Terrorvision

My attention was absently switching between reading an article in the paper, and a live match on the TV, direct from the piggery, featuring Celtic and Rangers.

The newspaper article concerned Arsenal, who were, at the time, carrying out some major redevelopment on the terraces behind the goal and, to cover the unsightly mess, commissioned a local artist to paint a montage of your average Highbury punter. Little did Arsenal realise that they would be ambushed by the hounds of the Politically Correct industry who lie await ready to pounce on any real or imagined slight.

The specific P.C. complaint (If interpreted correctly), with the Arsenal montage/mural was that it did not reflect Arsenal's cosmopolitan support; in that all those depicted appeared to be white males

The custodians of the Celtic biscuit tin had obviously made the inadvertent mistake of commissioning a Rangers supporter to paint a mural that covered some refurbishment being done on the Parkhead terraces. Fair enough you might say, but the said Ranger had obviously been in an ugly mood and had taken the opportunity to really put the boot in. I admit that I have always regarded the Parkhead goons as vile, loathsome Neanderthals, but this painting went way over the top in depicting your average Celtic supporter as a fiend from hell; manic, starring-eyed-dementia and insane malevolence radiated in the most gruesome detail and, if possible, their male counterparts looked even worse.

I was watching this in a state of appalled disbelief when the love-of-my-life to whom I'd earlier made the mistake of pointing out the appalling painting, quipped :- -"you can't be right, they're alive, that one just moved" -"What?". - "The one with the green stuff coming out of his nose just moved".

- "Look it moved again, it's maybe the wind"

However I did look more closely and then came the appalling realisation that she was right and the scene from Dante's Inferno with a graphic depiction of hell was, in fact, horrendous reality.

There was no building work going on at the time and what was in front of me was not some warped joke.

They had actually moved and the faces, if possible, became even more grotesque as they bellowed incomprehensible hatred, for whatever reason. The only thing of note that had happened recently was that Balde (working on his normal principal of - if it moves hit it) had elbowed a passing ball-boy who had made the one-of mistake of coming too close.

I made bee-line for the bottle to pour a large one to calm my shattered nerves, the moral of the story? Whatever you watch - don't watch alone.

O



liver Cromwell