Here at Chez Gub (renamed the Pleasuredome for the duration of this wee
blatt) I've got to admit the absolute splendour of it all is still
bubbling and bouncing away in the brain like a double decker busload of
chunky weans let out to play on an altogether too small Bouncy Castle.
It's a case of knowing where to start. Coming out of the penultimate
league game v Motherwell at home, I was thinking that there was no way
that side could take any points off the mhanks, so basically our hopes
were pinned on Hearts taking something from them at Tynecastle the
following day. But even that thought rankled and went against the grain
of my bluenose pride. Because basically we were asking two teams, to do
to the yahoos what we were incapable of achieving ourselves at Ibrox
just a few weeks earlier.
Alas it was not to be at Tynecastle as inTIMidation came into play
once again in the latter stages. BUT truth be told, we only had
ourselves to blame if we ended up as second prize merchants. Seven
points dropped to Dundee Utd, four to Caley Thistle. Nah, not good
enough by a long shot. Or so we thoughtÖ. And the rest as they say
folks, is history.
Now there is no use me describing what happened in my house last
week or what I felt because each and every last Rangers fan has his or
her own very personal and special story to tell regards the day Rangers
won the SPL title on Sunday, 22nd May, 2005.
Going off on a tangent if I may in the first paragraph of this wee
piece is that splendid German word; 'Schadenfreude'. In Glesga parlance
the word would be construed as GIRUPY, or gloating at Timothy as is the
case here. But according to those Teutonic charmers, the word means
'Shameful Joy'.
Well, let me assure one and all that I feel absolutely no shame
whatsoever in my absolute glee at the fact that Martin O'Neill walks
away from the cesspit as a LOSER!
Now I'm not going to go down the route our soul brother, The Right
Reverend Marvin, takes. Quite frankly I think The Lord has more
important things to deal with in this world than taking sides in who
wins the SPL.
But it is more than appropriate that O'Neill slinks away as a
failure and don't let our cross-city revisionists tell you any
different. That fact alone makes you think that somebody up there likes
us.
For instance, we've been drip-fed utter baloney this week that
O'Neill's tenure has been a non-stop catalogue of success. Well, the
fact is the history books will show that in his five years in charge at
CP, he won three SPL titles and Rangers won the other two. That does
not suggest total yahoo domination to me.
Even more pertinent is the crushing reality that the records will
also signify for posterity that in their three full seasons going head
to head against each other from 2002/03-2004/05 inc, the SPL honours
roll reads as follows; Alex McLeish 2 v Martin O'Neill 1.
As the one and only Ethel Cardew would have said, this is FACT!
Hell, even Dick Advocaat had a better first two seasons record than
O'Neill. But hey, why let reality get in the way of Keltic mythology?
That O'Neill galvanised the cesspit is not up for debate. That he
was much, much more than a match for Alex McLeish in their personal
duels with each other, would be churlish to deny either. In fact the
phrase 'Had him in his back pocket' springs to mind.
But those facts notwithstanding, every Rangers fan should look
skywards and praise The Lord for Martin O'Neill. Because in the form of
this little bespectacled, carping, sniping, ungracious, unsporting
bigot, we had a friend who demolished and rewrote EVERY yahoo Psalm in
the Tymnary.
Think Balde bulldozing through the back of an opponent two sizes too
wee for him. Well that is what wee Martin should be remembered for by
bluenoses everywhere. Because that is what the blessed one did to the
yahoo's mythical footballing reputation for all time.
Celtic don't care if they win, lose or draw? Oh really? Well, what
about the extraordinary behaviour of the little moron after the defeat
in Turin four years ago? And that outburst showcased the hypocrisy of
the MON era to the full. The yahoos were unhappy that Juventus got a
dodgy penalty just before time up. Yet they conveniently ignored the
equally contentious penalty decision awarded for a Sutton dive just two
minutes earlier.
The press also failed to point out this blatant hypocrisy and that
was another constant in the O'Neill era. Cowardice, unprofessionalism
and a complete lack of impartiality or journalistic integrity.
O'Neill's legacy would appear to have been do whatever is necessary
to win. Hack, cheat, inTIMidate opponents and officials alike and if
that doesn't work, then dive in and around the box. Because the
aforementioned intimidated officials would invariably go for the easy
option and award a free kick. It was sickening watching on week after
week; season after season and the officials always but always fell for
the dying swan routine.
Under O'Neill, the feigned infringement became an art form and the
two main exponents were the diving Swede and Petrov, but they were
admirably assisted by the likes of Sutton, Hartson and Thompson. Hell,
even man mountains like Varga and Balde got in on the act when required.
The first pair (Sutton and Hartson) were a physical paradox. All
over the pitch they used their body strength and physique to outmuscle
the opposition. Yet if you as much as looked at them near the box they
went down like flounders. This WAS an O'Neill tactic. Cheating will now
forever be considered to be the Sellik way. And I bloody love it.
Another myth O'Neill trampled all over is that Timmy is somehow a
footballing purist, the sporting sophisticate who plumps instinctively
for the wee, footballing artisan. That horse buckey goes flying out the
window with the following four words; 'Bobo's gonnae get ye!'
The brutal truth is that their hero worship of this player was based
around the fact that he physically harmed opponents. Now we've had our
fair share of 'big' players down through the years. But like all other
players of that physical stature, they used their height and weight to
win the ball and ease the smaller, lighter player off it.
Balde was unlike any other player I've ever seen - It would be too
much to describe him as a footballer - in that he went out of his way
to go through and deliberately HURT an opponent. And let us never
forget that Timmy loved it.
Then there was O'Neill's personal behaviour after a defeat, any and
every defeat. There was always a reason for it and nine times out of
ten it had nothing to do with the opposition's superior brand of
football. In short he was a graceless human being who couldn't win in a
decent manner let alone lose in one.
Even his beatification, which started moving apace at time up on
Sunday 27th August 2000, after his first Old Firm victory, if truth be
told, had its roots in that inTIMidation of officials. Who of us who
were there can ever forget the hapless Gordon McBride's bottle crashing
and awarding a goal to Sutton, who was clearly offside, in the first
minute or so. Or the legitimate Rod Wallace goal so casually denied in
the same half?
Another offshoot of O'Neill's time at the cesspit is the fact that
the filth are now totally out of control, such is the way their manager
has dominated and cowed the Scottish footballing media into absolute
silence and submission.
Let's see now, pregnant women being assaulted in Kilmarnock in May
2003, followed up by assaults on Motherwell fans in wheelchairs last
week? These incidents and more have been perpetrated by the self
proclaimed GFITW in the certain knowledge of our scum press and still
no editorial comment from any of the rags that employ them.
On that same note of press O'Merta and the stranglehold MON has over
them, who can ever forget O'Neill's finest hour in Europe? And no, I
don't mean Seville!
Picture the scene, March 2004 at CP and the mhanks are playing host
to Barcelona, 24/48 hours or so after the Madrid Bombing outrage.
Celtic, desperate to be seen to be playing the good guys, the decent
people, honour a minute's silence. And all around the cesspit there
were hundreds if not thousands of mhank scarves in the air, with IRA
slogans on them. Hoisted aloft to commemorate the lives of innocent
lives lost to terrorism.
Hand on heart, and credit where it is due. O'Neill had the
lickspittles in the Scottish Press sown up so tightly that not one of
those mainstream reptiles would have had the bottle to or integrity to
point out the blatant hypocrisy of the Fair Play stealers. As I say,
credit where it is due.
As for Seville itself? The gulf, the yawning chasm, with regards to
the class in both sides can be summed up thus; Deco v The Lurgan Bigot.
Again it is a testament to O'Neill's powers of persuasion that brain
dead Tims to this day STILL believe they were cheated out of a final
they were comprehensively outplayed in.
But let's get back up to date, there's even talk today that the
yahoos would have been cavorting around Fir Park last week in OFICIAL
Celtic endorsed t-shirts bearing the legend 'By Eck, we've done it
again.' A clear underhanded tasteless remark aimed at humiliating his
Old Firm counterpart. Truly there are no depths this poisonous, bitter
man would not stoop.
So that's it, an end of an era for Timothy. Martin O'Neill should
forever be remembered for his own special brand of 'Thugby Football' He
introduced the black arts of the game to Scotland on a scale previously
never even dreamed of. And I'll always be indebted to him for it.
There was one fantastic wee four-photograph segment last Monday
showing O'Neill tottering about the touchline almost as if he was
drunk. I maintain that he was intoxicated rather by his own bigotry and
hatred and I'll reiterate that he bows out as a LOSER makes all the
bitter blows of the MON era somehow worthwhile.
By eck, Celtic have had some unpleasant specimens as managers in
charge of them down throughout the years. One instinctively thinks of
Maley, Ba Face, McBungle, Burns and Macari. In Martin O'Neill, maybe
we've just witnessed the most odious, poisonous and spiteful of the lot.
Yours in football,
The Govanhill Gub.