The Pagliacci Problem

Allan Rennie got a standing ovation as he walked across the floor of the Daily Record towards his own office where Peter Lawwell was waiting for him, hand extended in congratulation and Rennie accepted the handshake and winced as Lawwell ground his knuckles and pressed tacks into his palm.  "Ladies and gentlemen, comrades, bhoys and ghirls of the Daily Record," shouted Lawwell.  "I'm here today to announce Allan Rennie's promotion to Managing Director of Media Scotland, a position Rennie almost deserves but would have been nowhere near if I hadn't done all the hard work for him.  Indeed, if we hadn't found out his predecessor of seventeen years was a closet Rangers supporter we wouldn't have had to let her go and promote Allan before he was ready but hey, what you gonna do?  You got anything to say, Allan?  No?  Okay, you lot get back to work and don't forget, I want you all over the Neil Lennon as a victim of sectarianism story, got that?"  As Lawwell finished his speech, Rennie motioned to enter his own office but Lawwell was already back behind the desk and one of his bodyguards was closing the door in Rennie's face.

I witnessed all this because I'd been summoned by Lawwell, I think he got a kick out of me seeing his humiliation of Rennie and at first I suspected that was the only reason I was there but as Rennie stood stewing outside his own office, the door opened and I was whistled in.  "Spiers, we want you to join the Record.  It's a fucking comic and we want you to bring some serious gravitas to it, shake it up a bit and entice back the tens of thousands of Rangers fans who've deserted it since it became a companion of the Celtic View.  Do you have it in you?"  I was astonished, I was speechless,  I was delighted!  I couldn't believe what he was offering me and I goggled at him, a stupid grin spreading across my face and I was just about to say yes when he burst out laughing and pointed at me, holding onto his desk for support.  "He believed it!  Can you imagine?  He fucking believed it!" he screamed at his bodyguard who was bent double with laughter.  "You?  In the Daily Record?  You wish, Spiers!  Wait till I tell everyone at the SFA about this one.  Oh Spiers, you are a dolt, did you honestly think you are the man to bring the Rangers fans back to the Record?  And how the fuck could you ever think that you could bring gravitas to anything?  Jesus wept..."

I was mortified.  The walk from Lawwell's office (well, Lawwell's annexation of Rennie's office) through crowds of hooting Record journalists, all pointing at me with tears streaming from their eyes, was the longest walk I've ever taken; it was quite frankly the most shameful experience of my life.  I got outside and as soon as I'd stepped out the door a huge noise erupted around me - Lawwell had brought along the staff from every newspaper in the city and they were all standing outside, pointing and laughing.  I pushed through them all, feeling the bitter taste of my own tears as I could hold it in no longer and began to cry.  The crowd saw this and started flicking my ears as I pushed through them all until at last I was away from Central Quay and heading for Ashton Lane.

I'd fled to the Chip you see, to seek out my chums Pat Nevin and Tom Devine; they were both at the bar.  "We heard," said Devine, putting a consoling hand on my shoulder but I swear I could see him trying to hold in a chuckle.  "Yeah, we're really sorry, Spiers.  Can we buy you a drink?" said Pat.

"A large one please, I've never been so humiliated" I wept.
"What, more humiliated than that time you flew past Ibrox, dangling from a hot air balloon with your cock out?" asked Devine.
"Worse than trying to punch Walter Smith and him beating you up and holding you prisoner for a fortnight?" snorted Nevin.
"How about being chained to a cave wall and nearly eaten by Phil McGillivan and Mad Joe O'Rourke?" crowed Devine.
"Yes, yes," I said as they convulsed at the bar.  "I don't need you two reminding me of my unfortunate past.  If you were true friends you'd find some way to cheer me up."
"Well you know what I think, Spiers" said Devine, composing himself and calling for a bucket of port.  "When you've been ridiculed and are feeling low then you absolutely must ridicule someone else, someone who is even lower than you.  That'll do the trick!"
"By jove, you're right!" I shouted.  " I must bully someone else - that's how it all works, isn't it?  I have to find someone else who thinks they're it, someone else who thinks they're a journalist of great standing but is an even bigger joke than me!  But where do I find such a thing?"  and I looked at Tom and Pat as our eyes widened and we came to the same conclusion at the same time.  "To the Drum!" we cried and marched out of the bar.  "There's fucking loads of them there!"