"If You're no' a Ranger..."

[StaunchLondonGer 1,651]

[ A WEE BIT OF LIGHT-HEARTED BEDTIME READING - AND POSSIBLY A FABULOUS CURE FOR YOUR INSOMNIA...! ]

 

“If you’re no’ a Ranger, you’re nae use tae me…”

Imagine, if you will, that we can travel back in time [just run with me on this for a moment Bears].

Remember that shite sitcom (with Rodney from Only Fools..) where the bloke went back to the 1930’s?? No? Well, you didn’t miss much, as I said it was utter shite. But basically the Rodney character was able to walk down this specific dodgy back-alley (run-down, minging, filthy – think of any random wee passageway in the vicinity of the Piggery) and he’d emerge back in the 1930’s. Got it? Right, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Abba-kazzam!

Now you’re in 1930’s Glasgow, standing outside a Rangers-friendly drinking establishment. It’s early evening and the street is fairly quiet. You notice that your G-Star hoody and Adidas Gazelles have been replaced with the appropriate, slightly shabby clobber of the day and your pocket is jangling with the appropriate legal tender.

Feeling rather parched, you enter said hostelry and order a pint of Tennent’s. The barman plucks out the required remuneration from the coins in your hand and starts to pull your pint.

While you’re waiting, the guy on the stool next to you at the bar requests a light for his Woodbine, so you instinctively reach inside your jacket and pull out, not your usual disposable lighter, but a box of Swan Vestas.

You accept one of his smokes and you’re soon supping your pint and making small talk about the weather. The conversation moves onto football and the man starts waxing lyrical with remarkable passion about players whose names are either unfamiliar to you or about whom you realise you know embarrassingly little. Names like McPhail, Thornton, Venters, Dawson…and a lad that this man seems absolutely convinced will become one of the light blue greats (quite correctly as it happens) by the name of Willie Thornton.

These players are just like him, regular guys. Not multi-millionaires with flashy cars surrounded by greedy agents, sycophants, and a bevy of aspiring large-jugged glamour models desperate to offer sexual favours in return for getting their coupon in the papers. They’re down-to-earth family men most of them, who just happen to be fantastic footballers. They are also heroes to this man. Heroes because they wear the shirt of Rangers FC and are cheered on by vast legions of devout blue-noses from the packed terraces of Ibrox Park. There is no television. No McDonalds. No Playstation. Entertainment is a rare luxury for this man. He often works six days a week and has very little money left over once the weans are fed and clothed. Given it’s the Great Depression, he counts himself lucky to even have a job at all.

"When the Gers score, the bunnets soar…”

Every other Saturday, as he walks westwards along Edmiston Drive towards the magnificent red-brick façade of the new Grandstand of Ibrox Park he undergoes a transformation, escaping the mundanity of real life, forgetting his worries…and getting lost in a sea of blue where for a couple of hours he is part of the wondrous and glorious world of The Rangers Football Club. He stands shoulder to shoulder with men just like himself. When the Gers score the bunnets soar in the air and he sways and lurches in the mayhem, pegged tight amidst the massed ranks with his feet hardly touching the ground. Play up the Glasgow Rangers!

And these heroes on the pitch – to a fucking man – understand the responsibility that they carry every time they pull that revered jersey over their heads. These men would never “do a Naismith” for they could never again look at themselves in the mirror without wincing in self-disgust. Many will serve with valour in the war that is to come (as their predecessors did in the Great War), but for now they can enjoy the privilege and acclaim that is theirs when they emerge from the tunnel to the roars of nearly 100,000 souls. It doesn’t take the majesty of the marble staircase or the formidable words of Bill Struth to remind them of their duty. They have always understood.

 

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

 

After a few minutes of playing along and nodding in the right places you have no choice but to hold up your hands to your new drinking buddy.

“Sorry fella, I’m really not following this…. You see…well, you’re not going to believe this but…” And you explain that you have come from the future, 2016 to be precise.

Naturally, at first the man squints at you like you’re a total bampot. But he gradually comes to accept your story and questions start to fizz like fireworks in his head as to what the future will hold.

You oblige him as much as you can. You tell him what you know of the triumphant Rangers team of the fifties and early sixties, our ECWC triumph…all our great successes, and you decide not to worry his mind with the painful tragedies to come (such as World War 2, Celtic’s 9-in-a-row, the birth of 'ill-Phil' etc).

You describe to him how every home will have a television (in colour no less) and an automatic dishwasher, how coal will be replaced by gas central heating throughout the country. You explain about computers, decimalisation, cash machines, microwave ovens, DVD players and (particularly tricky) the internet. Then you describe to the man how automobiles will become several times faster and infinitely more advanced. You explain that every single man, woman and child will have a personal telephone that they carry in their pocket that doesn’t need to be plugged in anywhere; a telephone that will take photos and record films. And you explain how records will change from being 78s made of brittle shellac to become LPs made of vinyl - and there will be singles too - and then music will be put onto cassettes and young guys will compile their own mix-tapes in an attempt to get into their beloved’s knickers…and then everything will give way to compact discs…which will in turn be abandoned and everyone will just listen to music files on computers and phones. The man’s eyes boggle out of their sockets.

And you keep going, explaining more and more of the “progress” that will be made in the coming decades.

Time flies as you talk to this man. His thirst for knowledge is understandably insatiable and you delight in seeing his face light up with each new revelation. You buy yourself another pint and get him one too. You also get the barman to pour a couple of whiskies.

The man starts to ask you about your life, your job, and what it’s like being a Ranger in the twenty-first century?

You explain that your job involves sitting at a desk in an office working at a computer.

‘You must be the big boss then, eh? Sitting in an office.’

‘Nah, just one of the administrators. Actually, most folk sit in an office for their work in 2016.’

‘So you wear yir suit every day then, not just for the church on Sunday.’

‘Erm, well actually we’re not really church folk tae be honest with you. Ah think ma aunt goes sometimes.’

The man finds this strange. ‘But you are a protestant though, aren't ye?’

You shrug. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t really think about it much.’

He leans forward. ‘You’ll definitely be a Labour man though?’

‘Naw naw - no way. I wouldnae vote for that shower of idiots anymore. Ah've actually been thinking about the SNP.’

‘The SNP. What’s that then?’

‘Scottish National Party. It's the biggest party in Scotland now. It wants to put Scotland first by breaking away and...’

‘Breaking away!??!!’ the man interrupts, genuinely quite horrified. ‘From the UNION you mean!!?!’

As you explain about the recent referendum to make Scotland independent you notice the man’s brow becoming more and more furrowed, his cheeks more crimson. He seems genuinely disturbed.

He shakes his head and mumbles: ‘Naebdy likes it mair than me when we get wan over on the English. But tae separate us when we stood together in the trenches against Kaiser Bill? That’s jist fucking ridiculous. Ah mean, we’re fucking tied taegether. We’re British!’

You shrug again, not sure what to say. There is now some clear tension between you.

‘What about our brothers ower the water?’ he ventures. ‘Surely they’d never break away.’

‘Over the water…?’ It takes you a moment to twig what he's asking. ‘Oh, you mean Northern Ireland?’

At this point the man loses some of his composure and snaps back at you, spraying spittle onto the bar: ‘Yes Northern Ireland! What else wid ah mean?’

‘Calm the jets there dude!,’ you reply, trying to diffuse his agitation. 'It's all good. There’s still a lot of support over there for Rangers.’

"...and you would vote for these people, eh?"

‘For goodness sake tell me that you and your pals still sing the traditional songs?’

‘You mean like The Sash an that? Yeah some of us do. Some of those songs got banned though. I don’t really feel it’s right to sing some of them to be honest. Some folk think the words are a bit offensive like.’

‘Offensive izzit?’ the man splutters into his pint. ‘Havers!’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes out another Woodbine. 'Offensive tae who exactly?' he mutters, his fingers fumbling to light a match from the box you left on the bar. [This time it appears he isn't going to be offering you one of his cigarettes].

'You can get done by the polis for singing certain songs now,' you advise him. 'They've made legislation so they can charge you wae racial aggravation or something like that. It's heavy shit man. Boys getting sent tae the jail and all sorts.'

'Who is they?' he demands. 'Who are these people so determined to victimise and pour scorn on the famous Glasgow Rangers?'

Somewhat sheepishly, you concede that it's actually the aforementioned SNP.

'God save us all!' exclaims the man. ‘An you would vote for these people, eh? Ah cannae believe whit ah'm hearing. Shocking it is. Shocking! Next thing you’ll be saying that in 2016 yooz huv nae place fur His Majesty the King on yir mantelpiece.’

‘Well actually…’

The man’s head jerks around and he stares at you disbelievingly.

Your voice comes out thin and strained. ‘It’s a queen, not a king and…well, I mean, I don’t have a particular problem with the Royal Family or anything…but are they actually all that relevant…I mean, you have tae understand that things have changed over the years, in terms of folks' attitudes and stuff.’

The man slowly turns back around, utterly deflated, and a silence descends between you. You become aware of the rumble of conversation around the bar, the occasional clink of a glass as the barman moves between the tables collecting the empties. Beside you, the man sits hunched over with his head down, quietly smoking, pondering what’s been said.

Finally he straightens his back and puts his glass on the bar.

‘Ah need tae get hame,’ he mutters, getting off his stool and dropping his cigarette on the floor. He places his hand - a big, rough, working man’s hand - on your shoulder and looks you square in the eye.

'Listen pal,' he says. ‘I can accept that you’ve come here from the future, and ah can accept that there’s gonny be a female prime minister in nineteen seventy sumthin’ ur other. I can also accept that there’s gonny be this thing called the internet and that folk can listen tae music an watch films oan it and even watch each other on it while they're huvin a blether. And…. (he swallows hard, forcing out the words) ah can make ma self believe that Scotland is gonny huv a vote and very near break up the Union. Ah can EVEN accept that a bunch of guys are gonny walk on the moon and some cunt called Sting is gonny write a song about it.’

The man’s hand drops down from your shoulder and he takes a few steps towards the door. He turns back around and shakes his head disparagingly. ‘But whit ah cannae accept…’ he says, his eyes now filling with tears. ‘What ah’m finding it IMPOSSIBLE tae accept…’

‘…is that you are a Ranger.’

 

 

[It's up to us to protect our traditions. WATP!]

[K.A.I 36,183]

I'm sorry mate I've skim read that 3 times and im still none the wiser 

I'm a traditionalist and PUL so if it's pro that then nice yin - knowing you it is

[wullyRFC 5,230]

If I start reading that the now I'll be late for work at 8am.

[Warburtons Magic Hat 4]

Brilliant read! 

Makes you wonder what a ranger will look like in another century's time.

[STILLGAME 55 4,128]

brilliant mate

the auld guy in the boozer is exactly how my granda would've reacted 

[ShaneRalfRoss 301]

hell he writeing us a novel

[Carling1873 1,401]

49 minutes ago, K.A.I said:

I'm sorry mate I've skim read that 3 times and im still none the wiser 

I'm a traditionalist and PUL so if it's pro that then nice yin - knowing you it is

I did too K.A.I and it's not the words that have got me it's the sentiment/feeling within them, I get that with all that has passed and is to pass being a Ranger is about protecting all that we stand for past and present no matter what.

Just my take on it.

[K.A.I 36,183]

4 minutes ago, Carling1873 said:

I did too K.A.I and it's not the words that have got me it's the sentiment/feeling within them, I get that with all that has passed and is to pass being a Ranger is about protecting all that we stand for past and present no matter what.

Just my take on it.

Good post mate totally agree it's the sentiment that's key - the op is a credit to this place already 

[WadeWilson 4,670]

Can't wait for the sequel wherein Doc Emmett Brown comes barging into the pub from the past and tells Gary Sparrow and the auld radge that 'Kaiser Bill' is actually Queen Victoria's grandson.

In fact, had his mother been afforded the same rules of succession that there are now, the dastardly Kaiser would have been crowned Wilhelm King of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland in 1901.*

Just sayin'.

 

 

*Pretty sure they would still have had their great, big, dirty war anyway.

 

[ForeverAndEver 71,366]

How many cocktails ye had the day, then?

 

[stevie__ 46]

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this fella.

It illustrates the mass brainwashing the media and state schools have had on our people here in Scotland in as little as 60 years. Cultural Marxist ideologies and the Elites lust for globalization is to blame for this. Everything is being done to wash away national identity all across the world. We are just witnessing it firsthand here in Scotland with the SNP leading the charge to smash traditionalism in Scotland. Political correctness is the tool used to have people fearing to say what they really mean whilst new laws gets pumped out to shut people up like we have at the football. We are living under a totalitarian dictatorship in Britain. Mind warping guff like reality TV and pop stars keep our youth stupid and unaware of the situation we find ourselves in. These SNP and their totty picking loony followers are nothing more than useful idiots who are being used to smash the union up and railroad us into the European superstate where our parliament or politicians have no power to change or alter anything. The Taigs are blinded by their hate for us and Britain to comprehend what they're really aiding. Any Rangers fan voting for the SNP is a disgrace!

[googglebot 4,735]

31 minutes ago, stevie__ said:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this fella.

It illustrates the mass brainwashing the media and state schools have had on our people here in Scotland in as little as 60 years. Cultural Marxist ideologies and the Elites lust for globalization is to blame for this. Everything is being done to wash away national identity all across the world. We are just witnessing it firsthand here in Scotland with the SNP leading the charge to smash traditionalism in Scotland. Political correctness is the tool used to have people fearing to say what they really mean whilst new laws gets pumped out to shut people up like we have at the football. We are living under a totalitarian dictatorship in Britain. Mind warping guff like reality TV and pop stars keep our youth stupid and unaware of the situation we find ourselves in. These SNP and their totty picking loony followers are nothing more than useful idiots who are being used to smash the union up and railroad us into the European superstate where our parliament or politicians have no power to change or alter anything. The Taigs are blinded by their hate for us and Britain to comprehend what they're really aiding. Any Rangers fan voting for the SNP is a disgrace!

[scottyscott1963 18,208]

Knowing how much I despise the nazionalists of today and my love of Rangers and the whole Rangers "it's more than just football,it's a way of life thing" i'm certain I would've been just as proud to be what I am today as I would have been n the 30's.  Think this is the sort of reaction you were looking for???????????

[72barca 1,788]

1 hour ago, stevie__ said:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this fella.

It illustrates the mass brainwashing the media and state schools have had on our people here in Scotland in as little as 60 years. Cultural Marxist ideologies and the Elites lust for globalization is to blame for this. Everything is being done to wash away national identity all across the world. We are just witnessing it firsthand here in Scotland with the SNP leading the charge to smash traditionalism in Scotland. Political correctness is the tool used to have people fearing to say what they really mean whilst new laws gets pumped out to shut people up like we have at the football. We are living under a totalitarian dictatorship in Britain. Mind warping guff like reality TV and pop stars keep our youth stupid and unaware of the situation we find ourselves in. These SNP and their totty picking loony followers are nothing more than useful idiots who are being used to smash the union up and railroad us into the European superstate where our parliament or politicians have no power to change or alter anything. The Taigs are blinded by their hate for us and Britain to comprehend what they're really aiding. Any Rangers fan voting for the SNP is a disgrace!

I think this realization is global rather than restricted to Scotland.
Every country should have their own Donald Trump. A person to smash 'political correctness' and allow the people free rein.
At what cost, though?

[Sam English Loyal 945]

That is a work of sheer unadulterated, utter magic brilliance! That is just absolute class. 

Bravo!

[Sam English Loyal 945]

5 hours ago, stevie__ said:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this fella.

It illustrates the mass brainwashing the media and state schools have had on our people here in Scotland in as little as 60 years. Cultural Marxist ideologies and the Elites lust for globalization is to blame for this. Everything is being done to wash away national identity all across the world. We are just witnessing it firsthand here in Scotland with the SNP leading the charge to smash traditionalism in Scotland. Political correctness is the tool used to have people fearing to say what they really mean whilst new laws gets pumped out to shut people up like we have at the football. We are living under a totalitarian dictatorship in Britain. Mind warping guff like reality TV and pop stars keep our youth stupid and unaware of the situation we find ourselves in. These SNP and their totty picking loony followers are nothing more than useful idiots who are being used to smash the union up and railroad us into the European superstate where our parliament or politicians have no power to change or alter anything. The Taigs are blinded by their hate for us and Britain to comprehend what they're really aiding. Any Rangers fan voting for the SNP is a disgrace!

Well said. Very very well said. ?

[BLUEDIGNITY 33,638]

When's the book comin out ? 

[Scottywellhousetb 50,443]

10 hours ago, StaunchLondonGer said:

[ A WEE BIT OF LIGHT-HEARTED BEDTIME READING - AND POSSIBLY A FABULOUS CURE FOR YOUR INSOMNIA...! ]

 

“If you’re no’ a Ranger, you’re nae use tae me…”

Imagine, if you will, that we can travel back in time [just run with me on this for a moment Bears].

Remember that shite sitcom (with Rodney from Only Fools..) where the bloke went back to the 1930’s?? No? Well, you didn’t miss much, as I said it was utter shite. But basically the Rodney character was able to walk down this specific dodgy back-alley (run-down, minging, filthy – think of any random wee passageway in the vicinity of the Piggery) and he’d emerge back in the 1930’s. Got it? Right, so that’s what you’re going to do.

Abba-kazzam!

Now you’re in 1930’s Glasgow, standing outside a Rangers-friendly drinking establishment. It’s early evening and the street is fairly quiet. You notice that your G-Star hoody and Adidas Gazelles have been replaced with the appropriate, slightly shabby clobber of the day and your pocket is jangling with the appropriate legal tender.

Feeling rather parched, you enter said hostelry and order a pint of Tennent’s. The barman plucks out the required remuneration from the coins in your hand and starts to pull your pint.

While you’re waiting, the guy on the stool next to you at the bar requests a light for his Woodbine, so you instinctively reach inside your jacket and pull out, not your usual disposable lighter, but a box of Swan Vestas.

You accept one of his smokes and you’re soon supping your pint and making small talk about the weather. The conversation moves onto football and the man starts waxing lyrical with remarkable passion about players whose names are either unfamiliar to you or about whom you realise you know embarrassingly little. Names like McPhail, Thornton, Venters, Dawson…and a lad that this man seems absolutely convinced will become one of the light blue greats (quite correctly as it happens) by the name of Willie Thornton.

These players are just like him, regular guys. Not multi-millionaires with flashy cars surrounded by greedy agents, sycophants, and a bevy of aspiring large-jugged glamour models desperate to offer sexual favours in return for getting their coupon in the papers. They’re down-to-earth family men most of them, who just happen to be fantastic footballers. They are also heroes to this man. Heroes because they wear the shirt of Rangers FC and are cheered on by vast legions of devout blue-noses from the packed terraces of Ibrox Park. There is no television. No McDonalds. No Playstation. Entertainment is a rare luxury for this man. He often works six days a week and has very little money left over once the weans are fed and clothed. Given it’s the Great Depression, he counts himself lucky to even have a job at all.

"When the Gers score, the bunnets soar…”

Every other Saturday, as he walks westwards along Edmiston Drive towards the magnificent red-brick façade of the new Grandstand of Ibrox Park he undergoes a transformation, escaping the mundanity of real life, forgetting his worries…and getting lost in a sea of blue where for a couple of hours he is part of the wondrous and glorious world of The Rangers Football Club. He stands shoulder to shoulder with men just like himself. When the Gers score the bunnets soar in the air and he sways and lurches in the mayhem, pegged tight amidst the massed ranks with his feet hardly touching the ground. Play up the Glasgow Rangers!

And these heroes on the pitch – to a fucking man – understand the responsibility that they carry every time they pull that revered jersey over their heads. These men would never “do a Naismith” for they could never again look at themselves in the mirror without wincing in self-disgust. Many will serve with valour in the war that is to come (as their predecessors did in the Great War), but for now they can enjoy the privilege and acclaim that is theirs when they emerge from the tunnel to the roars of nearly 100,000 souls. It doesn’t take the majesty of the marble staircase or the formidable words of Bill Struth to remind them of their duty. They have always understood.

 

*      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *

 

After a few minutes of playing along and nodding in the right places you have no choice but to hold up your hands to your new drinking buddy.

“Sorry fella, I’m really not following this…. You see…well, you’re not going to believe this but…” And you explain that you have come from the future, 2016 to be precise.

Naturally, at first the man squints at you like you’re a total bampot. But he gradually comes to accept your story and questions start to fizz like fireworks in his head as to what the future will hold.

You oblige him as much as you can. You tell him what you know of the triumphant Rangers team of the fifties and early sixties, our ECWC triumph…all our great successes, and you decide not to worry his mind with the painful tragedies to come (such as World War 2, Celtic’s 9-in-a-row, the birth of 'ill-Phil' etc).

You describe to him how every home will have a television (in colour no less) and an automatic dishwasher, how coal will be replaced by gas central heating throughout the country. You explain about computers, decimalisation, cash machines, microwave ovens, DVD players and (particularly tricky) the internet. Then you describe to the man how automobiles will become several times faster and infinitely more advanced. You explain that every single man, woman and child will have a personal telephone that they carry in their pocket that doesn’t need to be plugged in anywhere; a telephone that will take photos and record films. And you explain how records will change from being 78s made of brittle shellac to become LPs made of vinyl - and there will be singles too - and then music will be put onto cassettes and young guys will compile their own mix-tapes in an attempt to get into their beloved’s knickers…and then everything will give way to compact discs…which will in turn be abandoned and everyone will just listen to music files on computers and phones. The man’s eyes boggle out of their sockets.

And you keep going, explaining more and more of the “progress” that will be made in the coming decades.

Time flies as you talk to this man. His thirst for knowledge is understandably insatiable and you delight in seeing his face light up with each new revelation. You buy yourself another pint and get him one too. You also get the barman to pour a couple of whiskies.

The man starts to ask you about your life, your job, and what it’s like being a Ranger in the twenty-first century?

You explain that your job involves sitting at a desk in an office working at a computer.

‘You must be the big boss then, eh? Sitting in an office.’

‘Nah, just one of the administrators. Actually, most folk sit in an office for their work in 2016.’

‘So you wear yir suit every day then, not just for the church on Sunday.’

‘Erm, well actually we’re not really church folk tae be honest with you. Ah think ma aunt goes sometimes.’

The man finds this strange. ‘But you are a protestant though, aren't ye?’

You shrug. ‘Yeah, I suppose so. I don’t really think about it much.’

He leans forward. ‘You’ll definitely be a Labour man though?’

‘Naw naw - no way. I wouldnae vote for that shower of idiots anymore. Ah've actually been thinking about the SNP.’

‘The SNP. What’s that then?’

‘Scottish National Party. It's the biggest party in Scotland now. It wants to put Scotland first by breaking away and...’

‘Breaking away!??!!’ the man interrupts, genuinely quite horrified. ‘From the UNION you mean!!?!’

As you explain about the recent referendum to make Scotland independent you notice the man’s brow becoming more and more furrowed, his cheeks more crimson. He seems genuinely disturbed.

He shakes his head and mumbles: ‘Naebdy likes it mair than me when we get wan over on the English. But tae separate us when we stood together in the trenches against Kaiser Bill? That’s jist fucking ridiculous. Ah mean, we’re fucking tied taegether. We’re British!’

You shrug again, not sure what to say. There is now some clear tension between you.

‘What about our brothers ower the water?’ he ventures. ‘Surely they’d never break away.’

‘Over the water…?’ It takes you a moment to twig what he's asking. ‘Oh, you mean Northern Ireland?’

At this point the man loses some of his composure and snaps back at you, spraying spittle onto the bar: ‘Yes Northern Ireland! What else wid ah mean?’

‘Calm the jets there dude!,’ you reply, trying to diffuse his agitation. 'It's all good. There’s still a lot of support over there for Rangers.’

"...and you would vote for these people, eh?"

‘For goodness sake tell me that you and your pals still sing the traditional songs?’

‘You mean like The Sash an that? Yeah some of us do. Some of those songs got banned though. I don’t really feel it’s right to sing some of them to be honest. Some folk think the words are a bit offensive like.’

‘Offensive izzit?’ the man splutters into his pint. ‘Havers!’ He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes out another Woodbine. 'Offensive tae who exactly?' he mutters, his fingers fumbling to light a match from the box you left on the bar. [This time it appears he isn't going to be offering you one of his cigarettes].

'You can get done by the polis for singing certain songs now,' you advise him. 'They've made legislation so they can charge you wae racial aggravation or something like that. It's heavy shit man. Boys getting sent tae the jail and all sorts.'

'Who is they?' he demands. 'Who are these people so determined to victimise and pour scorn on the famous Glasgow Rangers?'

Somewhat sheepishly, you concede that it's actually the aforementioned SNP.

'God save us all!' exclaims the man. ‘An you would vote for these people, eh? Ah cannae believe whit ah'm hearing. Shocking it is. Shocking! Next thing you’ll be saying that in 2016 yooz huv nae place fur His Majesty the King on yir mantelpiece.’

‘Well actually…’

The man’s head jerks around and he stares at you disbelievingly.

Your voice comes out thin and strained. ‘It’s a queen, not a king and…well, I mean, I don’t have a particular problem with the Royal Family or anything…but are they actually all that relevant…I mean, you have tae understand that things have changed over the years, in terms of folks' attitudes and stuff.’

The man slowly turns back around, utterly deflated, and a silence descends between you. You become aware of the rumble of conversation around the bar, the occasional clink of a glass as the barman moves between the tables collecting the empties. Beside you, the man sits hunched over with his head down, quietly smoking, pondering what’s been said.

Finally he straightens his back and puts his glass on the bar.

‘Ah need tae get hame,’ he mutters, getting off his stool and dropping his cigarette on the floor. He places his hand - a big, rough, working man’s hand - on your shoulder and looks you square in the eye.

'Listen pal,' he says. ‘I can accept that you’ve come here from the future, and ah can accept that there’s gonny be a female prime minister in nineteen seventy sumthin’ ur other. I can also accept that there’s gonny be this thing called the internet and that folk can listen tae music an watch films oan it and even watch each other on it while they're huvin a blether. And…. (he swallows hard, forcing out the words) ah can make ma self believe that Scotland is gonny huv a vote and very near break up the Union. Ah can EVEN accept that a bunch of guys are gonny walk on the moon and some cunt called Sting is gonny write a song about it.’

The man’s hand drops down from your shoulder and he takes a few steps towards the door. He turns back around and shakes his head disparagingly. ‘But whit ah cannae accept…’ he says, his eyes now filling with tears. ‘What ah’m finding it IMPOSSIBLE tae accept…’

‘…is that you are a Ranger.’

 

 

[It's up to us to protect our traditions. WATP!]

That's quite a read my friend and good one at that, you will no doubt get the usual suspects asking what the SNP has to do with Rangers etc etc blah blah blah but again I agree with your sentiments 

[Redwhiteandblue 3,330]

That was utterly brilliant mate. You have a real talent there. 

[KeyserSoze 14,521]

.

[CoopsLaud 4,184]

Excellently written post once again SLG. Thought provoking and imaginative. I wonder did you have a particular blue nose boozer in mind in the scenario?

I kind of like the thought of the old boy leaving the pub in slightly higher spirits and returning on a Saturday night with all his bluenose mates all gathering around him and prompting him to retell his tales of the time yon English boy visited from the future. "Tell us about SuperCooper again Wullie, that time when he did keepy uppy in the box against the tims and scored the wonder goal". "Sounds like some fuckin player and some fuckin Ranger by ra way."

 

Will your next installment be from the same boozer 80 years in the future? No pressure.

[1690tamRFC 5,001]

Enjoyed reading that, brilliant mate. 

[markem 7,251]

Terrific read OP - really well put together.

[gmcf 34,090]

Great post. 

There's a big difference in the last 30 years never mind the 30's

 

[stevie__ 46]

10 hours ago, 72barca said:

I think this realization is global rather than restricted to Scotland.
Every country should have their own Donald Trump. A person to smash 'political correctness' and allow the people free rein.
At what cost, though?

Of course the cognizance is global. I was merely making known that we are witnessing it here in Scotland first hand for ourselves. Our brothers in Northern Ireland will notice it there with the governments deliberate corrosion of their culture and traditions over the years as well. As you will in Canada where you're being flooded with different cultures that YOUR culture will be changed to accommodate.

Our governments are against us. The ring fencing of our thoughts with Marxist tactics seems OK by you tho?

We have created the greatest civilization and culture on earth without such crap. We have always had "Free reign" as you put it. 

You seem not to grasp the fact that government should NEVER be telling us how to live and what to think. It was a creation of man and not the creator of man. Less government with less power is what we need. Look how drunk they've got on the power we've handed over freely and unknowingly. where you can go to jail for loving your nation, culture and your own people. You will be branded a racist, bigot, xenophobe or Islamophob.  All their weaponized words that our people fearing to be branded if they express their true feelings.  We seem to be happy to hand over the keys of our nation to these invaders and not fight for what is our birthright: Britain.

Look at how the Irish invasion of Catholics have changed the full political landscape here in Scotland. There was less than 1 million brought here. What is Britain going to be like with the 10s of millions of Muslims in the future when their extremely high birth rates dwarf ours.We will be a minority in our own country in 8 generations or 100 years. They keep bringing more and more here for god sake.

OHH i can't say that right fella? That's politically incorrect and hate speech right! Can't you see what is being done to our people all across the western world?