Einstein Rosen-Bridge

Lawwell had barely told us that he’d launched a missile on Ibrox five minutes before when there was a flash of light and a great crunching noise from above. It had been so sudden that we’d all flinched and by the time we’d recovered to look around to see what had caused it, Bain was gone leaving behind his clothes which lay in a smoking pile on the floor and a gaping hole in the ceiling where something with great strength had burrowed out of this place.
‘Where the fuck has he gone?’ wondered Devine, aloud.
Findlay puffed on his pipe and giggled, ‘You don’t know what Martin’s capable of, switch to your flight monitors and watch to see what Rangers have in their armoury.’
Lawwell nodded and half the screens on the great bank of monitors switched to the view ahead of the missile as it careered through the sky towards Glasgow, the other half showed Ibrox sitting peacefully in the rain, outside the main stand entrance played two small boys while a mother pushing a pram smiled indulgently.
‘He’s not going to make it, whispered Cosgrove to Findlay.
‘Make what?’ screamed Lawwell.
‘Just keep watching old sport,’ said Findlay, puffing away.
‘There’s Stirling, not long now boys!’ shouted Kearney, an erection rising in his trousers.
‘Where is he?’ asked Cosgrove.
‘This thing can really travel, eh Peter? Look, there’s Glasgow. Say goodbye to your precious football club you disgusting bigoted Orange bastards,’ slurred Devine without a trace of irony.
The screen showed the city of Glasgow in the distance but coming up fast. I looked to the Ibrox screens and there entering the main doors was Craig Whyte, he paused as if he knew we were watching him, looked to the sky and seemed to listen then the screen took some interference, there was a flash where Whyte once stood and he was gone.
‘What the fuck happened to Whyte?’ asked Lawwell.
Findlay turned to me and winked.
‘Just in case,’ was all he said before going back to puffing furiously at his pipe.
‘Lawwell! What’s that in front of the missile?’ exclaimed Kearney, pointing to the monitors and we all watched in amazement as what looked like the superhero, Master Mason flew towards the missile, raising a fist to punch it. But Master Mason had neglected to put on his mask in his hurry to get up there and the face full of determination to protect Rangers from this final outrage from Celtic was that of Craig Whyte.

Whyte didn’t get the chance to punch the missile though because just as the camera screamed in on him, there was a blur of blue and red and Martin Bain, his red cape billowing behind him appeared in front of Whyte, raised his hands and produced a flash of light and then the screens went blank.