Late one night at the sports desk of an unidentified Scottish media outlet…
Our hero turned off his computer for the day, took a big gulp of freezing cold coffee, and let out a big sigh.
He surveyed the deserted office, scampered over to the light switches and turned them all off. The office was now dark, save for a single lamp shining on his desk. He headed over to it, looked around, and opened a desk drawer. He glanced around once more, then removed a photograph from inside a leather-bound album. The album was gently placed back in the drawer which was then silently closed.
Taking a final slow furtive glance towards every corner the office, he turned off the lamp, crouched down and sat under his desk. Feverishly, he removed his shirt to reveal a vintage ‘orange’ Rangers top. He stroked the badge.
“Mmmmm”, he purred.
Our hero then stared at the photograph with a look of reverence on his face. He held it as one might hold a rare orchid. With care and tenderness.
The photograph was of the Rangers side which beat nine-man Celtic on 25 March 2012. The sight of Rangers’ final victory over Celtic, in their penultimate encounter, profoundly moved our hero as it always did.
He sniffed. A single involuntary tear ran down his cheek and splashed on to Lee McCulloch’s face.
And then he spoke:
He kissed the picture and gaped at it once again.
But then he frowned.
He shook his head.
His hands began to quiver as an overwhelming feeling of grief engulfed him. The grief turned to rage. And then the rage became unadulterated fury.
He looked out from under his desk, through the office windows and straight at the moon. He took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes, shook his fist at the sky and bellowed…
“Noooooooo! Rangers! We needs it! We hunger for it! We wants the ‘Old Firm’, Precious!”
“They stole it from us! Nasty tricksy clubsies. We will comes for them and makes them smell the fear, Precious. And then they will be sorry…”
And then he wept for the rest of his ‘Old Firm-free days…
They aren’t ever coming back pal…