It has been a very tedious day for The Clumpany. I was invited to be part of an airport Welcoming Committee for the new Sevco manager, and for the Director of Football which they may-or-may-not be getting, and who may-or-may-not have recently been interviewed in London.
Now, you might think that The Clumpany is an odd choice for Sevco welcoming duties, and to be honest I was quite surprised to get the call requesting my assistance this morning. But I don’t like to let down those who are less fortunate, so I dutifully headed off to the airport.
Once I arrived, it be came all-too-apparent why I had been invited. The reception group wasn’t so much a ‘party’ as a vigil. And a vigil which had been there for some considerable time! So long in fact that a shift system had been put in place, and lots of people had each taken a turn to loiter with a fixed grin and a ‘Welcome’ sign.
The truth of the matter was that so many people had done a shift during the Great Wait that Sevco had gone through the whole of humanity and had no choice but to resort to asking ethereal entities to join the rota.
The scene was quite a grim one, with millions of empty disposable coffee cups, discarded cans of Irn-Bru, crumpled crisp packets, and screwed-up (orange) Club biscuit wrappers. A couple of folk were slumped on the floor atop some very grubby-looking blankets, and wearing Steak Bake grease-stained blazers and ties. Their complexions were so pale that it seemed as though they hadn’t been in natural daylight for an eternity.
One of their number saw me approach and greeted me with an almost embarrassing amount of gratitude. He explained that he and his once-smartly attired colleague were there to drive new arrivals back to Ibrox or No-Longer-Murray Park. They had to be on permanent waiting duty, but volunteers such as my good self were needed to cheer the arrivals off the plane, and carry any luggage as well as fetch coffee and (orange) Club biscuits for the drivers.
When I asked why they had been there for so long, the beleaguered duo informed me that there was ALWAYS something to await at the airport if you were Rangers*-minded. And to be fair, the list of reasons they gave me was quite impressive:
1) Rangers’* new top top top manager would be arriving any day now. Any. Day. Now. Honest. Everyone just needs to be patient. There is definitely no delay in making an appointment because of a lack of interested candidates (after all, 60 billion individuals have recently been linked with the role). And it couldn’t possibly be the case that a shortage of funds was making it difficult to bring in even an interim manager. No Sir!
2) The Director of Football which Rangers* definitely want to recruit (unless they don’t) could be a prominent figure in European football. That’s got to be worth hanging around for! Apparently those flights from the Continent are much slower than you might think. Especially the ones that ‘jet in’…
3) Rangers* themselves are apparently ‘coming’. After all, their fans were boasting about it following Sevco’s promotion last season. The Premiership table suggests that they haven’t arrived yet, but where better to wait in the meantime than an airport terminal?
4) Dave King’s warchest is another long-awaited arrival at the airport. The Welcoming Committee was very excited when it first stood expectantly with a big “We Welcome Dave’s Cash” banner in March 2015. Sadly, even the most ardent enthusiast is now beginning to wonder whether its flight went off course and disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle. But until confirmation is received, the mindless optimism can continue!
Clearly there are very good reasons for having a permanent Welcoming Committee stationed at the airport, and The Clumpany was glad to able to help out today. But boy was it tedious! No new manager, no Director of Football, no ‘coming’ Rangers* and no war chest were to be seen. Just endless foul coffee and (orange) Club biscuits.
As I was about to leave the airport earlier this evening, I noticed a few people milling around in floods of tears. I asked my two new associates what was going on as they appeared to recognise them.
“That’s the other waiting delegation”, one of them explained. “They come in for an hour every day.”
When I enquired as to why there was a second delegation, the other chap sucked a bit of Steak Bake grease out of his tie and said “Oh they are nothing to do with us. Those are the nutters. They call themselves ‘Rangers Creditors’ and come here to wait for payment from what they call the ‘same club’.
I can see why they might want to wait here for something to happen. After all, that’s what we do all day. But FFS, that ‘creditor’ crap is all to do with the holding company. Airports are for Club business.
Speaking of which, could you pass me another Club biscuit? Orange please.”