The Curse of the Republican Reptiles

Fascinating weekend as Celtic went on the warpath, releasing Barking Phil Tartaglia to their poodles at the Scottish Sunday Times. Barking got a bit carried away and took Lorraine Davidson over a table before being hosed off by the janitor who was miffed at having to take time off writing my Monday column. Davidson didn’t mind though, Roman Catholic or Labour Party, usually both, they can ride her any old way and she’ll always forgive them; it’s in her nature.

So with Tartaglia assaulting the inkies, Lawwell took to the pitch to sort out ESPN, striding the Inverness ground like a colossus, laying waste the trackside microphones to ensure the petulant singing of IRA songs by a majority of the Celtic fans wouldn’t be heard at least through the media. You’ll notice I say majority of Celtic fans. Of course we all know it’s a majority of them but you try putting that in print and surviving the weekend as Lawwell locks and loads and comes after you with a bazooka. So the entire Scottish press accepted the three line whip from Celtic Park and what started off as offensive singing from the Celtic support, became illicit singing from a minority of the Celtic support. As the days went on, even this wasn’t good enough for Lawwell as he frothed and foamed in the dungeons under Parkhead and before you know it, we’re reporting illicit singing from a minority of the Green Brigade. Yes, you read that right, a minority of the Green Brigade. As if anyone who is a member of that lunatic fringe has any common sense and wouldn’t be singing along with gusto to every sectarian song they can remember from those secret indoctrination lessons from rapey older men they have to endure before being allowed to become members. Lawwell was walking a tight rope though, as he was the one who encouraged the Green Brigade by giving them their own section at Parkhead and tacitly supported their every chirp about the IRA by turning a deaf ear and blind eye to their behaviour.

Then as if these events didn’t astonish enough, Lawwell wheeled out Neil Lennon to appeal to the Green Brigade. The problem here is that since his accidental shooting last week, Lennon’s been a zombie and has been seen staggering around Ashton Lane late at night, moaning and grabbing at people, black tar oozeing from his mouth. Nobody noticed any change in him though so Lawwell felt secure in unchaining him from the wall and having him groan to the press who reported everything he said with the aid of an interpreter supplied by Lawwell who kept an eye on proceedings while holding a cocked schmeiser. The Scottish press, compliant as ever, rolled over like puppy dogs and proclaimed Lennon a great peace maker and champion of progressive and intelligent thought.  One charming young journalist even went so far as to offer to blow him there and then but I was shouted down and told I was enough of a laughing stock. Meanwhile Tom English sat at the back of the room and scribbled something in his note pad. I leaned over and had a sneaky peak and noticed it was a note to himself to look up the date that Lennon had called the Rangers support and management bench ‘Orange bastards’ and to look up any footage of Lennon pumping his chest and accepting the plaudits from the Celtic support that ‘like me and you, he’s a provo too’. I didn’t like the look of this one bit and told English so but as usual, he stared at me, shook his head and walked off without saying a word. Then there were a few moments of excitement as Jonathan Sutherland of BBC Scotland was dragged from the press pack, nailed to a desk and had his feet blow torched. We got the message and everyone trotted off like sheep to keep digging to bury ever deeper, the stories of the Celtic fans and their majority support for a murderous Irish Republican terrorist organisation.

Also over the weekend, some games of football were played but no one noticed.