THE CELTIC PLAYERS CANNOT BELIEVE IT!

IF THIS STANDS, RANGERS WILL TAKE THE TITLE!

THE HELICOPTER IS CHANGING DIRECTION!

We’re aw fuckin dain the bouncy in the club n watchin Rangers kick it aboot at Easter Road. We’re tryin tae hold up the ball n take our time in the corners – urging those sticky seconds tae tick away but they’re treacle when yir winnin, minutes turn tae hours, days and fuckin aeons. They’re tryin tae break Motherwell doon, but they’re playin oot their socks fur Big Terry Butcher, a former Rangers man. He’s git the Motherwell team well fuckin fired up.

We hear the Rangers supporters celebratin again in the away stand. We dunno wit’s happnin n there’s a confusion again. The players ir lookin tae the coaches at the touchline. Big Eck McLeish is wavin his arms, signallin tae his players tae keep playin n don’t stop. The game isnae finished. They’re lookin aboot fur the ref’s whistle tae end play. Alex McLeish and the Rangers coaches start huggin at the touchline n goin nuts themselves, cos the news hus come over the wireless tae the bench. The split screen pops up again and the sound switches tae the Celtic n Motherwell game on the lounge projector n big speakers.

Another chance for McDonald! He’s in the box. Can he do it?

McDONALD?!

HE’S SCORED!

McDONALD HAS SCORED AGAIN.

IT’S ALL OVER!

MOTHERWELL TWO, CELTIC ONE!

THE TITLE IS GOING TO IBROX!

The Orange Hall goes absolutely fuckin bananas. Grannies ir kissin cunts on the cheek and grown men ir huggin like wumen n greetin wae happiness. Pints ir flyin through the air like fountains n packets ae nuts ir flyin aboot like confetti. We aw burst intae song in unison as if it hus been rehearsed.

‘ALL TO-GETHER NOW!

THE CRY WAS NO SURR-ENDER!

SURR-ENDER OR YOU’LL DIE – DIE! DIE!

WITH HEART AND HAND,

AND SWORD AND SHIELD,

WE’LL GUARD OLD DE-RRY’S WALLS!’

The seconds tick ever onwards. Everybody’s on their feet waitin, hopin, prayin and dreamin. There’s cheers ae MON THE GERS fae the lounge n the rest ir nervously waitin. Aw the men ir up oan their feet n some shuffle aboot tae the toilet n the bar. Celtic need tae score twice tae take the title. There’s nae time fur that. The game finishes at Fir Park: MOTHERWELL 2, CELTIC 1. It’s aw over fur them but we’re still playin, the final minutes n seconds. A draw up there wid cost us the league. Kin it be? FULL TIME EASTER ROAD! RANGERS 1, HIBERNIAN 0. It’s aw over. The commentators go mental n the lounge erupts. The Rangers’ travellin support invades the pitch up in Edinburgh n floods the green grass wae a sea ae red, white, blue n orange.

ABSOLUTE SCENES AT EASTER ROAD.

FANS GO WILD, RUNNING ON TO THE PARK.

THE POLICE ARE TRYING TO KEEP ORDER …

RANGERS ARE THE CHAMPIONS!

We fuckin float oot the club, singin like fuck n still buzzin. There’s me, Big Eck, Broonie, Addison, Toffey n Carlyle. We’ve aw git Rangers taps on. Big Eck’s git a Union flag tied roon his waist n the orange Diadora shirt. A’ve git an Ulster flag wrapped around mine n ma eld blue Diadora Rangers tap on, long-sleeved, wae the lions n the collar. The rest ae the boys ir wearin the new lightweight Diadora taps. We’ve git our bottles ae wine planked roon the side n bounce roon tae grab them oot the bushes. We’re walkin doon the middle ae the road, aw swaggerin, singin n gawn mental. When the Old Firm plays aboot here there’s radio silence and the streets ir apocalyptically quiet, naecunt walkin aboot n nae traffic on the roads. After the game cunts would flood oot hooses n yi wid see the place come back tae life wae a bang. We’re still in the middle ae the road n aw singin the-gither. (Tae the tune ae ‘Winter Wonderland’.)