OLD FIRMA Story by alanwgraham The Old Firm, Rangers versus Celtic football match, is world famous for the passion it arouses in its supporters. A humerous take on this famous fixture. Old Firm
In the part of the city south of the river, the nineteenth century sandstone terraced houses stretch rank on rank like a diagram of regiments in close battle order. They had once housed proud and hardworking shipbuilders and machine workers, along with their large families, and the city was famous worldwide for it's shipbuilding and heavy engineering. Now, sadly, the houses are crumbling, along with many of the inhabitants who often subsist on benefits or part time work.
But today was a special day in the life of the city - a day eagerly awaited by some and abhorred by others. There is no doubt that the two families living next door to each other in Madras Street fell into the former category, the Hendersons in number 56 and the McNeills at 58.
At precisely the same moment, 12.30 pm on Saturday the 5th of May, the blue painted door of the Hendersons and the emerald green door of the McNeills swung open and Jim and Bertie stepped outside. They both sniffed the air as if searching for an omen. Bertie looked across at Jim reflectively. ‘Tak care whit ye wish fur Jim!’ Jim looked across to his neighbour and laughed. ‘Up yours Bertie - it disnae matter whit I wish fur, it’s no me that’s playin’ this efternoon!' Their respective teams, Rangers and Celtic, were neck and neck and there was every likelihood that this game would decide the season. As the Liverpool manager Bill Shankley famously said, ‘Some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.’‘Good day for the match Bertie!’ Jim pulled his blue door shut. ‘It’ll no be good for the baith of us Jim.’ Bertie replied, as he shut his green door. ‘Aye, that’s true, Bertie.’ ‘We’ll walk down to Calcutta Street and then we’ll put on the scarves.’ ‘Aye, we’ll be enemies then.’
The two neighbours exhibited the split personalities that afflicted many throughout the city and beyond. They could move from being the best of neighbours to the worst of enemies on the first few notes of one of their tribal songs.
The two neighbours walked down the street chatting amicably, wisely avoiding the tricky subject of the impending old firm match. As they passed the building site where a non-denominational school was being built, a dark shadow seemed to pass over the two men. Little did they know that a large crane was in the process of lifting the final concrete wall section into position. Like a sword of Damocles, it dangled above them. Jim had just asked Bertie what he thought the score would be. Bertie looked up puzzled, for there was not a cloud in the sky. Just at that instant the braking mechanism of the crane suffered a catastrophic failure and the large concrete block hurtled downwards. Of course Jim and Bertie hadn’t time to read the inscription that had been carved into the panel
‘Putting an end to sectarian rivalry’
A bit like a decapitated head that can still utter a few words, Bertie managed to utter a strangled ‘three nil’ before the block hit the men squarely. There was a thunderous concussion of sound which mercifully hid the squelch as the two football fans suffered the same fate as a ball of dough being rolled flat for scones. Any vestiges of green and blue completely disappeared and the two men might well have been mistaken for Aberdeen supporters. (red strips!)
For Jim and Bertie, something very peculiar happened as they were well and truly ‘sconed’. It felt a bit like an out of body experience that some claim to have felt when they seem to be looking down on their own body. ‘I feel a bit strange Bertie! It’s like I’m floating.’ Jim remarked as they continued past the building site. ‘I’m feelin a bit weird masel Jim - how many cans have you had?’ ‘Just a half dozen, but ah feel half pissed!’ ‘Me too! Hey Bertie - look behind. What the f**** happened? Whit the f**** that concrete block doin’ in the road? Ah never even f****** saw it.’ ‘Naw, me neither. Come oan Jim, we’ll just get doon tae Calcutta Street and then ye better stop speakin’ a’ that sh*te.
Jim and Bertie’s journey continued but they both had the same feeling of discombobulation. The two parted company at the junction with Calcutta Street and attempted to join their respective stream of supporters but none of their pals seemed to respond to their greetings. It wis almost as if they were lookin right through them. The two men progressed along the road by a kind of dream-like
glide just above the pavement. Jim spotted his drinking pal from the Ibrox bar. 'Whit's the matter wi you Geordie - dae ye think ahm wearin a f****** Celtic strip?' There was no reaction!
Eventually after a period when the normal passage of time seemed a bit fluid Jim and Bertie arrived at the ground and strangely found themselves at the same turnstile. Both were surprised to find that the normal drab entrance had been adorned by an ornate arch decorated with pearls.
‘Whit the hell’s this?’ said Jim. ‘Whit in heaven’s name's goin on?’ Bertie exclaimed. ‘You’re new here pal?’ They both asked the man behind the grill. ‘I’m Pete. I have all your details and I’m afraid you’re both down for the ‘hot ticket’. Peter started to read out a lifetime’s list of transgressions - wife beating, drunkenness, lewdness, fighting, religious hatred, bigotry - the list went on and on. ‘In you go lads, I’ll give you your mark first. Put your hands on the shelf please.’ The two unsuspecting fans put out their hands and in a sizzle of burnt flesh Pete lifted an iron from a small brazier and branded their hands 666. ‘For f**** sake - whit’s this? Is it our seat number?’
Then something extraordinary
happened - even stranger than when Jim had spent a liquid weekend celebrating
the famous 5-1 cup win and woke up on a Thursday with two black eyes, wearing high heels and a Celtic strip. It was a bit akin to the big bang at the beginning of the universe when time was elastic, galaxies were formed, life came into being and culminated in the creation of Rangers and Celtic football teams. Now that Jim and Bertie’s earthly span had been extinguished their universe was now deflating back the sum of their limited imaginations - an old firm match!
The two men thought that they had become separated as they made their way to their seats but in fact they now existed in parallel universes of their own making. As Jim sat down a clutching anxiety seized him as he realised he was immersed in an ocean of green scarves and hooped tops. The sound of tens of thousands of fans shouting, chanting and singing the Celtic favourites added up to a visceral mugging. And of course Bertie was meanwhile immersed in his own parallel blue hell.
Jim forced himself to watch the match. All the Rangers greats were playing but the Celtic select were toying with them.
----- Simpson made a sensational fingertip save of a thunderous McCoist strike into the top left corner. He rolled the ball out to McGrain who ran on twenty yards, stroked it past Durant to the feet of Johnstone. In the blink of an eye Johnstone jinked past two Rangers defenders and made a perfectly weighted pass to the head of Larsson who directed the ball past the outstretched Goram into the top left corner --- IT'S A GOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAL!
When the thunderous cheer subsided a little Jim shouted to his neighbour. ‘When’s half time pal?’ ‘Half time? There’s no half time in this match mate. ‘What’s the score then?’ ‘Score?’ He looked puzzled. Since I came it must be about a million to nil for the Celts.’ Jim's jaw dropped.
‘Heaven isn’t it!’ © 2017 alanwgrahamFeatured Review
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Added on January 14, 2017Last Updated on May 2, 2017 Author
alanwgrahamScotland, United KingdomAboutMarried with three kids, I retired early from teaching physics but have always enjoyed mountains. In my forties I experienced a manic episode which kick-started a creative urge. I've written a novel .. more..Writing
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