Football – Part One

Football – Part Two

Football – Part Three

Another Version


I am a bit of a football fan. I support a team from Edinburgh called Hibernian or Hibs for short. They are actually pretty shit, so I guess technically I am not really a football fan.

I am more like some one who likes to torture them-self by watching 11 headless chickens try and put a hot potato in the back of seemingly minuscule net.

Not many people outside of Scotland have heard of Hibernian. In fact, not that many people outside of Edinburgh have heard of them.

I blame my Father for the fact that I’m a Hibs supporter cause when I was younger I wanted to support Real Madrid……. but my Dad point blank refused to take me to the Bernabau Stadium every Saturday. Bloody cheapskate.

He managed to brainwash me into becoming a Hibs supporter by saying,

“You don’t want to support Real Madrid son, they win all the time and you need to learn that life’s not like that. Come on to Easter Road with me to watch the Edinburgh Hibees and then you to can be a total loser. ”

Aye, thanks Dad. I really appreciate that. I’ve been following in the family footsteps ever since.

Mind you, I am happy he stopped me being a Real Madrid supporter cause now that I have studied history a bit I realise that they’re a bunch of fascist wankers.

So ma Father actually influenced me positively for at least one thing in my life. I guess that proves that there is an exception for every rule.


I used to love going to the football with my Dad when I was younger though, cause I was allowed to swear in front of him. It was all legal and above board.

I’d say “Hey Dad you see that guy there, the big Number 4, he’s a bloody animal , isn’t he Dad, he’s just a big bloody animal”
I didn’t jump straight into hardcore swearing, I had to test the ground out first, to see what I could get away with. I wasn’t going to repeat what my Dad just called the referree, I mean that would have been suicidal on my behalf.

My Dad was as proud as punch though. It was like I’d just taken my first baby steps . He turned into Foghorn Leghorn,

“That’s a m’boy, that’s a m’boy. Just don’t tell your Mum I let you say that”

“Ok no problem Dad, us men need to stick together. We are football buddies now, don’t worry, you can rely on me”

A couple of weeks later after I’d gotten a bit more brave in front of my Dad, I’d forgotten all about our verbal agreement. When we got home my Mum asked,

“Well son, did you enjoy the game?”

“Oh Mum, it was great. The referee was a blind bastard though and those Jambos are cunts but apart from that it was fucking magic!!!”

At which point my dad wanted to strangle me.

My mum was like, “Where did he get language like that from?”

My Dad was like, “Well he didnae get it fae fucking me. I don’t know where the fuck the laddie got it but I’m telling you now, it wasnae fae fucking me aright? It must have been from those bastard Hearts fans. Bloody animals, they are just big bloody animals. ”


Football supporters go on about the ‘history’ of the club like it’s something actually important. I can remember my Dad’s friends trying to reinforce his brainwashing. It was like I was joining some weird cult.

One guy said, “Aye son, you’ve picked a good club to support, this clubs got a fine tradition and a great history.”

So I said, “Really, when did Hibs last win the Scottish Cup?”


“A great history? It sounds more like ancient history to me”

He didn’t like that answer, especially coming from a 5 year old.

But no matter how well the manager is doing with a limited budget or whatever the fans are never satisfied,

“Aye, this new manager alright, he’s getting some good results and the team are doing well in the league but he hasn’t got them playing in the traditional method that we’ve been accustomed to over the years. He’s got them trying to play good football! What’s that all about? We’ve humped it up the park for decades and it’s not going to stop now. None of this fancy foreign pish like trying to retain possession. Who does he think he is, fucking Rinus Michels? He’s got to go, he’s got to go”

So eventually fan power won and he got the sack and was replaced by a manager who reverted back to the humping it up the park philosophy again.

The fans would then totally change their tune,

“Oh for Gods sake, this new manager’s shocking, it’s the long ball everytime, he’s got to go, he’s got to go.”

I think they just love seeing Managers get the sack. They wish they had that power to sack their own Manager.

Another reason they go to watch football is just purely to moan their tits off. They go to work all week and can’t express what they really feel about their boss or their workmates or else they’d get either get the sack or a black eye respectively, so they go to the football at the weekend to discharge their pent up emotions at overpaid nancy boys who can’t hit a barn door from two yards.

They don’t actually want their team tae win or else they’d have fuck all to complain about.

When I turned 16 I got a job, with my first proper paypacket I wanted to buy a Season Ticket. Up until that point my parents paid me into the football although I think my Dad used to buy beer with the money after he shoved me under the turnstile. It did get a bit embarrassing when I hit my teenage years but I think my Dad knew the guy on the gate, so I kept popping under.

However, it got to the stage where I couldn’t get away with it any longer so I lied and said I was 15 so I could get a Season Ticket for the Child’s price. The ticket worked out at £24 a game for an adult and so at half price I paid £12 per game and that was still daylight robbery.

That’s when the question of value for money against supporter loyalty raised its head. Value for money won that argument hand’s down.

I was going there every week thinking ‘Fuckin’ hell, Twelve Quid for this! How the hell am I going to get through a full season of this?

I did though because I am Scottish and I had to get my money’s worth, but it was hell on earth let me tell you.

That’s why I stopped going to watch live football. I didn’t necessarily want to win all the time, I learned that lesson. I’d just like to see football players who can actually pass the ball to a team mate five yards away, that would be a start.

How can these professional players not do that? Regardless of what type of new fangled ball they are using this week. Christ, I could do it with a fucking tennis ball when I was Six.


Football fans in general are a strange breed of people, aren’t they?

I mean, for instance in Scotland they were scarves, eat really dodgy Mince Pies and drink Bovril, which they never drink anywhere else and they do this in the middle of Summer but then in the middle of Winter, some of them don’t even wear a T-shirt!

They’re like, “Hey, look at me, I’m turning blue. Brilliant eh? Quick take a picture and they can put it in one of those Hare Krishna books instead of just a painting.”

Actually, the fans of Newcastle United are the worst or should I say the best for that. I don’t know what the hell they are thinking about but in totally Baltic conditions in January, half the Stadium is shirtless. Mind you, they’ve usually got quite a bit of whale fat on them tae keep them warm.

But the fans in Scotland are really weird as they have always got a handful of coins at the ready, just in case a dodgy referee turns up! Ping! Take that ref. That’ll teach you for being dodgy.

A dodgy referee being one who gives more than two decisions against your team regardless if you’re defender has just paralysed their centre forward from the neck down .

The guys getting carried off in a stretcher,

“Get up, get up ya play actor. Referee you’re not buying that are you? Come on, that’s fake blood. He went to the joke shop just before the game to buy one of those capsules. That bone sticking out is just an optical illusion. He’s an illusionist. You’re not bringing the stretcher on for that are you? He’s time wasting.”

Aye, and he’ll be wasting a lot more time for the next 9 months in the rehabilitation centre learning to walk again.


Do you ever ask yourself, what the hell is this football lark all about? Why are men so obsessed with football? I’ve come to the conclusion that football is just an excuse for grown men to cuddle each other.

You know, these guys are starved of affection, they can’t get love anywhere else in their lives so they have to wait until a ball goes between 2 sticks, before jumping all over each other and sticking their tongues down each other’s throats.

“Yes George, we’ve scored, we’ve scored, yahoo. Give us a kiss, we’ve scored. Take it up the arse George, we’ve scored, get it up ye”

I’m talking about the fans, by the way, although obviously the players do enjoy more than their fair share of homosexual liaisons. Which is fair enough I suppose but let’s not pretend it’s because a ball went into a net, that’s all I’m saying.

That’s why they all make that ‘Ooohhh’ sound, anytime the ball goes anywhere near the goals.

It’s like ‘OOOOooohhh. Damn. Nearly got a cuddle there. If he’d have just kept his head over the ball, and got his shot on target , instead of hitting the bloody corner flag. I could be making love to Jimmy right now. I’m sure he took his T-Shirt of for my benefit. He’s a lovely shade of blue today”


I’ve done a bit of research on this recently which proves my theory. Have you ever heard of an unusual phenomenon called Reverse speech?

What happens with this reverse speech is, they digitally record something and then play it backwards and you can make out different words. And it’s claimed that what you hear is the subconscious mind, the true meaning of the intent behind the words.

For instance when George Bush was going on about ‘hunting down those evil doers’ when you played that backwards he was really saying ‘We’re the evil doers and there’s is fuck all you can do about it cause we run the show! Ha ha ha.’

And what proved my theory was I heard a taping of the Glasgow Rangers supporters singing after they won the league a couple of years ago.

They were singing ‘Championies, Championies are we, are we, are we”, but when you play that backwards what you hear clear as crystal is,

‘We made love more times than you, do, da, do da.
We got it on more times than you do, da, do, da, dae,
We sucked more cock
We took more up the bum
We swallowed loads more cum do da do da dae,’

Crystal clear it was and indeed concrete evidence indeed that they are all closet raving homosexuals. Which is fair enough, I just think they should be more open about it, that’s all.


I actually think Rangers fans are the strangest fans of the lot though cause they always go on about King Billy all the time. It’s King Billy this and King Billy that. I tell you what, see this King Billy, he must have been a hellava player.

300 years after his death and they’re still singing about him. There’s not many other players you can say that about. King Kenny has got fuck all on him.

I believe 1690 was his most successful season . I think he must have been voted European player of the year that year or maybe Rangers won the Champions League.

Either way, it’s even worse than listening to the English drone on about winning the World Cup in 1966 cause at least that is fairly recent in comparison.

And they also have a phrase they repeat quite often ‘We are the People, we are the People’

Eh, no your not. ‘We are People’ maybe. I think you’ll find that ‘We are the People’ is grammatically incorrect not to mention extremely arrogant.


Oh and Celtic fans love their Celtic tops way too much don’t they? That’s all they pack to go on holiday, the last 14 slight variations on the Hoops.

‘Hoops abroad. Hoops abroad’ they say all the time. They love it. They think they’re stylish or something.

My team Hibs have never been abroad in their history so that’s why ‘Hibs abroad’ isn’t something Hibs fans ever say.

Hibs were actually the first Scottish team to play in Europe. We got to the Semi-Final of the Fairs Cup I believe. I think there were only 4 teams in the competition mind you, so it wasn’t that great an achievement,.


In Scotland everyone goes on about Rangers and Celtic the big two rivals. First of all Rangers and Celtic fans love each other. They couldn’t do without each other. It’s their hatred of the other time that defines them.

I swear actually heard this coming out of a Celtic fans mouth while talking to his mate, after Rangers had spent a year in a lower division due to their demotion for going bankrupt.

‘Aye, although I hate the bastards, you got to admit, we need them’

Really, sounds like a Marriage to me.

And everybody seems to think that there is such a big difference between Rangers and Celtic, what with Rangers having their ties to the Queen and the Protestant Church and Celtic having their ties with the Pope and the Catholic Church.

But see me, I think there is about as much difference between Rangers and Celtic as there is between Coca-Cola and Pepsi Cola.

I think that they both rot your teeth.

Do you know when I first realised that? I was watching an old firm game on the Television and the camera showed a close up of the Celtic fans before the game….and they all looked like Shane MacGowan of the Pogues!

You know, with their black teeth and their Celtic tops.

Then they had a close up of the Rangers fans….and they all looked like….. Shane MacGowan of the Pogues.

With their black teeth and Rangers tops on.

I thought ‘Either these guys drink a lot of Cola or there’s something weird going on here that I want no part of thanks very much.’


Rangers fans call themselves Teddy Bears don’t they? Rangers – Teddy Bears, I think that is the connection, it is rhyming slang.

And they are right they are Teddy Bears, well at least they’re Hairy Animals.

Can you remember when Rangers bored the whole of Europe on their way to the UEFA cup final in Manchester?

People from Manchester were wondering what they had done to deserve 30,000 bawbags turning up on their doorstep, they certainly weren’t expecting that when they bid to host the final.

But the demand for tickets from Rangers fans exceeded their allocation so they put a giant screen outside the stadium to show the game.

I think someone wanted to do an experiment to see what happened when you upset 10,000 Neds in one go because literally 2 minutes before the game was due to start someone flicked the switch for the electricity.

‘Fuck, fuck. What’s goin’ on? We need tae know where the ball is going to go. It’s vitally important. It’s a matter of life and death’

Then they saw some Police and so started chasing them down the street, caught a couple and started kicking fuck out of them. They got totally laid into them with some hefty boots. Giving them some serious abuse.

So I guess they aren’t all bad. Some of them do have some redeeming qualities. I’ll give them that.

I think it would be really funny if at the next Rangers and Celtic game all the fans bought tickets so the clubs and media wouldn’t expect anything was up but then instead of going to the game the fans all burn their scarves and strips in a big bonfire outside the stadium.

The commentators would be dumbfounded. “What the hell is going on? This is an old firm derby. Where’s all the hatred and bigotry that we have come to love and cherish over the years?”

It would be especially funny if all the organized some games of football between them. Somebody could have a ghettoblaster playing Paul McCartney’s Pipes of Peace and at the end they could feel better about themselves having made peace with their fellow man and having got some exercise into the bargain. It would be a win – win.

Well you can always dream can’t you?


I just think we take football too seriously, don’t you?

I can actually remember the exact time when I realised once and for all that we’ve taken this football lark a little too far. It was when I was watching a game a couple of years ago between Barcelona and Real Madrid.

To give you the background to this particular game, Luis Figo the Real Madrid player had just been sold from their arch rivals Barcelona for a then world record 38 Million Pound.

Anyway, he was coming back to play in Barcelona’s stadium for the first time since his transfer. And the Barcelona fans were giving their former hero dog’s abuse. I mean 90 minutes solid abuse. It was unreal.

As I was watching it I thought ‘Jesus Christ…Hitler wouldn’t deserve that much abuse….and he murdered 38 million!’

Which I believe to this day is still a world record.

Although British and American imperialism is trying its best to catch up.

Technically, they all come under the same banner of Zionist controlled Bankers Wars but that’s another story.


You know, why can’t we just go to a game, hoping to see some nice skills and good football, while encouraging both teams to play fair, in a nice friendly atmosphere, with no threat of violence whatsoever …

Is that too much to ask?

Or maybe I’m just saying that… because I go and watch Antalyaspor play occasionally and you’re never sure if you’re going to make it through the game alive or not.

I keep on expecting Satan to turn up and start jabbing me with his fork.
Because Antalyaspor play in Turkey and the newspapers always report a British team going there as ‘the trip to hell’ .

Well, you know what? I don’t believe them. I think Turkey’s a beautiful place.
If that is what hell is like then I don’t think we’ve got anything to worry about.

There is no BSE or Foot and Mouth disease in Turkey you know.

Although I must admit, it does get a bit too hot sometimes.

In that way it does come close to Hell.

Oh and their driving is hellish too but apart from that it’s really rather pleasant.


Speaking of hell, there is a hellavu lot of football on TV these days isn’t there? It’s taking over the airwaves. Don’t you think?

My wife actually made a good point the other night there, she said,

“You know, I think the reason that there is so much football on Tv these days is just to distract men from fulfilling their potential. They could be cooking…. or cleaning…. or doing the garden. Or using their creative talents…to design and build a new fitted kitchen. Or they could even be showing some affection to their love starved wives”

To which I replied,

“Look, will you shut your trap and give me peace Woman. I’m trying to watch the game here. It’s very important you know. It’s a local derby. It’s Montrose v Arbroath. You know how much these people hate each other. If we’re lucky we might get to see a good headbutting. Now go and make me a Mince Pie and a Bovril.”

Well, I didn’t say I was perfect did I?


Football commentators get a bit over excited about the game sometimes as well, don’t they?

Especially the ones on the radio. You see the game later on television that night and you think, ‘This can’t be the same game that Chick Young was creaming his pants over this afternoon. This is absolute fucking Keeik!.Where’s the flair and the skill he wasfoaming at the mouth about? Christ, my Granny showed more flair and skill when they were putting her in her coffin. And all she did was fart.’

I didn’t know dead people could fart. I tell you, I was most impressed. I’d pay to watch that.

I think the bosses at the BBC Radio must blackmail the commentators to make it sound more exciting and interesting than it really is.

“Right, you better make Dunfermline v St Mirren sound as exciting as hell today, or next week you’ll be commentating on the Indoor Bowling’

‘But, what will Dougie Donnelley do then?’

‘Don’t worry, we’ve got him lined up for the Synchronised Swimming so get on the air and start creaming your pants right away’

‘Yes Sir!’

And if it is during the World Cup that gives them carte blanche to go gung ho.

Especially the English commentators, they say things like,

‘If England win today you can take tomorrow off work’.

But what if you’re not into football. What if you’re into Carpet Bowls?

You phone your boss,

“Eh sorry, Granton Church Elders won the East of Scotland charity shield last night, I can’t make it in to work today, that’s not a problem is it?”

“Get the fuck in here right now” would be the swift reply.

“You can start at 6 am instead of 8 for your fucking cheek.”


But you see, the businessmen who run football, as well as everything else for that matter, don’t care how we fight and bicker with each other. Religion, Race, Sex, Politics, Football, it’s all the same to them. Divide and conquer, that is the name of their little game, so that they sell us more and more of their pish and keep us distracted from the bigger picture.

So they’ve got to keep raising the stakes to keep us all on the edge of our seats, just in case we think about trying to break free.

That’s why the Champions League was invented and more teams from each country able to play in it as it keeps us all glued to our TV sets watching their adverts. God at this rate, Hibs will soon be invited to play in the Champions League!!

Maybe I see things slightly differently from everybody else, I don’t know.

You see, I think that now is the time of the good guys , the underdog , the man on the street , so to speak, to come out on top. I believe that the balance of power is shifting and that a new Golden Era is dawning. People are going to wake up to the bullshit and start reclaiming their own power.

I saw an example of the good guys winning happen in nature, the other day. It was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and my arms went all goosepimpely.

It was on a documentary on TV, a tourist had filmed it on his Video Camcorder when on Safari in Kenya. What happened was that some Lions had chased the Water Buffalo and caught one, as they do.

Just as they were about to start eating it, some of the Water Buffalo came back , to save their pal and I don’t know where they got the courage from, but they charged at the Lions and scared them all away.

I thought “ You little beauty, go on the Water Buffalo, take no shit ”

Then the Water Buffalo that was just about to be dinner, rose from its plate, gave the lions a care-free look , and casually walked away.

Well, you should have seen the look on the Lions faces, it was an absolute picture.

I tell you what it looked like; it looked exactly like the look on the English players faces when they get beat on penalties once again.

“Eh, that wasn’t supposed to happen. We’re Engerland. Footballs coming home, remember?”

Eh, no it’s not.

They think its all over….it is now. Bye, bye.

Oh and the ball never crossed the line so unless you mention the Russian Linesman on a frequent basis you can fucking shut up about Maradona’s Hand of God, alright?


When I was younger, I used to play football for one of the best young teams in Scotland. It was called Hutcheson Vale.

But I didn’t enjoy it as much as I should have because the manager thought he was Alex Ferguson in his Aberdeen days.

He had the red blotchy face and everything.

He had the same bad temper as well, if we weren’t winning 5-0 at half time he’d come into the dressing room and start throwing cups of Vimto everywhere.

You had to duck and dive to avoid it, there was nothing worse than going out for the second half with a big huge purple stain on your top, you felt like a right prick, a bit like David Beckham….when he got his cut eye from the flying boot.

I was quite a small lad at the time and I am the type of person who needs an arm round the shoulder and some words of encouragement. Instead he would start screaming at me.

“For fuck’s sake, who do you think you are trying to play football out of defence like that, do you think you’re fucking Franz Beckanbuaer?”

“Who’s Franz Beckanbuaer?”

“Never mind, listen, when I scream ‘hump it’, you give that ball some serious leather, do you understand me?”

I was like “Leave me alone, I’m only 12. I don’t come here to help you burst a blood vessel”


And all the parents on the sidelines they would offer their own brand of encouragement.

“That’s it son, get into them. If you’re any good, I can start making plans to retire early. So you better start trying real hard….or there will be no Xmas presents for you this year.”

I mean that’s really going to encourage you to express yourself fully, without fear, isn’t it? The threat of no Xmas presents hanging over your head.

Mind you, in those days, kids weren’t as sophisticated as they are these days.

If you didn’t play well, all you were going to lose out on was , an Action Man, a Mr Bubbles and the new Bright Pink Scotland Away strip. No great loss there.

These days we’re talking thousands of pounds worth of computer equipment down the drain, if you fail to perform.

Maybe that’s why Scotland’s youngsters never seem to go on to fulfil their potential. They play too well when they’re young and get treated to all the latest gadgets. Before you know it they’re all hooked on internet porn!!!

Football is way down their list of priorities.
That’s my excuse for Scotland having a crap team these days anyway.

All these African nations are starting to rise up the rankings cause they don’t have so many computers out there, they still like to go outside and play.

I think just as Tony Blair suggested a few years ago, we should send all the laptops to Africa, so they can get hooked on porn as well. At least that would make it a level playing field. All the players could have balls like dried raisins.


I used to live in the same street as a football ground. It was the ground of East Stirlingshire, which is located near Falkirk Town Centre.

Now for those of you who don’t know, East Stirlingshire always finish bottom of the bottom division every year, so my life wasn’t too affected by huge crowds every week.

In fact, half of the people who lived in the street didn’t even know there was a football ground there at all. They were blissfully unaware of that fact. But maybe that’s because they were all hooked on heroin. Football was the least of their worries, let me tell you. They didn’t even know what colour of underpants they had on most of the time.

Mind you, I won’t hear a bad word said against the heroin addicts. Many is the time they helped me when my TV or Video got stolen.

I don’t know who their supplier was but give them a call any time of the day or night and they’d be round with a replacement model within the hour. Guaranteed. And they didn’t bother with any of that Warranty crap; it was 20 pound cash in hand, Bob’s yer uncle.

I did get a bit suspicious one time though when one of them turned up at the front door with a replacement video literally 5 minutes after me coming in the house to discover my was nicked again.

But then he explained to me all about the Heroin’s apparent clairvoyant properties.
I thought alcohol was the only drug that made you psychic. It only works if you overdose on it though.

It’s like “Fuck, I think I’m going to be sick”

And you always are of course. No matter how much you try to repress that thought.


I’ve got a lot of good memories from that street though. Well, they’re good now that I’m not living there anymore.

You know those hangover’s you get there are so unbelievably bad, you know there is no way you on God’s earth you can make it into work that day. It wouldn’t matter if someone attached electric cables to your Genitalia, there is just no way you can get out of bed, so, through no fault of your own, you’re forced to phone in sick for work.

Well, I had several of those days while living in that street.

I can remember one particular Saturday though, after phoning in sick in the morning, at around 2 o’clock in the afternoon I was feeling a bit better, and I needed some fresh air cause the house was fucking rancid with my farts. So I had no choice but to leave the house.

And because I worked for a company which employs a lot of people in the local area, I had to think ‘Where is the safest place in the world to go, where no-one will see me and ask me why I’m not at work?’

‘Ah Yes,’ I thought, ‘I’ll go and watch East Stirlingshire.’ I couldn’t believe it when I turned up and fucking Sportscenes television cameras were there!!

I was like “What the fuck?”

Sportscenes cameras up until this point were never there.

It wasn’t evan as if Rangers or Celtic were playing there that day. They were playing fucking Cowdenbeath!!

It wasn’t as if I could have hid behind any of the 10 or 12 other supporters that were there.

“Eh, excuse me mate. I’m trying to hide from the TV cameras there”
“Fuck off” would be the swift reply.

Of course these days, it won’t be long before the company you work for will have a camera in your bedroom and you’ll be forced by law to attach electric cables to your gentile before you go to bed every night and if you sleep in your boss presses a button to wake you up.

And if you’ve had too much to drink and you can’t feel the buzz then the sprinkler system which sprays mustard gas goes off. That’ll fucking get you out of bed, no matter how bad your hangover.

I’ve had some hangover’s that have been so bad, I’ve been convinced someone’s actually tried to mustard gas me in the middle of the night. Maybe that’s what this Gulf War Syndrome is. Too many late nights for oor Boys out in the desert.


I can remember watching one die-hard fan in particular at that Shire game. Cause surprise, surprise the game wasn’t up to much. Watching the crowd was much more interesting.

By, the way a die-hard supporter is not someone who goes to the cinema repeatedly to watch Bruce Willis’s latest Big Budget fiasco. It’s someone who goes to the game every week and yet refuses to kill themselves no matter how shite their team is.

But this one guy was taking it way too seriously. Every time a decision went against the Shire this guy would start screaming blue murder. It was as if he’d just found out that the match officials had gang raped his wife just before the game.

Then he started doing the strangest thing. He was wearing a very nice decent brown tweedy hat. Well, he started throwing it down and jumping up and down on it, then swearing at the referee as if the ref had just stole and cashed in his winning lottery ticket.

Which these days is worse than gang raping the wife. At least you could pay for her therapy while you drink cocktails on your new luxury boat. She would get over it eventually.

Sorry about that sweetheart babe, but at least we’re out of Firs Street.

“Aye, I suppose so”

Then this guy was at it again 2 minutes later.

‘Oh for fucks sake referee!’ Hat on the ground again.

I thought ‘This is very strange behaviour. I wonder what David Attenborough, the natural history filmmaker would make of this?’

‘And we are here today, to study the mating ritual of the die-hard East Stirling fan. These fans have to work particularly hard to attract attention to themselves because their team doesn’t score very often, thus limiting the chances of them scoring themselves.

So like a cross between a Peacock and a Gorilla they invent elaborate ways of getting noticed. This hat throwing ritual for instance may have worked in the past but none of the other members of this strange species don’t seem to be interested anymore.

I think he may need to revert to removing not only his hat and T-Shirt but also his shoes, trousers and underwear if he wants to reproduce at all this year’

The Beautiful Game, indeed..

Billy the Hibs Mascot

Billy with Hibs Players 2

Billy with Hibs Players

Billy Hibs Mascot

P.S Just in case you’re wondering Greenock Morton beat us 2-1.

Lucky white heather, eh? Not.

Nob’s Version 1

Nob’s Version 2

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