You Terrible Cant

"Thank God you're here, Spiers" said Alex Thomson as I crawled along the floor of his occasional Glasgow digs.  "Here, take this helmet."  I accepted it gratefully and put it on just in time as another brick came through his window and bounced off my noggin.  "Blimey!  That was close, another few seconds and that would've been my bonce!  So tell me Alex, what the blue blazes is going on?"

"I wrote a blog recently criticising the Celtic support and..."
"Enough said," I interrupted.  "How long have they been besieging you?"
"Well I only got back from the George V Hotel in Paris, erm, I mean the Syrian frontline yesterday but it's been like this since I stepped through the door: brick after brick through the windows, shite poured through the letterbox, obscene phone calls although to be fair on the Celtic fans I think the phone calls might be from Lawwell."
"So what are you going to do about it?  We can't have the Celtic support attacking you like this and you not saying anything about it, not after you accused the Rangers support of being an underclass for far less."
"I know but I don't want to come over as a hypocrite..."  And at this we both burst out laughing.

I was still chuckling to myself when I reached Hampden later that day and popped in to say hello to my old chum, Darryl Broadfoot.  "Hello Broadfoot," said I.

"Hello Spiers," said he, and we stood staring at one another in silence for five minutes.
"Well it's been a pleasure speaking to you," said I.
"The pleasure was all mine, please drop in for a chat any time you like," said he.  I walked off down the corridor towards Regan's office but Broadfoot came running after me.  "What do you want to see him about?" he asked, grabbing my arm.
"Oh I just want to ask him about the offensive banner charge he promised to pursue against Celtic."
"You're joking, right?" said Broadfoot, horrified.
"No, why should I joke about something as serious as this?"
"Don't play cute with me, Spiers.  I know you know that we know never to go after Celtic, you know?"
"I know."  I said but I didn't know.  Even after all these years as a crusading reporter it still surprises me that Celtic fans can act with impunity, causing all sorts of outrages and not only will the SFA turn a blind eye but Celtic will pay the legal bills for all kind of riots, assaults, sectarian chanting and various other scandals.  What doesn't surprise me, because I see them in the press box wearing their club scarves, is that the media ignores it.  It never used to but then a new wave of young Celtic supporting journalists, sub-editors and programme producers appeared and even if they wanted to report any negative stories about Celtic, there was always Lawwell's underground torture chamber, the skin-flats, the scream-pits and of course Peter Kearney's office.

So I turned around and left Regan undisturbed and the question of what action the SFA would take against Celtic was left alone to hopefully be forgotten about and then ultimately disappear altogether.  Broadfoot watched me leave, a smile on his face in the knowledge that he had done his job and done it well.

 

I was still thinking about Broadfoot when I fetched up on Byres Road to meet Tom Devine and Pat Nevin for a few glasses of lunch and curiously enough, Devine greeted me with a frown.  "Have you been dealing with Broadfoot today, Spiers?"

"Er, yes.  How did you know?"
"I can smell the disillusionment on you from here.  Thought you were getting into journalism to make a difference, didn't ye?  And now what are you but just another part of the problem.  Heh, well never mind, I don't mind a hypocrite as long as he's one of our own.  Now get me a flagon of port and be quick about it, ye hear?  If I don't get drunk quickly I might have to listen to one of Pat's stories again."  I looked over at Pat and he was walking behind some stranger who, obviously tired of Pat's two stories had excused himself and was trying to flee to the toilets but Pat wasn't finished his second story yet and followed him in, talking all the way.

"Here you are, Tom" I said, handing him his drink with both hands.  "So have you heard about this state aid rumour doing the rounds about Celtic and Glasgow City Council?"

"Aye.  I have.  And what are you going to do about it?" he burped.
"Well I was thinking...  Ignore it and hope it goes away?"
"That's a good lad, Spiers.  Remember, you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem; bear that in mind and you'll be fine me lad." 

I thought about this and was just relaxing into my chair with a gin and tonic and realising how comfortable I was with the whole situation when the pub door flew open and in came Alex Thomson looking rather pleased with himself.  "Ho ho!  What have we here?" said Devine, lifting his face out of his drink.  "Well, Alex, what did you do to get the Celtic fans off your back?"  I asked.

"A stroke of bloody genius, Spiers.  I came up with an approach that is so brilliant, so inspired that no one but me could possibly have come up with it..."
"Well, what did you do?" I asked and Thomson puffed out his chest and said, "I took it all back and said sorry."