The Nature of My Game

After all I have been through in the last three years, all the blood and madness, mayhem and intrigue, secrets and lies; for it all to end like this, with a whimper is the cruellest joke of them all. And yet here I am, deep beneath Hampden in new dungeons dug out of the earth by Stewart Regan on the orders of his dark master who has long since forsaken the depths of Parkhead for a new power base. Years ago, when it was suggested that an English Premiership team had approached him to be their CEO, Peter Lawwell had refused point blank, stating that he had unfinished business here. Well he’s almost finished now. Rangers are nearly done: docked ten points by a grateful SFA, in administration and closing in on liquidation much to the delight of a Scottish media who have been reporting it with undisguised glee and now, after an ambush during the game against Kilmarnock, I’m manacled to a slab beside Donald Findlay, Graeme Souness and Jorg Albertz. For Lawwell to have us all at his mercy is not only a miracle but spells doom for Rangers as with this little team gone, who will be left to thwart his evil plans? Craig Whyte turned out to be a fool or a demon – we’re not sure which yet but it doesn’t matter because Ibrox is in flames and there’s no money left to put it out.

So why am I included in this band of merry men who have fought so valiantly the past three seasons to ensure that not only did Rangers win the league but that Lawwell’s more insane plots came to nothing? Because I’m the magnet that holds them all together – the weirdness magnet, Cosgrove had called me and it’s true, it all happens around me; I am the centre of this grotesque little universe. Or at least I thought I was until Lawwell walked into the dungeon where we lay and said, ‘Please allow me to introduce myself.’