I was kind of glad today happened. There has some amount of utter rubbish spouted this week since we won at Easter Road. The assumption that we will walk away with the league is based on nothing more than fanciful delusion from a support who really need to wake up to the reality of our own situation instead this ridiculous obsession with what goes on at Ibrox. Because let's be clear here, if the last three years has taught us anything it is that no matter what happens at Ibrox, they are still capable of being better than us. If that doesn't make your blood curdle, you're reading the wrong blog. We have a squad full of ordinary players who two good ones and a couple of decent ones sprinkled around. This was proved by today where we looked ordinary against 10 men a month behind us in fitness. Think on Lawwell.
When John Collins saved my life.
I have been inundated(one person) with requests to blog a tale in 1994 when I attended Ibrox for a Celtic game. Nothing too interesting there except of course Celtic fans were banned from Ibrox. 19 years old and mental, I acquired a ticket for the main stand and took the train through from Edinburgh then got the underground out to Ibrox. As I walked past the Stadium Bar(hun cesspit) I saw Big Gordon, he of the famous "Hats, Scarves, Badges and Tapes" shout. He saw me and gave me a look like "What the fuck are you doing here?" I had a very brief chat with him in which he offered me a huns scarf to carry. Thanks but no thanks. I walked round to the main stand and pretended to watch an amateur game on the astro turf opposite. I turned round to see where I'd be going in and, to my horror, heard, loud as anything, "What the fuck are you doing here?". It was a hun from Edinburgh I knew, Deek, who was as shocked as I was. I moved closer to him and his two mates who eyed me suspiciously as I desperately tried to move the conversation away from my presence there. It was no good so I left them sharpish and went over to the ground, into the turnstile and took my seat in the rickety old seats in the centre of the main stand. My arse had just touched the wood, steady, when I heard "That's the cunt I was telling you about" no, surely not me? Before I could gather my thoughts, an immense booing started, FFS had everyone sussed me, no it was a plane with a banner that said "Hail Hail The Celts Are Here". It made me feel good for about three seconds as the hun team came out and I got one mighty boot in the back of the head, followed by a series of punches. As quickly as they started, they stopped. A policeman saw , came up, said he watching me and that was it. For the next 20 odd minutes, every time the crowd got up, I got leathered. To the point where I became immune to it. So much so that when Celtic got a free kick at the huns end I lurched forward to see it better knowing full well a thousand eyes were on me. As John Collins stepped up, with Predators on, and swung the ball right into the top corner I could not control myself and leapt up. Just previous to the goal, the huns behind me, taking a break for kicking my head in, said to his mate "I bet this Polish Cunt scores here", I turned, after leaping up and cheering, and said "I bet his disnae!!!!!". I was set upon quickly but then dragged out by the Police. Before I knew it, I was outside and wondering what to do. Then the three main guys who had been leathering me also were thrown out. FFS. They chased me and I ran but was in agony, in my head I calculated "three of them, one was massive and fat, other two normal size" in front of me I saw a scaffolding poll and thought "Fuck it", the fat guy would never catch me, I was going to smack both of these hun bastards. As I turned one last time, the fat guy had overtaken the other two! I kept running, and jumped a taxi on Copland Road, telling the driver London Road. He saw my pursuers but didn't really care, it is Glasgow remember. Afte two minutes he said to me "See those Fenian bastards have scored eh?" I looked in his mirroor, realising the mess my face was in for the first time and said "I know mate, that's why I got thrown out" It took him a few seconds to tipple before he screamed "Ya bastard, I've just saved your life!!!"
Naw mate, John Collins did.