After the game Walter spoke about Rangers bringing out the best in the Aberdeen support. I think he really meant the worst because it was clear the atmosphere had got to linesman George Drummond who ran 70 yards to draw Kenny Clark's attention to Lee McCulloch's wee bit of nonsense. No excuses, Lee, you were out of order and really should be a bit better, cuter even, than that. But with the home crowd foaming at the mouth, the man with the flag fancied getting himself some brownie points and the Gers` were left with ten men. But if the crowd had been less aggressive, would the linesman have been so keen to invade the pitch?
What really gets me about these bassas is that their hatred of us dates back more than 20 years and it is a generation of mature adults, who really should know better, who have spread their poison to the younger ones who are more than happy to keep the whole thing festering. And with the Grampian Plod being more concerned with videoing Rangers fans singing, while the home crowd can throw missiles at opposing fans and players without fear of any repercussions, the situation is going to get worse before it gets better.
I know quite a few Aberdonians who are perfectly reasonable people but, when the Gers go to their place, I don't want to be anywhere near them in the build-up to the game, during the match itself and maybe even for a couple of hours afterwards. Like handing Popeye a can of spinach, the sight of a Rangers jersey just seems to do crazy things to them. They just become different people. Later in the day, assuming they've got nothing to gloat about, they become normal again, become apologetic even, but I know the self-same metamorphosis will take place next time around.
They actually annoy me more than Timothy. At least with the Scum Of, you know what to expect, they've got years of oppression (joke!) to justify their Neanderthal behaviour. All the Sheepies have to turn to are Alex Ferguson's massive chip on his shoulder and of course the fall-out from Simpson's assault on Ian Durrant. Remind me, who injured who there?
That few moments of madness in the first half on Sunday, when Alan Hutton and Chris Clark took a dislike to each other, and Lee McCulloh reckoned Scott Severin needed a seeing-to, gave the Sheepies just what they wanted. Prior to that point, the Gers were in complete control and all them daft hooters, which certainly gave me a sore heid, were beginning to fall silent. Suddenly they were up out of their seats again, the gestures were obvious, the missiles were flying but, hey, it was all them big bad Rangers' fault.
Each time I return from that hovel, I tell myself I'm not going back but, of course, as an everywhere-anywhere Bear, when the next game comes around I'll be on my way north again. But I'd be a liar if I said I was looking forward to it.