smugness with me all the way to Ibrox on Thursday night where Rangers were playing Sporting Lisbon. I was under strict instructions from Lawwell that no matter what the result, I was to lay into Rangers in my match report. Unfortunately for me my piles were giving me jip and I missed the match. Not only that, I missed an impromptu press conference where Walter Smith came out with something astonishing and I didn’t have a bloody clue what it was! I quickly got a hold of Roddy Forsyth and suggested he come back to mine for a quicky and perhaps share notes over a post-coital cigarette but the bitch refused which I suppose was for the best given the way the piles are acting up.

With my editor’s last warning still ringing in my ears, I was becoming increasingly frantic and decided that there was only one thing for it, I was going to have to kidnap Walter Smith and force him to repeat what he had said, beat it out of him if necessary. And that’s how I ended up bound and gagged and lying on the floor of Silence, Walter Smith’s secret under-water lair.