Tuesday, 1 May 2012

Celtic v Rangers

Celtic reminding Rangers that they have an appointment with the Grim Reaper.

Celtic won 3-0 on Sunday, and the SPL flag is already home at Paradise, but they also got the black flags out for Rangers who may slide into liquidation. No mercy was shown the defeated enemy. A black coffin was passed around the green end, in scenes reminiscent of the Ayatollah Khomeini's undignified end, and the tombstones were out too, some marked with the number of the beast.

Celtic fans demonstrate their lack of faith in the latest bids to lift their Ibrox counterparts out of administration.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were unfurled - Neil Lennon, Death, Craig Whyte -"The Celtic Legend" - and Hector the Taxman. For the Rangers fans brave enough to attend, to take it in the face, and even to cheer their defiant support for their troubled club, it must have felt like hell or the end of the world. In truth, they have been betrayed by their owners who have mismanaged their club and brought it to administration and even to the verge of extinction.

Solidarity, Glesca style!

True Celtic fans will of course enjoy the football, the victory, and the celebrations. There will certainly be a satisfying shudder of schadenfreude as their racial, tribal, cultural and political opponents slide further down the wall which recently wrecked them. But there is no denying the inter-dependence of this Old Firm. They are not two sides of the same coin, nor peas in a pod, but they need each other nevertheless. The huge gates and the manic fervour when they play each other is one thing, but the fact they provide the lifeblood of the game in Scotland is undeniable.

For the life of me I see no sense or justice in punishing the football club for the misdemeanours of the businessmen who bought and sold the company. Two individuals are primarily the cause of this disaster, and neither is facing justice. The punishments are meted out to the players, the manager, the fans and the employees of the team.

It is amazing to me that the Crown has come for Rangers, that the royal Blues are having the screws turned on them by Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs, and that the Scottish football authorities are choosing to hammer this great British Institution, one of the last bastions of Protestant supremacy in these isles.

Surely there can be no more paranoia from the Irish Catholic camp across the city; surely they can no longer justify their well-shored up inferiority complex, their embattled victimhood, when they see the officers of the Crown and the high heid yins of Scottish freemasonry lining up to take a kick at the half-dead Ibrox club. Truly all former notions have turned to dust, or God, in his wisdom, is indeed a Teague.

Unless of course, it's our turn next. In the meantime...