The Super Gay Adventures of Graham and Alex

‘The devil is in the detail,’ said the devil and he should know. Peter Lawwell had just given us a speech* that everyone else seemed to understand as they nodded sagely and glanced at each other knowingly while I stood and wondered what was going on having zoned out after the first sentence. So what was Lawwell hinting at, that he was the devil? That seemed to be it and yet as he stood there in his subterranean dungeon beneath Parkhead, there was no sign of any horns, no pointed tail and certainly no pitchfork although he was holding a horse whip which he was using to thrash Stewart Regan of the SFA just to remind him who’s boss you see?

Lawwell had finally spotted the cricket on the shoulder of his Wehrmacht dress jacket and had casually picked it off and bitten its head off to taste before popping the rest in and crunching away like it was so much popcorn. Souness and Findlay were obviously hoping the cricket was a harbinger of relief for them, that it heralded the arrival of the mysterious Mr Mojo Risin** – Maurice Johnston returned from exile to seek revenge on those who kept him from his own country for decades. Yes, it was the Celtic fans. Not that you’ll hear that from the media in Scotland as they are now almost completely taken over by journalists with heavy doses of the Celtic Syndrome and if they’re not then they’re too shit scared of Peter Lawwell and his sinister network of thugs to ever say anything detrimental to the image of Celtic and its fellow travellers. So Souness and Findlay were to be disappointed and they were also to be holed up in that dungeon, chained to racks for many weeks while outside, Celtic marched to an expected treble, trampling over a dying Rangers as they did.

Rangers were lying bleeding in the gutter you see; in administration, skint, two tax cases looming and the man who had many of us believe he was their saviour, Craig Whyte was hiding away in the playground of playboys, Monaco. Their football team wasn’t doing much better and during the quiet spell when I wasn’t writing my diary, they were losing to everyone including the Murray Park canteen second eleven.

The Rangers financial woes are none of my bisnae though, they’re for others to stalk and catalogue as there is no end of lunatic volunteers willing to risk their reputations and careers illegally passing around confidential government papers as it turns out the Celtic fans working in HMRC are just as mental as any other and would put their hatred of Rangers before putting food on the tables of their families any day of the week. So leak followed leak and next thing you know, a mysterious chap appears out of nowhere as the Tax Case Blogger and inadvertently saves Rangers’ bacon with a little accidental help from Chris Daly who I’d last seen running screaming through the jungle to get away from a naked Lawwell.*** Talking of Chris Daly, I should thank him the next time I see him although that’ll be a while since he’s now in hiding, fearing for his life after his special report on Craig Whyte didn’t destroy Rangers as he’d hoped it would and he now has a Green Brigade price on his head. That price is three pounds fifty and a bottle of buckfast but you know Celtic fans, they’d queue to do the job at half that price. Oh, and the reason I should thank Chris is that he recommended to someone he knew that he speak to me about reporting any old rubbish as long as it stuck the boot into Rangers and that’s how I met my new Best Friend Forever, Alex Thomson.


* http://grahamspiersdiary.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/mysterious-stranger.html

** http://grahamspiersdiary.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/and-close-your-eyes-with-holy-dread.html

*** http://grahamspiersdiary.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/lord-of-lies.html