If you went to school in the 1980s onwards, long after I’d left, you probably remember watching videos in the last couple of days before the holidays. This was standard practice when I was a teacher, especially in the run-up to Christmas, when it’s well nigh impossible to get any work done. Then it all ground to a halt when the headteacher announced that she’d received a letter from the council, saying that it was illegal to show the children videos or DVDs. She actually considered buying an exhibitor’s licence but changed her mind when she discovered the cost.
We were told that only educational films could be shown, which meant old videos of Watch or Stop Look and Listen. It was hardly the kind of thing to help calm down a mass of kids all focused on Santa Claus. Luckily, these restrictions only lasted a year. The headteacher discovered from other heads that the letter was a standard one, sent out now and again. Everybody ignored it and nobody had ever been prosecuted.
It’s the same with the letter from Celtic regarding season tickets that everybody’s up in arms about. It’s simply reiterating what’s printed on your season ticket and in the terms and conditions you sign up to. I hardly think they’re going to start demanding photo ID from everybody going through the turnstiles. For one thing, they’d have to employ extra staff and it would take bloody ages as well; they wouldn’t be able to kick off until after four o’clock!
There is, however, a need to tread with caution when handing over your season ticket to somebody else. I was at Stirling University during the Miners’ Strike and the Students Union magnanimously decided to admit anyone showing an NUM card. This was a good idea in theory; in practice, though, it was anything but. Most ordinary miners were concerned about making ends meet and keeping their kids fed; they didn’t have time or money to go out drinking. What we got was crowds of neds and assorted cunts turning up, pushing students about and picking fights with anybody whose accent sounded ‘posh’.
One bunch of altruistic souls (i.e. stupid cunts) invited some miners back to their campus flat for a few drinks. The miners completely wrecked the place, wrenching doors off the hinges and throwing all the furniture, including the fridge and the cooker, through the windows. Security guards that arrived on the scene were beaten up and the police had to be called to get rid of them. Then came the punchline. Everybody’s tenancy agreement stipulated that they were responsible for the behaviour of any guests they might have. The poor bastards in that flat had to stump up a fortune to replace everything, including the windows. The miners were no longer welcome in the Students’ Union after that.
And that’s the thing with season tickets as well. If you’re going to lend it to somebody, you’d better be damned sure that they’re not going to get pished and cause mayhem – because you’ll be held responsible. I read on Twitter that the guy that ran onto the pitch to kick a PSG player had borrowed somebody else’s season ticket. I doubt that season ticket holder will ever lend it out again!
I see Graeme Murty is claiming that he’s had help and advice from Auld Dignity himself, Walter Smith. Smith was nothing but a chequebook manager. Of course, nobody uses cheques anymore; nowadays he’d be a debit card manager. I suppose that’s why Murty calls him ‘Maestro’. You can just imagine the conversation:
MURTY: What help and advice can you give me, Mr Maestro?
SMITH: Get yer arse doon the Ludge.
MURTY: But I thought I’d be better winning games on merit.
SMITH: Merit? Merit? This is fuckin’ Ibrox, son, naebdy wins anyhin’ here oan merit! Get that fuckin’ trooser leg rolled up an’ Ah’ll drive ye doon the Ludge masel’. Ye’ll need tae get talkin’ tae some referees.
MURTY: But, don’t I have to apply and be considered and things like that?
SMITH: Ah’ve stull goat plenty-a clout, son, jist get in the car an’ Ah’ll soon hiv ye inducted.
Of course, Smith’s advice worked wonders, with Neo-Gers ‘winning’ four games in a row. Something went seriously wrong yesterday, though, and Murty wants answers from referee Don Robertson.
Graeme Murty, yesterday, after nailing his Ninety-Five questions to Don Robertson’s door.
Speaking of yesterday’s Neo-Gers match, did you see that tifo display organised by the Union Bears? What the fuck was that meant to be? In the top middle section I thought I spied a black-and-white image of Reginald Maudling, but what the hell he’s got to do with anything I don’t know. The only thing that made any sense was the bit underneath the tifo, saying ‘No Surrender’. Mind you, even that’s always puzzled me. Who asked them to surrender? Fuckwits.
While the powers-that-be at Ibrox are always grubbing around for money, one thing they never have to pay for is advertising. Every year since the birth of Neo-Gers, the papers have run the ‘story’ of how much a season ticket is for Ibrox and how to go about getting one. True to form, there was an ‘article’ in the Record, and probably other papers, in which Danny Wilson was ‘laughing off’ suggestions of Neo-Gers mounting a title challenge. Rather co-incidentally, there just happened to be a picture of Wilson with all the details of getting a half-season ticket for Ibrox. In case anyone missed it, the details were placed at the end of the ‘story’. But it’s not just the new club that the papers are giving free advertising to.
Nacho Novo has opened up a bar in the salubrious surroundings of Paisley Road West and needs DJs. Of course, with his connections to Ibrox, Novo ‘said no’ to advertising the positions. Scotland’s newspapers came to the rescue yet again. Mind you, there won’t be much for a DJ to do at this ‘Rangers-themed’ pub; all he needs to do is play an album of Orange tunes on a loop. But at £3.50 a pint at weekends, I can’t see many of the short-arms-deep-pockets Peeppul turning up in droves.
Finally, I was going on about kids being bullied at school in my last post. Some folk, however, no matter how young, deserve all they get. This little cunt should be bullied frequently and ferociously.
“Awright, boaysies? Well, Ah’m no’ bothered any mair aboot any profits frae that book, if it ever appears. Ye’ll no’ believe this, but Billy wiz pyin’ intae an insurance policy oan the fly. Ay’s actually left a big six-figure sum, so the lawyer tells mae. So it’s gonny be a merry Christmas in oor hoose this year. Don’t tell any-y they fuckin’ relatives-y his, though, ur thull aw bae roon’ pittin’ oan a poor mooth!”
Click on the image to go to my Amazon Author’s page.