neck-and-neck race for the flag, a battle of nerves which is going all the
way to the wire. But lets not lose sight of one very important factor.
Rangers are still masters of their own destiny, sure to win the title if we
win our game more convincingly than the Mhanky Mhob win theirs. That¹ll do
for me.
It is all about so much more than ability now. The Gers have had to fight
for the right to underline their superior skills and, even then, opponents
have sought to exploit any uncertainty so, where previously they might have
been discouraged to find themselves facing a Rangers team which had the
stomach for the fight, it has taken a bit more to subdue them this time
around. The weekend ahead will be a test of nerve more than anything else,
a time for every man to stand up and be counted, to show he is worthy of the
blue jersey.
And we too must rise to the occasion. If ever a team needed its supporters
to get right behind them it has been Rangers recently. Sinn Fein's annual
conference was set up Seville - more about that later (tee-hee!) - but when
the Separated Brethren came to our place a few weeks ago, I got the
impression that, no matter what happened that day, they would have given it
laldy from start to finish. But even with the Championship on the line,
many of us could muster nothing more than the usual favourites game,
cheering certain players, picking on others, and generally doing nothing to
help the team in its hour of need. Sure, the players were below par but us
Bears didn't play a blinder either, failing lamentably when the team badly
needed our inspiration.
Alex McLeish demanded some answers from his players in the wake of that game
and to their great credit, Dens Park apart, the guys have responded. But
how many Rangers fans asked themselves the big question: How badly do I want
my team to win this title?
Aye, I know it's a daft question but we really had to start backing our team
in a way which rendered the question meaningless. Looking at our run-in, it
worried me that we had too many home games.
Our away crowd is different class, worth that vital goal of a start and
capable of lifting the team when things ain't going too well. But despite
the best efforts of the Blue Order, Ibrox on matchdays can be like a visit
to the library. Thankfully, it all changed for the Killie game but, more
significantly, it changed dramatically, so much so that Jeffers was greeting
about it while Big Eck was positively glowing.
There is a much wider issue at stake here. The hierarchy at the club have
made it clear what they think of us. We are consumers not supporters, there
to be ripped off at every opportunity. If we don't like it, we should just
toddle off somewhere else. Martin Bain and his like will tell their Rotary
Club chums that they are the real Rangers, the ones who generate the cash to
keep the club alive, adamant that it would matter not a jot if the team
played in a half-empty stadium. The corporate packages would keep things
ticking over nicely and they might realise their dream of turning Ibrox into
a cosy wee middle-class meeting place where they can all discuss their golf
handicaps, the kids' school fees or the state of the economy, while the
hired help offers a mild diversion on the pitch.
However, the camel coat jokers don't want to be associated with failure.
They would disappear quicker than a Tim in the pub on Wednesday night and
they would take their executive box packages with them. Where would Bain
and company turn then? Aye, they'd come back for the folks they drove away,
just like Lawrence Marlborough did years ago, but I don't think Bears would
be so quick to bite second time around.
But I digress. It ain't gonna happen because we're not consumers, we are
supporters who care passionately about our team and we have shown it by
lifting the players over these past few weeks. We showed those at the head
of the house how much Rangers need the fans. Games against the Killie Boys
and the Two Jimmies XI have tended to be tame affairs, with the decibels
rising briefly after each goal then returning to the normal chatterbox level
- but that was then and this is now. We played our part a fortnight ago, we
will do it again on Sunday and, better still, it will be noticed.
Alex McLeish has already spoken about the value of our vocal backing and if
Barry Ferguson and Ronald de Boer and the rest emerge from the dressing room
after clinching the title to tell the world how we got that little bit extra
out of them, just when they thought they had nothing left to give, it will
be a foot in the door, a possibility (slim I know!) to make Bain take us
seriously. And we must press home the advantage, speak to players at every
opportunity and encourage them to repeat the message to those calling the
shots upstairs. The club will have to listen to us some day and I have no
doubt that day will be when they need us. They have needed us over these
past few weeks, we were there in full voice but, in true Ibrox boardroom
fashion, they just won't acknowledge it.
Over the years I've had a lot of great times at Ibrox and the last day of
the 1990-91 season is up there with the best of them. You don't have to be
as old and grey as me to remember that 2-0 victory over Aberdeen, Big Eck
and all, when the atmosphere was like living through an earthquake. The
place was rocking that day, there was NO WAY the team could fail to be
lifted by it, Walter Smith was visibly moved by the emotions stirred by his
first trophy win, David Murray too was touched by it all and the feelgood
factor carried on for a few years afterwards. Somewhere along the line we
lost it, probably becoming a bit complacent, not appreciating what we had
until it was gone.
This is our chance to get it back. Yes, I'll take the flag even if we
scrape through with a 1-0 win in an atmosphere which would not be out of
place in a graveyard. But it would make for a long and lovely summer if we
can do it right, with the team bowing out with a bit of a swagger and the
crowd ending the league campaign in fine voice, even if it means turning up
on Cup Final Day with a frog in the throat.
So what is it to be? A hollow triumph, sniggered at elsewhere and ignored
in the boardroom - or a season to be proud of, a last day to be cherished,
with the impact being felt all the way from Breezeblock Boulevard to the top
of our marble staircase? Aye, I know, another stupid question.
Or is it? Go on, make my day!!!
LITTLE BOY BLUE