Well, here we are on the eve of the first OF cup final of the Lurgan rheptile’s tenure. It is very different from the heady delights of last year’s nine-man win against St Mirren and a cheating referee. It is also 2000 light years away from how we felt even as little away as last October.
Speaking to Rangers fans on a daily basis, never have I witnessed our support so demoralised and crushed as they are feeling today; and I speak as a veteran who very rarely missed an OF fixture in the Greig and Wallace # 2 years. Do not be in any doubt who is the cause for all this anguish. Look no further than the three amigos in the dug out.
Of course, this final comes hard on the heels of yet another truly abominable display both on and off the park in the European arena. The fact is, in a game, we had to win to go through, and with the advantage of being at home, the manager deployed seven defenders. Nah, not in my name Walter, just not in my name.
It was embarrassing, truly embarrassing watching high and hopeful balls up to big Lafferty and even the balls he won and flicked on saw not another team mate in camera shot. The worst aspect to it all is that I don’t even believe PSV broke sweat.
It was also embarrassing listening to the neutral Steve McLaren and an equally incredulous Jim Beglin at half time during their summary. Their bemusement was almost tangible.
Rangers they said, are playing three central defenders against ONE solitary PSV striker, and not one of them is intent in picking up the main danger man that is Toivonen.
Apart from anything else, the wee cushioned touch (a caress actually) from the Swede in the first leg that cut the Rangers defence like a hot knife through butter should have been the prime example of what a class act the guy is. Yet we allowed him to drift in and out as he wanted. They walked around with the ball, as we stuttered, stammered, huff-puffed and wore ourselves out for all of that first half, chasing shadows.
We did of course see a marked improvement at the start of the second half mind, and we need to be sure in our minds why that was? Well, sadly, I think we all know the answer. Weir was taken off, we stopped defending so deep, which meant we stepped higher up the park and took the game to the opposition. For a period, a team that was light years ahead of us in the finer arts of the game looked rattled. There has to be a lesson for our management team in there somewhere.
As usual where we are concerned, we missed a gilt edged chance at a time when our initiative and confidence was soaring. And forget the penalty guff; Naismith should have buried that feeble effort he had against the crossbar beforehand. It was an atrocious miss. One that would have seen the Copland turn on his assistant manager a generation before.
However, back to this weekend’s final. There can be no getting away with it, the Yahoos' confidence is soaring. Once again it can be traced back, not to their recent two back-to-back CP, OF wins, but the fact that OUR management let them off the hook at Ibrox at the start of February in the Scottish Cup tie. And if our lot think that capitulation is going to be easily forgotten, then they have another think coming.
They must be pissing themselves at the cesspit. ‘It doesn’t matter how much disarray we find ourselves in, that lot will always gives us an out.’ That MUST be their mantra. I know it would be mine if the circumstances were reversed.
However, once again we go into this fixture on the run. On top of the guff from Strathclyde plod, we have Ally McCoist on Friday telling us that he admits he breached the rules of club discipline last month in his set-to with his old pal.
So, it is now a breach of club discipline for one of our management team to stick up for his players, when attacked by moral effluence. You wonder if this shower at Ibrox actually want us to re-new our vows at the end of the season. As I’ve said elsewhere; just when you think it cannot possibly get any worse.
Of course, the three amigos are deserving of a certain leeway, especially when you think of the freakish nature of Bartley’s injury on Thursday night. So for this weekend’s final, I just cannot forsee a four-at-the-back scenario.
It will now have to be five at the back with us having no option when it comes to defending Weir’s lack of pace. No doubt aided and abetted by the usual give the ball away needlessly in midfield therefore heaping pressure back on a defence that does not need it.
Once again, we will invite the filth to run at us. The only thing is (are you reading McCoist) if they do get their noses in front they will not be intent on just holding out, they will be going for the jugular at every turn. That’s what a real manager does. Especially one fuelled on hate.
Then we have the extraordinary spectre of Hamish (anti-sectarian) McBeth sitting on judgement on the sidelines. "We’ll jail players" some arsehole in uniform said "if they step out of line on Sunday."
Here’s how I see it; when McSlipper of the yard was reading the riot act at Ibrox on Friday, did it occur to any of our lot to ask him why Lennon wasn’t arrested for his behaviour at Ibrox on Sunday, February 6th just past? Thought not! So once again he gets an obligatory free pass. Only in this poxy, wee hole.
Anyway, to more mundane matters. Can Rangers win this cup on Sunday? Of course we can. But only if we attack. Only, if we set out to win as opposed to not wanting to lose.
Just do it Rangers.
Yours,
Secretary of the Lurleen (Don’t put your hand up my skirt unless you mean it) Lumpkin, RSC.