#RangersMen

[Shane 338]

I don't like to pomp my own writing via forums and whatnot, but in the wake of the passing of Claudio Reyna's son I was left recalling the first moments of sharing the Rangers with my own: http://coplandroad.org/311260

#RangersMen

by Shane Nicholson | CRO editor |

As most of you should know by now, I was born and raised in the States, a fair shout from the shadow of Ibrox. I wrote a few words about this for Rangers Unite back in June and you can read that here: Rangers Unite: An American Tale

In my youth I received updates about our club via newspaper clippings that we waited over a week for to arrive in the post box. I was lucky enough to catch a fair bit of the early 9IAR side via the old SportsNet. Those were good days.

But for a good chunk of time prior to the advent of high-speed internet my connection to our club consisted of match reports from the usual sources, certainly not the way to take in the beauty and magisty that is Ibrox on match day. It wasn't until around the time of the banner 2004-05 campaign that somewhat regular service was restored.

My son was born on 3 December 2010, and it was a bit of a shaky affair. My wife and I went from what we though was a pretty average birth, to the sudden jolt of an emergency C-section, which resulted in my being ejected from the operating room while doctors fought to save the lives of the two people in the world who mean the most to me.

Our son was born with nairy a sign of life: Only a pulse rate of 20 gave the doctors any indication that he had survived the procedure. He was blue, clammy, not making a sound.

I smoked my way through a pack of off-brand cigarettes waiting to hear that my wife and son had survived the operating table, and was called back in by a young and untested nurse, one who was as inexperienced in these situations as I.

I am grateful for the physicians and nurses who were on duty that day, who brought both my son and wife back from the brink. For someone like me, the times one turns to deities and prayer are few and far between, but that day featured a good amount of both.

After three full days in the hospital we were given the OK to take our son home. It was 1pm on 7 December, and I went to retrieve our car from the parking garage where it become a resident in short time during our stay.

I collected my newly minted family at the secondary exit of Fort Sanders Regional Medical Center, and thirty-five minutes of the most attentive driving of my life ensued, careful to note any car approaching an intersection at what might be an inappropriate speed for stopping, or someone with the audacity to change lanes without use of a turn signal. When we finally arrived at our house on the edge of the Smoky Mountains I was as exhausted as I had ever been in my life.

We disembarked, me carrying my newborn son into our home for the first time, my wife on my other arm for stability, still weak from the ordeal. I set him down in his carrier next to the coffee table in our living room, then made my wife comfortable on the couch and fixed her a cup of tea in quick order.

2.44pm.

I settled down next to my son on the floor and gathered him from his carrier, careful not to wake him, flicked on the television, and met the reminder that the Bursaspor v Rangers tie was set to kick off in just a few seconds.

Kenny Miller scored just shy of 20 minutes in the first half, and my usual celebration of a Rangers' goal had to be cut back to a gentle exclamation and fist pump by the hand not carrying the most precious cargo. The Rangers led 1-0 away. My son slept on in my arms.

And while the lead slipped away in that match, with Bursaspor equaling within 15 minutes of the final whistle, the image of watching that entire match, from whistle to whistle, my newborn son nestled in my arms sound asleep for the duration, will forever be burned into the frame of my memory.

We have played far more important games as a club. We have seen finer moments, celebrated better results. But with few exceptions all of those are suspect to fade from memory. Helicopter Sunday remains embedded, Nacho's penalty, celebrating the treble in '93.

But all of those moments meant as little in that time as the average rolling over of a lower-division side in a cup tie. For the very first two hours in which I had my son home and in my arms, just days after he and my wife had cheated death, we shared our first of many moments basking in the glow that is Rangers Football Club.

It is a series of moments I would trade for nothing, and a snapshot I will take to my end.

Shane and Noah Nicholson: 7 December 2010. #RangersMen

God speed, Jack Reyna.

[jack1690 793]

Enjoyed reading that Shane.

I witnessed the birth of my four children (all in their 20s & 30s now). All born healthy with no complications. Add to that my 3 grandkids, also born healthy. When I read things like your son & claudios jack it makes me thankful for what I'd taken for granted. Life is precious