The Silence of the Lambs

'We're through the looking glass here Spiers,' grumbled the Traynor as we splashed through the tunnels which linked Celtic Park to Glasgow City Chambers. I'd discovered these by accident a short time ago while hiding from Lawwell in a cleaners cupboard when Jorg Albertz and I had a close call after Peter Kearney in his Torquemada guise had attacked us for some unknown reason but then again, Kearney doesn't usually need an excuse for attacking Protestants and no matter how much I try to persuade people otherwise, I am still one of them. So when Wednesday's old firm match ended in violence and recriminations and Lawwell's Stasi gathered everyone from the press box and led them to the underground bunker, I knew it wouldn't end well for the Scottish media. I whispered to my new ally, the Traynor that I knew a way out and we slipped away quietly, leaving everyone else to their fate. We later found out that every journalist was garotted to the point of death before submitting their reports and as a consequence, yet again Rangers got the blame for everything. This in spite of Lennon and Mjallby running around the tunnel at half time like a couple of rednecks who'd just spotted an uppity darky making eyes at the plantation owner's wife; all that was missing were a couple of burning torches and a noose. They really were the most astonishing scenes and as the world witnessed Diouf, Edu and Bartley turning in horror at what they'd just been called by the Aryan Mjallby, I wondered to myself just how would Lawwell talk his way out of this one.

Of course I should have known better. He didn't have to do much, even before his men had the chicken wire around their necks, the Scottish football press were already concentrating on attacking Rangers, Diouf in particular and ignoring the constant racist slurs hurled from the Celtic bench towards the Rangers players. This put me in a tricky position, being a fully paid up member of the Byres Road Liberal Elite, I should really speak out against this outrage but this is Celtic we're talking about - everyone knows politics, morals, family, indeed everything, goes out the window when it comes to Celtic. It's practically carved on the soul of every young Roman Catholic at birth, you will defend Celtic no matter what. But like I say, I'm a Baptist so it put me in a bit of a quandary.

The Traynor was with me not because of any moral objections to Celtic's behaviour but because he's a sociopath. At least having him with me meant that I'd be a little more safe from physical harm than usual and so it was as we escaped from the wrath of Lawwell, splashing through the secret tunnel and emerging at the City Chambers and out onto George Square where we caught a taxi to the west end and safety, or so I thought.