National Lampoon's Viable Threats

Exhausted by a day of winding up Rangers fans on Twitter I sought the solitude of my converted farmhouse in Ayrshire.  Taking in the fresh country air I detected a strong whiff of shit; ah, the farmer must be spreading manure on the fields again, I thought but yet again I was wrong.  No, what I could smell that day was the nasty niff of another one of Alex Thomson's blogs on Rangers - he really is putting me to shame with his obsession, something I'd need to remedy soon. 

 

My mobile phone rang in my pocket, startling me and removing me from the reverie of a peaceful few moments by the sun speckled fields.  'Spiers, it's Alex Thomson, fearless reporter from Channel 4 News' thundered a voice from my phone.  'Listen, my latest blog has caused a sensation - Special Branch have been onto me and told me they have intercepted viable threats to my safety... and yours!'

That certainly woke me up, this is what I'd been looking forward to for the past three years: vindication of my Celtic Minded credentials, surely now I would be offered another proper job in a Scottish newspaper?

'I've been advised our lives are in danger so Special Branch have told us to walk slowly to a bus stop, get on a public bus and take our time strolling through Glasgow city centre where they'll meet us, not in Pitt Street as that's too public but in a Starbucks on Buchanan Street.  You got that?  Can I trust you to meet me there for a personal safety briefing by Special Branch?'

I confirmed that I'd be there as soon as I could and climbed back into my car but only after fetching my Martin O'Neill scrapbook from the attic first - just in case I was rushed to a safe house.

 

Arriving at Starbucks I found Thomson sitting in a corner, his back to the wall; he was wearing full body armour and a helmet over camouflaged fatigues.  'Taking the threat seriously then Alex?' I scoffed.

'Don't scoff,' he snarled.  'Special Branch should be here any minute, I'd sit with my back to the wall if I were you, you never know when you might be assaulted by one of the underclass Rangers fans, perhaps with a stilleto blade smeared in Marmite or Anthrax.'

I sat down and as I did, we heard a commotion from outside and we both gazed in astonishment as Special Branch arrived clinging onto the back of a speeding police van.  As it turned quickly and skidded to a halt they all lost their grip and came flying off the back of the van, skimming across a painter's table covering themselves in wallpaper paste before crashing through the Starbucks window and coming to rest in a sack of coffee beans.

'Ullo, we're Special Branch, here to advise you on how to remain safe when presented by a viable threat by football fans,' said the first man as he brushed himself down and called for a skinny latte.

'Not football fans,' muttered Thomson.  'Rangers fans.'

'Oh sorry sir, I thought for a moment we were talking about Celtic fans.'

'Outrageous!  It's outrageous that you could for one moment believe that Celtic fans could be capable of this type of vicious campaign of intimidation and violence!  No my good man, it's Rangers fans and Rangers fans alone who are responsible for all the ills of society!'

This was going too far, even for a seasoned Ranger-hater like me but I kept my counsel and watched how this was going to proceed.

 

'Okay sirs, this is what you do if you're faced with suspicious packages in the post.  First you get a room in your house big enough to hold a party.  Then you hold a party.  Invite all of your friends and family into that room, drinks are optional, and once they've all arrived, well that's when you take a hammer and start bashing the package and if that don't reveal if there's something naughty in there then I don't know what will.'

I goggled at this lunacy but Thomson was captivated, was recording it on his digital pocket recorder and clearly had an erection which was peeking between his webbing and body armour.

'So tell me,' began my excited friend.  'What could a suspicious package possibly contain?  Could it be a machine gun smeared in shite?  How about a sword coated in rohypnol?  A dwarf?  Yes, a heavily armed dwarf!  A Heavily armed dwarf coated in rohypnol who's soiled himself - do you think that could be possible?'

'Erm,' contemplated the Special Branch officer.  'Um,  well I suppose anything's possible.  I mean, we've never dealt with suspicious packages containing erm, what was it again, a heavily armed dwarf full of rohypnol carrying a machine gun coated in shite?  It's unlikely but it's possible.'

'So it's possible!  See Spiers, this is what investigative journalism is all about!  Stick with me and we'll get you a better job than an online column about golf or whatever it is you're doing these days...  Does anyone read that by the way?'