Trials and travails of the Tartan Army

 By Bernard Thompson

Published in the Irish Times new media edition

"I wonder my blood, will you ever return? To help us kick the life back, to a dying mutual friend. Do we not love her? Do we not say we love her? Do we have to roam the world to prove how much it hurts?"

Letter from America, the maligned lament for Scottish exiles, could be the anthem for the Tartan Army. This time, the bobbling masses in kilts and grouse-feathers had only to roam to Hampden Park to prove how much it hurts to follow Scotland but the pain was just the same.

It has often been said that for a Scotsman to claim to be a balanced individual he must first have a chip on both shoulders. According to popular wisdom, we always feel hard done by and an inferiority complex is a national trait. Too right, it is! Why? For that you must address the men in the only uniform that has lower standing than denim with arrows printed on it - navy blue shirt, white shorts and red socks.

These custodians of our dreams test themselves in the only true measure of relative international worth. Forget economic greatness or scientific achievement and don't talk to me about gutsy Jocks walking through minefields during times of war. Soccer is all that matters to your average family member of "Jock Tamson's Bairns" and that doesn't breed a lot of cockiness in the Hampden horde. As a football team, the Scottish national side is close to useless.

Saturday's match with Belgium saw yet another chapter written in the slapstick history of soccer absurdity. Notoriously poor in attack, the Scots were a goal up after a minute. Billy Dodds slotted the ball in beautifully after a move that, had it been produced by Brazil, would have been described as not bad.

It was all going swimmingly well. The truly desperate Hampden turf was thwarting the Belgians' passing game quite nicely. The Scots scoffed that the Navy Blues don't need the grass to exploit the "aerial power" of Colin Hendry et al. Good old Colin won his 50th cap in a rude comment on the depth of available talent.

Then came a sublime moment. What physiological phenomena explain the reflexes of the human body? Why does one person react to a stimulus one way when another demonstrates an opposite reaction? Who cares? Eric Dayflarndra's wretched instincts caused his hands to come together in front of him preventing the ball from bouncing off his chest. Penalty, red card, Dodds scores, slam-bam thank-you ma'am. Look out my sushi mat, mum, I'm off to Tokyo.

Then came the awful realisation. Scotland were in the feared commanding position. Still, it was not until Barry Ferguson was through on goal that the dastardly power of the honey trap was fully shown. There we were buzzing to 3-0 when Ferguson outdid Gordon Smith in his famous FA Cup Final miss for Brighton. Very soon our once-soaring wings were stickied until we were welded to the side of the jar waiting for sweet death.

Marc Wilmots's goal was the first to reveal another of those days was in the offing. Following him was van Buyton, whose equaliser could only have come in the last minute of injury time.

With trademark grimace, I made my way to a nearby bar where I hoped to find solace but even that was denied me. A one-eyed Belgian making the improbable claim that he had played a lot of football (about eight stones ago) chose me as a receptacle for his profusely expelled glee.

"I'm not being rude but Belgium are a lot better than Scotland," he said, and I could hardly argue. Some 60 minutes later, he temporarily excused himself with a parting shot: "Klos, Van Bronckhurst, Larsson and Valgaeren - your league's only good goalkeeper is German, the best midfielder is Dutch, the top striker is Swedish and you know where your best defender comes from. Ha, ha, ha - he's Belgian."

I did not see my Belgian friend again until, at closing time, I witnessed a barman kicking in the cubicle door in the lavatory only to reveal my erstwhile companion who had been slumbering with his trousers at his ankles. To a background of words in a foreign tongue, I left. Partial onlookers dispute the reason for my ungainly walk but I maintain that it was nothing other than the smug swagger of moral victory.

Roll on Wednesday night. San Marino, bring on your finest!

Back to the drawing board for Advocaat

 By Bernard Thompson

Published in the Irish Times, Thursday February 8, 2001

Those who have experienced Old Firm games understand that matches between Celtic and Rangers have unlimited potential to captivate, bewilder or appal.

Perhaps it is the aggressive nature of the city of Glasgow or the political and religious undertones of the rivalry that is apparently able to transmit itself to outsiders from all nations and cause them to abandon the lessons of experience and good sense.

It may be that the suspicion that "foreigners" cannot find it in themselves to care about the mere defence of "the colours" over-motivates the players on show until they resort to making decisions based on desperation and anger. Whatever the powers at play, last night's CIS Cup semi-final match was an example of how the entities involved have the capacity to hack notches in the totem of football history, irrespective of the personnel involved.

The match last night was expected to be little more than an enthusiastic warm-up for the more significant league encounter at Celtic Park on Sunday. What developed before the eyes of 52,000 supporters and millions of television viewers was one of the classic encounters of competitiveness and incident with both parties sacrificing the finer points of the game in determination that their will would prevail. In that, Celtic's victory was far more complete than the 3-1 scoreline.

The comment preceding the match fooled few. Dick Advocaat praised Henrik Larsson to an extent that was as gaudy as it was lavish. If he had hoped to emulate Bob Paisley in persuading his opponents' star player to believe in, rather than prove, his greatness his failure was complete. In the circumstances, Larsson's untouchable professionalism only confirmed the accuracy of the critiques offered by Advocaat and his young captain, Barry Ferguson. It was players such as Larsson who Kipling would have addressed as "a man, my son".

As for Martin O'Neill, he discussed the merits of fielding a weakened side with a detached confidence. If the injury problems that had prompted Advocaat to remind the world that he had only 15 fully fit players occurred to O'Neill, he managed to flit past the subject with virginal innocence. O'Neill would like his opponents to think of him as a naïve journeyman, content to take the hard knocks as part of a learning experience. He is nothing of the sort.

He may have abandoned the study of law to pursue a career in football but in the even more intellectually sophisticated field of interpersonal psychology, he is worthy of an honorary doctorate. There is a distinct impression from O'Neill that he could point a gun to your head and still persuade you to underestimate him. That particular analogy seems especially relevant to Dick Advocaat just now.

The victory that will be recorded in the record books belies a set of statistics that are far more significant than the imbalance of goals. More telling are the figures that will add to the disciplinary tallies. Against three yellow and one red card to Celtic players are eight bookings and two sendings off for Rangers yet there are Scottish teams that traverse the rules with more vigour and planning than they. But, as in their league match with Hearts, when Claudio Reyna and Arthur Numan were dismissed, Rangers demonstrated all of the symptoms of industrial stress to the point of breakdown.

After Celtic's opening threatened to overwhelm their opponents in an easy checkmate, Rangers seized on the opportunities of gifted possession to merit their goal if not the penalty that facilitated it. This was their chance to strike at the heart of Celtic's success this season - their belief. However, after the break, it was clear that O'Neill had been prolific with the hypodermic that has infused his team with a conviction that a protecting light shines upon them. Their resilience soon prompted a reaction of frantic despair among the Blues.

To his credit, Barry Ferguson, who was the chief offender in the first Rangers abomination on the occasion of the earlier Celtic Park encounter, has received the captaincy of his club and transformed himself from a potentially excellent player to a leader with the makings of greatness. But no monumental captain of the past could have reined in such panic in older men as was witnessed last night, when even the impeccable Michael Mols was prompted to aberrant behaviour.

The contrast with Celtic's ranks could scarcely be more stark. New to the experience, Neil Lennon nipped the heels of transgressing Rangers like a prize sheepdog relishing the work while the once vilified Ramon Vega portrayed a confidence that his gigolo looks would befit on yet another date. There was no self-doubt in Celtic.

Now all eyes turn to Celtic Park on Sunday. Rangers could win and the erratic Old Firm history gives them some succour. But for Dick Advocaat, who is proud of a record that has never seen him sacked, the prospect is daunting. He must force his players to employ a cold application that has evaded them on the key occasions this season. And he must find a way to freeze the trigger finger of Martin O'Neill. 

More predictable than Davie White

By Bernard Thompson

 Published in The Irish Times New Media edition

Tartan Special

At last, the season is hotting up. The biggest week so far in the Scottish season lies ahead with the keenly anticipated Old Firm double header.

On Wednesday, the national stadium (aka the third-best ground in Glasgow) hosts the semi-final of the CIS Cup while Celtic Park is the venue for Sunday's crucial league match. Fans on both sides are indulging in hedonistic dreams of crushing the enemy, like a boot heel on an upturned beetle, twice in five days.

There is also the matter of the other CIS semi-final between St Mirren and Kilmarnock. My infallible Old Firm predictions will come at the end of this week's round-up.

If hostility will consume Glasgow in the latter part of this week, old-fashioned enmity was the order of the evening on Wednesday, when Aberdeen assailed Ibrox.

Two red cards maintained an acceptable aggro count for the preservers of anger. That was par for the course but the rejuvenated Tugay Kerimoglu, who scored the game's only goal for Rangers, further fanned the flames with public accusations of vile abuse.

Unbeknown to most, Tugay's mother died three months ago and he alleged that an unseen Dons player directed an obscene taunt relating to the matter. Equally offended are the Aberdeen players, who made convincing claims of ignorance of his bereavement.

Still, it sets things up for another bloodletting when the two sides next meet.

Indeed, Tugay has suddenly been launched to prominence, thanks to Rangers' injuries. He scored a scorcher against Dunfermline, with Michael Mols adding another. The match was Scotland's first pay-per-view encounter and the debate over whether such TV deals will kill or cure the Scottish game rages on.

Opponents of the scheme claimed divine intervention when thick fog in Perthshire caused Celtic's match with St Johnstone to be postponed minutes before the scheduled kick-off. That game was to have pioneered the television experiment but the plain grey screens made for a disappointing spectacle.

The postponement of the match also meant that Stillian Petrov could not serve his full suspension before the Old Firm league match.

Normal service for Celtic was resumed with a 3-0 win over Hearts at Tynecastle yesterday. The game itself was typical of Celtic's season in that Henrik Larsson supplied all of the goals yet again. The victory was not without cost, however, as Joos Valgaeren was stretchered off with a serious ankle injury.

Better news for Martin O'Neill came with Eyal Berkovic's decision to consider a loan move to Blackburn Rovers. With the imminent departure of Berkovic and the releasing of Daniel Prodan by Rangers, the musty scent of dead wood is gradually being lifted from Glasgow.

Possibly the worst signing in the history of Scottish football, Prodan failed to kick a ball for Rangers since arriving for £2.2 million sterling in 1998.

At Hibernian, much jollity accompanied Alex McLeish's decision to extend his contract until 2003. McLeish's success with Hibs has made him hot property and he had been linked with a clutch of major jobs in the past few months.

His sanity was openly questioned in 1998, when he left Motherwell for a Hibs side that was certain to be relegated. However, his reinvention of the Edinburgh club makes his the best managerial performance of the season so far. The securing of McLeish has also persuaded the iconic Franck Sauzee to extend his stay at Easter Road, where he believes that he may be manager some day.

Away from domestic football, there was excitement at the prospect of Scotland being a potential host of the World Club Championships. FIFA General Secretary Michel Zen-Ruffinen believes that the country would be ideal because of its small number of quality grounds and undisputed passion for the game.

Certainly, the enthusiasm for the tournament would outstrip that of the Brazilian debacle in which the locals refused to attend matches that did not involve their clubs. On the other hand, the teams from the host nation would probably not be regarded as the hottest favourites to make the final.

But now, to save you watching, I can tell you of the outcome of the two Old Firm clashes. I believe that the neutral venue will favour Rangers in the semi-final of the CIS Cup and that they will beat Celtic to provide the first real test for Martin O'Neill.

In the League match, I have become less convinced that Celtic will win but I stand by my conviction, chiefly because of home advantage. Even with the possible return of Giovanni Van Bronckhurst to Rangers and the probable loss of Celtic's Joos Valgaeren, I will take Celtic to deal the death blow to Rangers' championship challenge with a narrow victory in an angry game.

In doing so, I should offer one small caveat - in the form of a Scottish football fable. For part of Jock Stein's time as manager of Celtic, his counterpart at Rangers was Davie White. On the eve of a clash between the sides, both managers were asked for a prediction.

The first to speak was White, who tipped his side to secure a two-goal victory. Undaunted, Stein refused to speculate, warning that "only an idiot would ever try to predict the outcome of an Old Firm game."

If that is the case, in pre-empting two of them, I must be at least twice as clever as Davie White... I think.

A New Year's whiff of scandal

                                                                                                                              By Bernard Thompson

Irish Times online edition
Well, there was no top league football last week but there were enough allegations, speculations,

Foul play?: The mystery referee

terminations and humiliations to occupy the attentions of the avid Scottish football fan.

First came the curious case of the "Top Ref" who condemned Rangers for their disciplinary record. The unnamed official claimed, in a newspaper, that the Ibrox club's conduct this season has left something to be desired after a flurry of red cards and a few controversial incidents such as Fernando Ricksen's notorious "straightening out" of an Aberdeen player's unmentionables.

The referee went on to speculate that Rangers should follow the example of Scottish football's blue-eyed boys, Celtic, and stop mobbing referees. He even went so far as to suggest that Celtic's 12-point lead is attributable to their being all round bloody good sports.

All this praise of Celtic really is now becoming a bit gut-wrenching - it's just not what they are used to. Next, the team will be taking the field with apples, scones, flowers and any other presents usually associated with teachers' pets.

The story became more intriguing with the suggestion that the criticisms came from none other than Scotland's top whistler, Hugh Dallas. Like any decent referee, Dallas is disliked by most fans but he is also hated by a large number of Celtic supporters to the point of insanity. Apparently he is clearly biased against the club and this goes back to the claim that he had applied for the job as Celtic's General Manager to be pipped by the unfortunate Jock Brown.

That lead to leaked murmurings at boardroom level that the snub might affect his impartiality. Fans tend not to need much reason to foam at the mouth, of course, and the bad feeling escalated until, in 1999, he was struck on the head by a coin in the most bad-tempered Old Firm match of recent times. On the same evening, his home was attacked by a member of the Celtic lunatic fringe.

This season, Dallas disallowed a Celtic goal that was shown to be a good three feet over the line and although he was said to have been shocked by the television pictures and, haplessness of his assistant, there was little benefit of doubt being offered from the green and whites.

Needless to say, the comments attributed to him have infuriated Dick Advocaat who has labelled the officially unidentified referee "a coward". The Rangers boss is also reportedly considering a move for Dennis Wise, so it is fair to say that he is unrepentant about any of his players' transgressions. Of course, it is unthinkable that Dallas might engineer such a public fall-out with Rangers but it might go some way to appeasing the more rabid of his sworn enemies amongst Celtic fans.

Relations also became strained between George O'Boyle and the entire football world. If the attitude of Sammy McIlroy is typical, then O'Boyle has kicked his last ball in anger after St Johnston terminated his and Kevin Thomas's contracts following allegations of drug taking.

McIlroy said last week that, at 33 and having suffered serious injury problems, O'Boyle's career was as good as over. As yet, there has been no evidence against the players offered publicly, other than eye-witness testimony. However, after such a serious accusation, O'Boyle would appear to be damned by his own silence on the matter.

To be honest, I tend to be of the "sitting on my moral high-horse" attitude, when it comes to drugs. We all have weaknesses, of course. I am told that I have been seen drunk but I have no memory of the occasions so I hesitate to own up. But footballers filling their noses with illegal substances come just below fox-hunters in my list of people that I would sentence to ten years listening to "There's a Bridle Hanging on the Wall."

That said, my sympathy for His Royal Highness, Prince Charles of Wales, after falling off his horse while chasing one of the little red animals is beyond question.

When players' careers are ended through injury, it is sad but when they are victims of their own stupidity the tragedy is less deserving of sympathy. O'Boyle has been a good player in his time but I find it difficult not to contrast his downfall with the efforts of Michael Mols as he strives to recover his form following an unfortunate injury. I can't help feeling that a model professional like Mols must look at the likes of O'Boyle, and his apparent contemptuous attitude to his career, with a degree of disdain.

So there will be no O'Boyle when St Johnstone play Dunfermline, in the third round of the Scottish Cup. Saturday's heroes were Buckie Thistle from the Highland League, who knocked out Hamilton Academical. They have a convenient draw with Ross County, meaning that they don't have too far to travel. Of the rest, Celtic visit Stranraer, which I would not wish on anyone. Rangers entertain Brechin City to prompt more reminiscences about Inverness Caledonian Thistle defeat of Celtic last year and the Bronze Age victory of Berwick Rangers over their Glasgow namesakes - which is annually recalled.

It is unlikely that Lorenzo Amoruso will play, however, as is wanted by both West Ham and Fulham, with the latter ready to pay more cash. Scottish football can scarcely afford to lose an entertainer like Lorenzo, although Rangers believe that they can as they hope to welcome Craig Moore back to the team sooner, rather than later.

Never mind, no doubt Amoruso is preparing a "My Rangers Hell" exclusive to a tabloid newspaper that will keep us amused for weeks to come. We may never see another Amoruso and hopefully, there will be no more George O'Boyles.

Drug allegations cast shadow over O'Boyle's future

By Bernard Thompson

Published in Irish Times online edition

The future of Northern Ireland international, George O'Boyle is in doubt after accusations that he and St Johnstone teammate, Kevin Thomas, snorted cocaine on a Christmas night out.

Other players were also present on the night although it is understood that the allegations relate only to O'Boyle, 33, and 25-year-old Thomas.

It is understood the pair were reported to the club by a member of the public who was concerned at their behaviour. As yet, no drugs test has been carried out and no criminal action is expected.

A spokesman for Tayside Police said: 'We have not been formally informed of the incident… We are aware St Johnstone are considering disciplinary action against two members of staff following an allegation of them having misused an illegal drug.'

The pair have been suspended by the club, although both are expected to fight any moves to terminate their contracts and are taking legal advice.

A press conference, scheduled for yesterday was cancelled after both players refused to attend, claiming that they had not been given due notice.

SPL Chief Executive Roger Mitchell, said, "We have not been informed of the latest incident but we are aware of it. The SPL must remain neutral as far as specific players are concerned because they have a right of appeal.

But in general terms, we deplore everything to do with illegal drug taking." Mitchell went on to say that there is a possibility of drugs tests in Scotland increasing after the success of such measures in Italy.

On hold for the bleak midwinter

 By Bernard Thompson

Tartan Special

Published in the Irish Times new media edition

At this happy time of year, all of the things that the Scots are famous for come together. Kilts, shortbread, whisky without an "e" and getting screaming drunk find harmony in the traditional festivities. Scotland is the only nation on earth that has a New Year, apparently, and everyone goes out on "Hogmanay" just waiting for the accordion thrill that signals the time to salivate on the cheeks of complete strangers. Then they play football.

Sadly, the collective headache of a people has put an end to the New Year's Day fixture list but the appetite is merely stronger on the following day. However, no team has rejoiced in the changing of the calendar more than Dundee United. Only days ago, all connected with the club were seething loudly at the unsportsmanlike behaviour of Hibernian players.

Apparently, some Hibees thought that the injury that felled Jim Lauchlan, as the game wound up, was a little too convenient. With the match at 0-0, there were suggestions that Lauchlan had nothing that could not be cured by hearing the final whistle. So, rather than return the ball to a United player, it was sent upfield where a corner and then a penalty ensued.

The result was a last gasp winner for Hibs to leave angry Dundonians asking where the referee found the extra three minutes of play. All this is very frustrating of course, unless you happen to be a neutral  - when it is little short of hilarious. Not so funny was the reaction of United's goalkeeper Alan Combe, who is alleged to have attempted to headbutt the fourth official.

Still, you can now dust off your "auspicious sign" clichés, for the first match of 2001 brought unheard of joy to Tannadice. Their distress against Hibernian was forgotten about with a home win over Motherwell. It took Utd nearly ten months to win at their own ground in 2000 so there is at least some room for optimism in the City of Discovery.

It was a less happy start for Kilmarnock. With his famed eloquence, their manager Bobby Williamson, described his team's 6-0 defeat against Celtic as "the worst experience I've experienced" in football. From Killie, it was as shoddy an exhibition as has been seen since Paul McCartney displayed his paintings and when Williamson heaved Ally McCoist on at 5-0, the merciless home crowd's day was complete.

Larsson scored four as he continues to search for his best form. Sutton scored another couple to make the Celts' fans feel like world-beaters. That they are not but Scot-thumpers they most certainly are.

As far as the Celts go, though, the big story of the week has been the undignified exit of Allan MacDonald. MacDonald was supposed to be Celtic's answer to David Murray. There were, though, a few differences.

For instance, Murray owns most of Rangers whereas MacDonald was merely a boardroom figurehead. However, MacDonald left with generous parting shots at almost all of the people who supported him throughout his period of tenure.

He claimed that Celtic had already planned to sell Henrik Larsson, before his arrival, and that only MacDonald's intervention secured the future of the superstar who notched his 100th goal for the club on Tuesday. This has angered the shakers and movers at Celtic, not least Dermot Desmond who is singled out for special criticism.

MacDonald also claimed that Desmond preferred Joe Kinnear to Martin O'Neill as the Celtic manager. However, one figure from Celtic Park (the legendary "insider") disclosed to me that the allegations relating to Henrik Larsson were hotly disputed.

He responded that "Joe Kinnear was much closer to getting the Celtic job than even he probably realises" but that "Desmond was never against O'Neill". In relation to Henrik Larsson, he went on, "as far as the board were concerned, it was Allan who seemed to think that selling Henrik was a good idea because it would bolster the accounts from the start. The board felt compelled to back him in anything he did as he was a new appointment, but they also supported him when he was persuaded that the fans would not tolerate selling Henrik."

He went on that Desmond and the board view MacDonald's recent comments as "a betrayal as they feel that they supported Allan to the final full stop." If that is so, they have moved swiftly to deliver a "Not welcome" message to the former Chief Executive. "The word went out that Allan is effectively persona non grata at Celtic Park."

"They know that they can't really bar him but they want to make him aware that he is unwelcome." To that end, "MacDonald's Executive Club status is now void" and even his entry to the car park at the ground was to be "subject to negotiation." Of course, this is fairly standard fare when a major figure leaves Celtic.

MacDonald, for all his accusations, was a failure at Celtic and he seems to be unable to accept that as he attempts to maintain a reputation that will assure his continued success in the business world. Regardless of his jibes against Desmond, it does seem that it was the former Chief Executive who made many of the bad decisions at Celtic Park.

Now, the club even refuses to credit MacDonald with the appointment of Martin O'Neill, which they say was instigated by a "non-executive Director" which suggests that MacDonald was even less successful than his record suggests. When that record includes appointing John Barnes, you have a fair bit of explaining to do.

Anyway, enough of Celtic. The other Glasgow team defeated St Mirren, partly thanks to two goals from £12m Wonder-Norse, Tore Andre Flo. The 3-1 victory came as something of a relief to Dick Advocaat but St Mirren were in no condition to give the Ibrox club any pre-winter break blues.

Yes, the action now ceases so that the players can recharge their batteries, in preparation for the final push for glory. In other words, the Scots male must now revert to accordion-playing until the footy returns. It will sound awful for a few weeks but the result at New Year is magnificent.

Bad tidings from the ghost of Third Lanark

By Bernard Thompson

Published in the Irish Times online edition

Bloody useless double-glazing! There I was in my nightshirt and bedcap, when a chill draught shrilled through me. I stepped miserably from my warm bed to quell the influx of air but could not evade a jangling sound.

I was bemused by the fanciful idea that it sounded rather like dragging chains when "Holy Moses, there's a man in my room!" The bottle of beer that I keep at my bedside for emergencies smashed with a froth as it sailed through the red tracksuited figure to the wall behind. "I am the ghost of Third Lanark", it moaned, "One-time decent Scottish football outfit, defunct since the sixties."

"And what do you want from me, chump?" I said, wetting myself with fear but petulant, nonetheless. "Learn from my mistakes," he said, "For there are other Scottish teams that could one day suffer my miserable fate." I now knew him to be quite mad as no one ever learns from mistakes so I was a little more respectful in my tone, "And what fate is that, Sir?"

"Who-o-o-o-ah, oh woe! Since I left this happy world, I have been forced to travel the grounds of the League of Ireland - I never miss a game." Now, I was truly scared. "You will be visited by three spirits this night. They will show you things past, present and yet to come. Heed them, he-e-e-d them!"

"Stick the heid in them given half a chance," I thought, but I kept my powder dry.

I reached for my Partick Thistle scarf, which banishes all things football but it was to no avail. In the corner stood a curly-haired man with goggle specs and a big woolly coat. It was Roger Mitchell, Chief Executive of the SPL.

"So you'll be the first," I said.

"No, I'm just pre-match entertainment," he squeaked but his smile faded. He thrust open his coat and what do you think I saw? Two whimpering children sat at his feet, one in the red of Aberdeen, the other in Dundee United's Tangerine and Black.

"This Dundonian is hunger," he said "Yon Aberdonian is want. Fear them! For they are crap and it's not getting any better."

In a flash, he was gone and a decrepit, white haired, whiskered figure stood leaning heavily on his walking stick.

"I know who you are!" I pointed accusingly.

"So you should, for I have been around as long as the game of football itself."

It became clear to me, "You are Tom Boyd, ancient captain of Celtic FC, recently displaced by Ramon Vega."

"Do yourself a favour son," he replied, "Don't mention Vega." He transported me to Lisbon where crowds swarmed merrily on a football pitch. "Cellic are European Champeeons," said one, "Nae bother! We're the best team in the wurrld!"

In a trice, I was at a ground with two towers where a figure in dark blue was playing keepy-uppy on the wing. The fellow next to me laughed. "England, World Champions? Nae bother! Scotland are the best in the wurrld now, ya big …. Aye, you, Stiles!"

I had just deduced that I was in 1967 when I was thrust into the middle of a riot. Plastic bullets and tear gas spattered the air. I hid behind a particularly large combatant who bellowed "Show's yir Barcelona chapels. Cup-Winners' Cup for the Rangers - the best team in the wurrld!" <

And then I was in Gothenburg where a tearful Aberdonian turned to me and said, "We've won the Cup Winners' Cup. We beat Real Madrid! We must be the…" "I know," I cut in, "the best team in the wurrld."

"Forget this not," said Tom and he vanished faster than you could say "Airmiles?"

By the time the stubbled Italian spirit arrived, I was dressed for a holiday in yellow Hawaiian shirt and white shorts.

"Don't worry. Lorenzo can give you some fashion advice. Come with Lorenzo."

I was ill-equipped for the frosty ground of Dundee where jaunty lads in green and white were nonchalantly leaving the pitch as a bespectacled Irishman repeated "Fantastic, fantastic lads, fantastic."

A large crowd mixed chants of "4-0, 4-0" in a medley with copious obscenities and references to terrorism.

"This is Celtic and they top of the League. I dunno why," Lorenzo remarked.

"Celtic top of the League!" said I, "This is strange fruit indeed."

"Hah, you should see the oranges," said Lorenzo as I found myself in a room where there were several men in blue. "I eavesdropped the conversation."

"Gonnae speak English!" said one in a voice of broad Scots.

"Gonnae learn Dutch!" came the reply, as half of the room was awash with laughter.

"Let us not squabble, "said the latter, "We have beaten St Johnstone, 3-0. The year is done. Come now, a toast to the founder of the feast."

There seemed to be mixed enthusiasm as the assembled group raised teacups and oranges and echoed, "To Dick, the founder of the feast."

When I was finally met by a postman at my flat, he was not bringing the Christmas cards or cheques that I had hoped for.

"I'm just a part-time spirit. I'm also a postman and I play for Hearts. There are many like me," he revealed, "I must show you things of the future, as this old year and century ends."

There were almost too many things to relate. I saw football grounds with chains on the gates and "For Sale" signs in the car parks. I saw fathers telling tearful children that he could not afford to take them to the game but that he would pay a tenner so that they could watch the match on telly. There were men in suits with Celtic and Rangers crests grovelling on their knees.

One said "Oh English masters, let us into the Premiership. We can't get a European League started." A man flicked cigar ash at both and scoffed "Don't make me larf. How 'bout the Nationwide League?"

I saw celebrating Irishmen as their team had knocked a Scots side out of the UEFA Cup. "That bit's already happened," the spirit revealed.

It was all too much. I pleaded to be shown no more and, still shouting, I awoke. Imagine my joy when I discovered that there was yet time. "I have been given a gift!" I shouted from my window, "I will save this game preaching youth development, and League reconstruction. I will call for less League matches and fixture lists that accommodate European competitors. I will demand that skill be emphasised for school age footballers, with imported coaches if necessary. I will call for measures to encourage the playing of talented Scots. I will save Scottish football."

I made off, still in my Hawaiian shirt, and ran not caring if I would first reach Ibrox, Celtic Park or the Head Office of the Scottish Football Association. Alas, I never made it. I was lifted by some cop who would only say, "It's for your own good, son" and am now remanded in a secure hospital.

So if this message reaches anybody, please see that it gets to the powers that be. Just tell them that it came from Third Lanark.