Peter Pansy and the Rangers Tax Case Fairy

Yesterday was not a very good day for me. For a start, I woke up to find Harrison Ford and Sylvester Stallone squabbling in the corner of my bedroom but a few pills and they were soon gone. With a medicated bounce in my step, I skipped down Byres Road to see what bright new opportunities would be presented to me which I might utilise to further attack Rangers. Oh I know it’s been my favourite past time the last few years but this past year it’s become a bit of a national sport, so much so that even the SFA have become involved and seem to be leading the way.

I didn’t get very far though before I came across a crowd in the street just before Ashton Lane; it was practically every sports journalist in Scotland and they were gathered around the dying body of the Rangers Tax Case Fairy. 'What's going on?' I asked and Tom English turned to me with tears in his eyes, 'The Rangers Tax Case Fairy was poisoned by Captain Hook.'
'Captain Hook?'
'Sorry, the FTT. They've won, Rangers have won the First Tier Tax Tribunal!' and a great wail went up and some, the Daily Mail boys, burst into tears. Then I had an idea, what if all the boys and girls at home started to shout out, I believe in The Rangers Tax Case Fairy? If enough boys and girls believed then surely it'd bring the fairy back to life? So the Scottish press pack started shouting out, 'I believe in the Rangers Tax Case Fairy! I believe in the Rangers Tax Case Fairy!' over and over and something remarkable happened, the Rangers Tax Case Fairy raised its head and whispered, 'Rangers didn't win the tax case, it was just worded to make it seem that way; it's all an establishment/Masonic/Zionist plot...' until a huge foot stood on it and crushed it like a bug - it was the Traynor!
'Fucking losers,' he guffawed and walked away laughing.

I turned and sloped off towards Radio Clyde as I had to make an appearance there that I wasn’t looking forward to. All this bad news might bring out Jim Delahunt in a bad case of the werewolves – I know it’s not a full moon but once we told him in jest that Rangers were going to win the Tax Case and he turned in a twinkling and nearly had my arm off. It took the emergency team an hour to get him into a cage and back home till morning.

All the way there I kept getting phone calls on my mobile. Scotland Tonight wanted me in as did BBC Scotland on everything they were running on the subject. At one point I was due to speak on Radio Scotland but took fright and pretended the line was dead.  They fell for it too and continued without me, barely concealing the anger in their reporting of the Rangers victory.

Clyde passed in a daze, everyone there was in shock and suddenly wanted to talk about football instead of obsessing about Rangers and the Tax Case and I noticed nobody wanted to sit beside Delahunt.

Then came Scotland Tonight. The bastards sat me beside one of the Fantastic Four who had a shit eating grin on his face like he’d just been blown by Fatima Whitbread and I sat there squirming, wondering if someone had put oil on my seat because I couldn’t get comfortable at all and my arse kept sliding around as I gulped and wheezed until suddenly the grinning man had accused me of saying that Rangers had cheated. Before I knew what I was doing I was denying I’d ever said this and as soon as I’d spoken I realised I had accused them of being cheats all over Twitter for the past year. Fucking Twitter! I knew it’d be the ruin of me eventually. I endured another ten minutes in the hot lights and I swear, that bloody make up girl hadn’t put enough powder on me as sweat ran freely down my face, glistening and shining in the studio glare. Every moment was torture as I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible to delete all my cheat-tweets but I couldn’t, it was no use and from the giggles from the cameramen and runners in the gloom behind John McKay, I could tell I was trending and not in the good way I used to in the old days of Kelvin Way.

Eventually I made it home, stepping over the putrid puddle of gravy, miasma and filthy raincoat that is Brian McNally who has been camping out on my doorstep for the past year and some even thought had died of neglect during the summer but it turned out that was how he always smells.
‘What’s going on down there then Brian? Having as bad a day as me?’ I asked, speaking to him directly for the first time.
‘Mmmmf. Tweeting about English football, no time to talk,’ he oozed.
‘Crikey, there’s a first time for everything, eh?’

Inside, in the warm safety of my home I opened my laptop and tried to make sense of a world without Rangers being morally wrong and my mind began to wander. Before long I was back in the past, thinking about me as a schoolboy and the recurring memory I have of being chased by a gang of the local toughs. I ran as hard as I could through bushes and into a field and I remember the sight of the moon shining bright above me illuminating my panicked breath as it froze in the cold winter’s night. They eventually caught me and gave me a good beating, didn’t even stop when I was on the ground and begging for them not to kick me anymore. I kept thinking about this, couldn’t get my mind off it and wondered why until I felt the sharp bite of my conscience reminding me that this is exactly what we’d done to Rangers and I was as culpable as any of them, more than most some might say. I used to despise bullies but I’d become one, flushed with the thrill of being in a gang I’d turned into what was once anathema to me. My head dropped onto my keyboard and I wept at what I had become.
‘What are you crying about you fucking pansy?’ came a voice from behind me. It was Lawwell!
‘Don’t worry Spiers, we’ll destroy them yet and I have just the thing to do it. Do you fancy an adventure through time?’
‘Does it mean I’ll be part of a bullying witch hunt against Rangers?’ I asked, plaintively.
‘Of course,’ he replied.
‘Brilliant!' I cried, having learned nothing.  'Where do I sign up?’