The Devil in the Detail

I was interviewing Stewart Regan in his cupboard at Hampden at the weekend when the door crashed open and Lawwell stood there glowering at us, twisting his riding whip tightly between clenched fists.  "You, cunt-squeak, my office now" he raged, pointing a finger at Regan before turning to go without even looking at me.  "And Spiers," he shouted back.  "If you want to see a grown man cry, feel free to join him."  That's the thing about sociopathic bullies like Lawwell, they just love to humiliate their victims in front of others and that's great for crusading journalists like me because here I was, on the front line again, gathering up facts which I could then discard and print the usual disingenuous nonsense.  Aye, it's great being a journo in Scotland, you get paid far too much for little talent and not very much work.

 

We scampered along the corridor trying to catch up with Lawwell as it doesn't do to keep him waiting when he's in this type of mood as it just allows him time to think up nightmarish new tortures.  As we got to the door to his office we both stopped, "You go first," offered Regan.

"No, you go first" I replied.
"Please, I insist."
"I insist more, after you."
"Look Spiers, just get in there," and he started to jostle me so I jostled back and before I knew what was happening, he'd overpowered me and pushed me through the doorway into Lawwell's office where I tripped over the SFA carpet, landing with a thump right on the Celtic crest.  I looked up and Lawwell was naked except for a pair of jackboots - see, this is why you should never linger outside his door!  Regan came creeping in, "Yes, master?" only to have Lawwell leap across the room surprisingly quickly and press the end of his whip against the tip of Regan's nose.  "It's time for you to go after Rangers again, they're nearly done and all we have to do is tip them over the edge.  Ashley's the weak spot, go after him, you won't find it difficult."
"But boss, my reputation is in tatters, no one will take me seriously, not even Rangers."
"Christ," exclaimed Lawwell, taking a slice at Regan's cheek with the whip.  "Do I have to do all the thinking all of the time around here?  Then we do something about your reputation, I know: you're being considered for the English FA job."
"Am I?"
"When you leave this office you're going to apply which means you're being considered, right?  Right Spiers?" he looked at me.
"Oh yes, sir.  We can certainly word it like that to make it seem that this clown has a hope in hell..." I'd gone too far and was rewarded with a boot to the throat.
"Pip's right, the press will report whatever the fuck I tell them to report so get to it; today you apply for the English FA job, tomorrow you batter into Rangers.  Right, where are the disciplinary committee?  I want to speak to them about this Tonev business and when I say speak to them, of course I mean stretch them on the rack until they agree that Tonev is completely innocent of racism."
"Erm, sir, they're hiding" squeaked Regan, and that was the moment I sneaked out, fearing that I might fetch up on the rack with them.  As I scurried across the Hampden car park I heard a crash and a scream, it was Regan going through Lawwell's window.  Lucky for him he had a soft landing on his head but as I watched him stagger up the steps back to his desk in his cupboard, I thought there was no way he was going to find that disciplinary committee in time.  I was right.