Return of the Hellblazer

I helped Lennon to his feet after the attack by the mechanised McCoists and noting the damage done to him, pointed out that he had a screw loose.
‘Don’t you start, too’ he gasped and wandered off leaving me to continue sneaking around the corridors of Parkhead. I couldn’t help myself, I knew what horrors lurked in the pits of Lawwell’s underground bunker but I just had to get down there and find out what was happening. It was at this point that I discovered the Scottish media being gang-garotted, Lawwell pacing up and down behind them as they choked, shouting at them.
‘Diouf will be the man responsible for all of the violence tonight! There will be no mention whatsoever of anything said to the black Rangers players by Celtic staff! I want it reported that Neil Lennon now has a bodyguard to let the world know that he’s the victim in all of this!  Chuck in something about the Sash being sectarian Greechan, that's always useful for the future!  I want it reported that a suspect package has been intercepted by the police on its way to Neil Lennon and don’t worry, if there isn’t one then I’ll make sure there is by the morning! Bullets! I want bullets sent to him, oh yes, and reported! Erm, death threats painted on walls in Belfast… Anything else?’ he paused and looked behind him where the foul cloaked figures of Wormwood and Screwtape sat, wreathed in mist and stinking of sulphur – a bit like me in the office at the Times.‘You must concentrate on events on the park – Rangers had three men sent off, we did not,’ hissed Wormwood. ‘Do this and no one need worry about our behaviour off-field.’
‘Good! Yes, do what the demon says!’ screamed Lawwell and as his minions squeezed the chicken wire tighter around their necks, the cream of Scottish journalism wondered what they’d done to deserve such treatment.
‘They’re here,’ rasped Screwtape, sniffing the air. ‘Salmond and House are here.’
And with that, Lawwell let the press go file their reports and took off to the Parkhead board room, me skulking behind them, skipping from shadow to shadow and making a decent fist of remaining unnoticed. Being a sneak sure has its advantages. Once they entered the boardroom though, I could go no further but stood outside listening and heard Lawwell kicking over chairs and laying into Salmond with his horsewhip then when Stephen House objected, he too took a slice across the face, sat back and asked Lawwell what exactly he wanted. It was at this point I felt a tap on my shoulder and nearly soiled myself.
‘Hello Spiers,’ smiled Jorg Albertz, demon hunter as he blew cigarette smoke in my face.