His Dark Materials

As Gough drove us slowly through the gridlocked Glasgow streets, Albertz told us what was going to happen once we arrived at his flat in the west end. It involved lots of black magic and humping Neil Lennon up some stairs and I must admit that my heart jumped on hearing that we'd be humping Neil Lennon but it turned out I'd just misheard the Demon Hunter. It's difficult to concentrate on what other people are saying when you're used to hearing only the sound of your own voice; this is why Radio Clyde is my spiritual home - I get to talk over callers to the show so that everyone can marvel at my superior wit and opinions and if any Rangers fans manage by subterfuge to get through to the panel then we simply cut them off and steer the topic of conversation back onto the main agenda which is laying the boot into Rangers.


It was while thinking all of this that I managed to miss most of Albertz's important instructions and only zoned back in when he mentioned that Lennon seemed to be stirring and that Gough had better get a move on.
'Can't do a damn thing about it Jorg, the traffic's awful,' said Gough from the driver's seat.
'You'd better be careful back there,' said Lawwell. 'You think Lennon's teeth are disgusting when you see him on television? They're fake, open his mouth and pull out his teeth and see what's underneath.'
I looked at Albertz who looked back at me and nodded for me to do it but I shook my head in horror so Albertz sighed and reached over and opened Lennon's mouth. Black drool oozed out and dribbled off his chin, Albertz nearly gagged and reached in and pulled out a set of fake, mossy teeth - if these were the good ones then I wasn't looking forward to what was underneath them.
'Well at least this set are clean,' said Albertz as he pulled back Lennon's lips to reveal two rows of razor sharp teeth.
'He filed them down himself, after he was possessed you understand,' explained Lawwell. 'It suited us at the time to employ a rabid maniac with a tendency towards violence - it appealed to our fans when we couldn't afford another big name manager after last year's Mowbray debacle but even our fans aren't that stupid and many of them saw right through our little ploy so we took to the schemes with the Celtic Irish Republican Road Show and reached out to the scum of the east end gutters. A promise here to get in the faces of referees and a commitment there to start a war with the perceived establishment of the SFA and we soon had them eating out of our hands. The only problem was, no one thought to tell Lennon. He took it all seriously and began dragging the good name of Celtic into the sewer. Of course he met John Reid there and under his tutelage the whole of Scottish football was disgraced in front of the world. We've gone too far though, Lennon's a danger not only to himself but to others now and when he starts to put my neck on the line then it's time for something to be done - this, gentlemen is why I'm going with you voluntarily, please don't think you have me a prisoner, no one has power over Peter Lawwell. No one.'
'Aye alright Peter,' sneered Albertz as he held onto Lennon's chin, pulling back an eyelid and checking how long we had to get to Hyndland.
'I hate to say this Captain, but if we don't get this thing to my flat in the next ten minutes then the demon inside him will awake and there'll be a blood bath in this car.'
And almost on cue, Lennon stirred and we heard a sound from his mouth like rusty needles scraping together as more black tar bubbled from his nostrils.