Sharely You Wouldn't Invest In Them Now

I REMEMBER, back in my youth, when the Daily Express was a serious newspaper, and had the biggest circulation in Scotland, reading an article on shares, albeit in the Sunday, rather than Daily Express.

Rangers - Once a Safe Haven For Investment Funds

 

This article stated what was then one of the golden rules of share investment – there were certain shares you had to have in your holding; they would not perform spectacularly, but, if you had holdings in Rowntree, Rolls Royce, Rangers and Marks and Spencer, you would always have share income through the end of year bonuses.

Fifty and more years on, Rowntree is owned by the Americans, Rolls Royce by the Germans, Marks and Spencer's travails are a hardy annual for financial and retail writers to exploit and Rangers, whose AGM was held in Glasgow this morning – well, best not go there.

It has seemed this season that the boys who go to work up at Auchenhowie from Monday to Friday, then strut their stuff on the park on a Saturday at Ibrox and elsewhere and involved in an: “anything you can do, I can do worser” competition with the men in the expensive suits who make the big decisions in the board room.

Of course, he has an agenda, but, Phil Four Names – the Donegal Blogger – will never be short of readers for as long as the present board are in place at the head of the marble staircase, as a source of mirth and merriment. Indeed, the morbid fear of PMGB and the rest of the Celtic Family is that the Glib and Shameless Liar and his mob will be replaced by a competent board, who will invest the necessary cash in players, managerial staff and infrastructure which will mean the pendulum of Glasgow dominance swings back to Ibrox.

To those of us whose motto is: “A Plague On Both Their Houses”, there can be no-clearer evidence of Celtic's current dominance than the two penalties which Celtic have been awarded in their last two matches, both against Motherwell.

Willie Collum - Yet Another Controversial Penalty Decision

Neither was ever a penalty, any place other than the penalty box of domestic opposition against one half of the Old Firm. Both were awarded by Elite, FIFA-roster referees. If Craig Thomson and Willie Collum ever give such decisions in major European ties, I fear they will not be much longer on the elite list.

Poor wee Jonathan Watson, he will need to source some Knights of St Columba regalia should he ever again wish to reprise his Scottish Referees meeting sketch. Both decisions stunk to high heaven.

When Celtic need such a rank rotten decision in order to maintain their impressive unbeaten domestic run, you hope, you just hope, the “diddy” teams further down the league table will get a sense of belief, and realise – they can be beaten. But, I am afraid that is something of a forlorn hope. Generations of losses, with or without the assistance of poor refereeing has produced in Scottish football a sense of inevitability for the lesser teams and entitlement to win for their Old Firm opponents.

Some day, a Sports Psychologist will get inside the heads of a team of Scottish players and the status quo will no longer pertain. Roll-on that day, when the Bigot Brothers are just another couple of teams, our game will be better for this.

It got somewhat overshadowed in the passing, and via the penalty controversy in the Motherwell v Celtic game, but, that was a good, and much-needed, win for Rangers over Aberdeen last night. Poor Graeme Murty probably went home wondering where that performance had been hiding all season.

Sadly for the players – I am certain the stenographers will be more concerned with what is, or is not said, at the AGM.

Derek McInnes - He And His Men Have An Immediate Chance Of Revenge

But, there is no let-up for the players, who have to face Aberdeen again, at Pittodrie, on Sunday. Another win like last night's and, just maybe, the recovery is on. But, what an incentive for the Dons, to put yet another bad night in Glasgow behind them on home soil.

And, just to add grist to the mill, Saturday sees Celtic v Motherwell III, this time at Celtic Park – just who is in charge of fixtures at Hampden? This reeks of overkill.

The "Always Cheated" Cheating Themselves - Surely Not

HERE in the Fellows'Common Room, within the philosophy department of the Scottish University of Sporting Comment, most of the other chaps suggest, the generally friendly discussions between myself and my rugby counterpart, that old fart Aristotle Armstrong were the basis of Robert Newman's and David Baddiel's feuding professors, with their catch-phrase of: “That's you that is.”

Craig Thomson - Not His Best Hampden Afternoon

Cannot see it myself, old Aristotle is a strange cove, but, somehow likeable. Any way, he joined me yesterday afternoon to watch the Betfred Cup Final, and, having had a fatwah declared on him by the High Heid Yins at BT Murrayfield, following some trenchant criticism of a couple of rugby referees, I was interested in what he thought of Craig Thomson's performance.

Aristotle was not impressed, and while I consider his views on football, which he refers to as Wendyball, a wee bit extreme, I have to concur with his view – Craig Thomson had a “'mare'”. In particular, his decision to award Celtic that ludicrous second-half penalty, then compound his folly by red-carding Motherwell's Cedric Kipre, for allegedly bringing down Celtic's Scott Sinclair. If Thomson had made that level of a mistake in his "day job" as a solicitor - he'd be up before the Law Society of Scotland to explain himself. In football, he will probably get a few more big games.

The red card which Australia's Sekope Kepu received in yesterday's rugby international at Murrayfield was just about the easiest ever to adjudicate on – it was an absolute stonewaller. Well Thomson's decision to send-off Kipre was one of the worst I have ever seen.

Truth be told, Thomson had a bad day, but, just as players blow hot and cold, so too do officials. He is now in his 14th season as a FIFA official, and for many of these, he was considered Scotland's top official. I am afraid, not any more; perhaps it is time for him to hang-up his whistle.

I always felt, if Motherwell hoped to win, they had to score first. They were already a goal down when Thomson suffered what we here in Ayrshire refer to as: “A rush of shite to the brain” and made his howler. After that it was game over.

Mind you, he didn't get everything wrong. I though he got it right when he took no action after Kipre won the ball off Moussa Dembele in the first half, leaving the Frenchman rolling on the floor. I thought it was a good, old-fashioned last-ditch tackle, of the kind the game's High Heid Yins seem determined to eradicate.

Analyst Terry Butcher liked it, but, was, because of modern mores, obliged to kid-on he didn't, Chris Sutton, as expected, was raging.

Still, one trophy down, two to go; 65 wins and counting; that Paris pasting didn't hold Celtic back much.

 A rare shot of Fernandinho on his feet

What a pity Thomson was unaware of an incident in the Manchester City v Huddersfield match, in which the match referee, without hesitation, and to his great credit, booked City's Brazilian Fernandinho for quite the worst “dive” I have ever seen. The Huddersfield player's foot wasn't within a foot of the City player, but, down he went, and then had the gall to be grievously offended when the ref booked him. It should be noted, both Sinclair and the Brazilian had a spell at the Ethiad. Just what do they teach them at “the noisy neighbours'” training ground – advanced referee conning?

Old Aristotle was telling me, former top rugby referee and later SRU President Allan Hosie always argued that serious foul play in rugby – no matter where on the field it was perpetrated - should be punished with a football-style penalty, from a spot in front of the posts. A bit extreme perhaps, but, in the spirit of inter-code relations, and with a view towards cutting-out diving, perhaps football should adopt a rugby punishment.

In rugby, if say, a player from side A commits a foul on an opponent, who then perhaps retaliates with a manly punch, the referee can reverse the penalty. Why doesn't football try that for “simulation”. A player, let's call him Sinclair, from a team, let's call it Celtic, “dives” inside an opponent's penalty area in an effort to win a penalty.

If the referee spots the dive, he could therefore take play to the opposite end of the park, and give the opposition, let's call them Motherwell, a penalty. I reckon this would pretty much eradicate “diving” overnight.

Old Aristotle, by the way, was pretty scathing on young master Sinclair at Hampden, pointing out, 24-hours or so earlier at Murrayfield, Scotland's Hamish Watson had taken a shoulder to the jaw from an airborne, 18-stones plus Australian, and although Watson went down – and who wouldn't; he bounced straight back up and didn't even need a wipe with a cold sponge from the physio.

Now That's What You Call A Red-Card Foul - Kepu Hits Hamish Watson

Of course, Watson is a Manchester-born Scot, Sinclair is a Bath-born Englishmen, who admits: “I felt a bit of a touch and went down”. The differing attitude to different levels of contact clearly proves that old jibe about “soft Southerners”, and also the different attitudes of the players of rugby and football.

Final word, both Chris Sutton and Neil Lennon, on media duties at Hampden, got tore into Sinclair for his blatant dive – enough said. A clear case of the “always cheated” actually cheating themselves – whaur's yer moral high ground noo?

THE RECENT bad weather meant, only ten of the scheduled 32 matches in the third round of the Scottish Junior Cup went ahead on Saturday.

Result of the day, for me, has to be Rossvale's 3-2 defeat of Aberdeen giants Banks o Dee. The Bankies' last fixture before Saturday's cup tie, was a match in THE Scottish Cup, in which they were hammered at home, by Ayr United.

Not really a surprise, but, the North Region cracks surely fancied themselves against the Bishopbriggs side, who play in the Central League, First Division. So, well done to 'Vale, who are on a good run of form just now, and pushing for promotion.

Some Of Us Might Die Laughing

I KNOW, earlier this week I headlined a blog post as: Rangers – The Gift That Keeps On Giving; but, this is getting ridiculous. At this rate, those of us around Scottish football who are not considered “Ra Peepul” will be unable to enjoy a Merry Christmas – we will be laughed-out at the continuing travails of an organisation whose sense of entitlement to superiority makes even a Tory peer at Westminster appear poor and downtrodden.

Wembley 1961, the day my Dad decided to give up going to football

My late father was for many years an Ibrox, centre stand season-ticket holder. This I should add was back in the Struth years, work and other considerations meant, he had all but stopped going to games by the time I was a teenager, in fact, though he died in 1987, the last game I can remember him actually attending was the 1961 Wembley game – 9-3 and all that.

But, from then until he died, he watched matches on TV and he had a phrase he would use, if a Rangers player on the box had a bad game - “NRC”, that stood for: “Not Rangers Class”. He might have used it often last night had he seen that game at Dundee.

There were players out there in the red change strip, men who cost, in Scottish terms, a lot of money, who would quite simply never have got through the door, other than as spectators, back in the days of Struth, Scot Symon or Willie Waddell.

Rangers today are back where they were when Graeme Souness walked into the Manager's Office back in 1986 – a long way off the pace in Scotland, far less in Europe, which is where the club aspires to be. Souness had considerable financial muscle at his disposal, plus the convenient fact, English clubs were banned from Europe, so he could recruit from that market.

Whoever is handed the poisoned chalice which managing Rangers has become, does not have money to burn, a depressed market just south of Gretna in which to shop, and a rival club across the city – pulling away from his side faster than Lewis Hamilton in his “company car” taking on a 44-tonne artic in a drag race away from traffic lights.

Happy Christmas Peepul.

ACTUALLY, Rangers' travails has been good for Scottish football. I know the churnalists and stenographers in the Glasgow-based newspapers and media outlets long for the good old days of the Old Firm going hammer and tongs for the title in a two-horse race.

Sadly, unless a fanatic with a Weir-sized Euromillions cheque burning a hole in his back pocket and an ability to convince the psychiatrists his family will doubtless call-in – no, he is not stupid – decides to invest the lot in Rangers: these days are past, and in the past they must remain.

Ten-in-a-row? Why stop there?

But, the reality is, if you leave Celtic out of the equation, the SPFL Premiership is a bloody good division. The Champions are apparently cruising clear to another title, but, behind them, there are a mere five points between second-placed Aberdeen and fifth-placed Motherwell. There are four points between St Johnstone in sixth and Ross County in ninth; while bottom team Partick Thistle are only five points, less than two wins, behind seventh=placed Hearts.

Our Sassenach neighbours, or rather their media – which is rather over-stuffed by Scots who have gone south and prospered, continually decry oor wee haund-knitted Premiership as a pallid, ginger-topped poor relation to their own multi-billion pound, tanned and coiffured, super soaraway Premier League. Actually, the Scottish top flight is a much-more competitive league than that down south, where the billionaires of Manchester City are even-further clear of the chasing pack than Celtic are up here.

Mince served-up as cordon bleu

Sure, much of what we see up here might be dismissed as “mince” by proper football experts, but, if you watch Match of the Day on a Saturday night past the first three games, you will know, there are a lot of very-well-paid professionals in the English top flight, as capable of mis-directing a pass or making a hash of the football equivalent of hitting a coo on the erse wi' a banjo, as his less-well-paid equivalent up here.

We only have two clubs being boosted by “Fans with lap tops”, in England there are half a dozen at least clubs whose media cheer-leaders repeatedly boost them. Mind you, when “The Chosen One” and his highly-paid players mess-up, they get far more stick from the media than “The Unfortunate Current Keeper Of The Flame” and his over-paid squad get up here, when, as they did last night at Dundee, they trip up.

I DID intend, at this juncture in today's post, to look forward to this afternoon's third round Scottish Junior Cup ties. But, with the current inclement weather – we have had the first snows of winter down here in the East Ayrshire hills – quite a few of the 32 scheduled ties will not take place.

We already know the Glenafton Party Army, fresh from a day out at Livingston last week which had everything but the result, will not, as planned, be heading off to party away at Guy's Meadow this afternoon. This will most-certainly not be the only game to be put back.

Look on the bright side, disappointed would-be spectators. With the Christmas season being even-more over-extended than the football one, you can all go into town and help Madam get the best of the non-bargains of Black Friday, which, like the football season, has been stretched further than Mark Yardley's shorts ever were.

McInnes Is Staying And The Stenographers Are Unhappy

I HAVE only met Derek McInnes on a handful of occasions, and he has always struck me as one of those rare footballers whose IQ is not represented by the number – ever if it was a squad one – he wore on his back. So, I am not surprised that he has apparently decided he will not be answering all those pleas and entreaties to ditch the Dons and go “home” to Rangers.

 Captain John Yossarian - or is it Derek McInnes

I have never managed to get past page ten of Joseph Heller's satirical masterpiece 'Catch 22', it simply does not do it for me. I can, however, recognise a Catch 22 situation when I see one, and McInnes is clearly in one right now – he would be mad to reject the chance to manage Rangers, but, by rejecting that opportunity, he cannot be mad, since no sane man would take-on that job at the present time.

Of course, McInnes's decision to remain with Aberdeen will not go down well with the Lap Top Loyal, look-out for some pretty snidey reports whenever Aberdeen fails to produce a performance of the level of the 1970 Brazilians, One Night In Gothenburg or Real Madrid at Hampden. The stenographers have put all that research time in, penning articles such as: “Ten things you didn't know about Derek McInnes”, and all those speculation pieces about who he was going to buy, and how he was going to restore Ra Peepul to their rightful position of all-powerful victory. What a shame.

And the disappointed foot soldiers of Lodge 1690 will not have long to wait to vent their spleen at McInnes's disgraceful decision to turn his back on Rangers, with Aberdeen stepping-out at Ibrox on Wednesday night in their next match. Really, anything less than a Dons win in that win and the petulant prose-writers of the popular press will really go to town on him – just watch.

Still, they can go back to what they do best – speculating on who will pick-up the poisoned chalice. I think Big Eck is going to suddenly be very-popular again.

Meanwhile, McInnes can get back to the big task for him, getting his team to play with something like Celtic's domestic standard and close the gap on the Champions. As PSG proved on Wednesday night, if got-at by good players, playing well, this Celtic team is vulnerable. I reckon, you don't need talent such as Neymar to get them worried – a bit of belief, and consistently good, attacking football might do the trick.

A FORMER colleague, one of those indispensable sub-editors who could make even the most prosaic prose sing, contacted me this week. Born into a Celtic family, he can, and frequently is, critical of his team, when criticism is merited. But, he is firstly a football fan – when lured away to the fleshpots of London, he got his weekly football fix by watching Arsenal – he can be something of a purist.

Gutted though he was by what one Rugby-loving Rangers supporter dubbed: “The Paris Sevens” in midweek, he was realist enough to appreciate the huge gulf in quality between the two clubs. He then regurgitated that old saw, the only hope for Celtic is to get into the English Premiership.

“Dream on”, I told him. That will not happen, unless FIFA really puts the foot down and insists, since English, Northern Irish, Scottish and Welsh-born players all travel on a United Kingdom passport and generally play for UK-based teams, then the four individual national FAs would have to close down, to be replaced by a single UKFA.

The knock-on effect of that would be, a single UK-wide league structure would require to be formed, and, under such a structure, there is no way Celtic would be outside the top flight, and therefore having immediate access to the billions which BT, Sky and every other media mogul insists on throwing at the Premiership.

That Premiership Door Isn't Going To Open Any Time Soon

But, that isn't going to happen any time soon – more-so since, with this Tory government stumbling from crisis to crisis, there is more likelihood of the UK splitting-up than growing as a stronger unitary entity. So, what are Celtic to do?

Regular readers of this blog may recall, old Socrates here is a member of the Baby Boomer generation. We didn't have CeeBeebies, or Children's Television for more than one hour per day. We didn't have comic strips, really – but we had the excellent DC Thomson comics, such as Wizard, Hotspur, Rover and Adventure – which had stories you were required to READ.

Many of these stories were about sports heroes – the 200-year-old super athlete, Wilson, who lived in a cave on the North Yorkshire moors, drank the elixir of eternal life and, clad in his black combinations, won more Olympic medals than Chris Hoy, Steve Redgrave and Usain Bolt combined. The other great athlete was Alf Tupper - “The Tough of the Track”, a plumber and welder who could have come off a 12-hour night shift in a shipyard and shown Seb Coe and Steve Ovett a dirty pair of heels, his greatness achieved on a diet of fish and chips and Vimto.

Then there were the footballers – my own hero, goalkeeper Bernard Briggs, who only ever conceded one goal, caught-out sneezing to miss a shot in the pre-match warm-up; midfield maestro “Limp Along Leslie”, a shepherd by day, born with one leg shorter than the other but, Messi-like in his influence; and Nick Smith, a veteran player-manager, who, with his faithful midfield partner, the “gritty” (he kicked people) Arnold Tabbs, specialised in taking over struggling Third Division (League One) clubs and turning them around so they won the FA Cup.

Forgive this somewhat lengthy diversion, time to get to the point. There were others, and I am sure, although the old memory is going, there was one tale of a team manager with accountancy skills, who insisted, so-long as you scored three goals per game, you could not be beaten.

Incentiivise Winning By Three Goals And Keeping Clean Sheets

Well, there's a possible way of getting the improvement out of the Celtic team which might see them reaching the sharp end of the Champions League. Brendan Rodgers should insist, in domestic Scottish matches – anything less than a win by three clear goals, for his Celtic team, is to be considered at best a 0-0 draw. No bonuses in domestic games unless they score at least three goals, and fines for conceding goals.

That way, they would earn their corn, be mentally sharp and up for the challenge, or, they would lose money. Make them work for their big money Brendan.

Who knows, it could kick-on into better European performances.

Whit Aboot It - Celtic Got Their Erses Skelped

I DARE SAY we will see a major outbreak of “Whitabootery” as Ra Peepul's keyboard warriors division – not to be confused with the Lap Top Loyal by the way – get their teeth into Celtic's 7-1 loss at Paris St Germain.

 Shell-shocked, no other words needed

True it is as yet only the single-digit IQ'd Peepul who have rushed to gloat, more-sensible members of the opposition tribe are well aware, bad though a 1-7 reverse makes Celtic look, they are still the length of Argyll Street better than their traditional opponents across the city.

I can see a rush on PSG replica shirts, as the new “must have” fashion accessory for Ibrox, while I suspect Ra Peepul's top songwriters are already busy with a celebratory ditty to mark Paris under the floodlights.

Aye well, whatever it takes to get you through the night. But, what does it say about the state of Scottish football, that Celtic, seemingly invincible in the Scottish game, can be so-far off the pace in Europe.

Supposedly, you get what you pay for, and while Celtic's squad salary total is by far the biggest in Scotland – compared to PSG's, Celtic are the cash-strapped country cousins. But, as has been proved time and again in football, having the highest-paid players or being the richest club is no guarantee of winning the major trophies.

Certainly, Celtic are still favourites to pip Anderlecht for the Europa League place, by finishing third in their group, but, if they are to survive and prosper, even in the lower level of that league, Celtic will certainly have to defend better than they did in Paris.

The other kind of keyboard warrior – such as your average LTL foot soldier – will no doubt come up with the usual “Jackie Baillie”. “Everyone knows Celtic need a central defender capable of operating at Champions League level”. “The quality gap between the domestic game and Europe was again exposed.” Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera” – as old Yul Brynner used to say in the role which made him.

All true, but, how do you justify paying such a player Champions League wages on Scottish League income? And, how is he meant to maintain Champions League intensity when playing in a league in which, Celtic could well include three of their Under-15 team every week and still win?

Maybe it's time the SFA set-up another think tank or high-level review body, to come-up with an expensively-worked-out report as to why Scottish football is seen as shite – a report they can then throw into the same cupboard as all the other think tank and review body reports which, over the past decades, have endeavoured to show: Well Scottish football isn't really shite – it is just perceived as such and there's not much wrong that a wee bit of cosmetic tinkering could not make worse.

I had to laugh in the build-up at the newspaper pieces proudly declaiming – Celtic had something PSG could never have – History. Three responses to that:

1. Your history is behind you, seen through a rear-view mirror, and the view is always bigger and better through the windscreen in front of you.
2. The best bit of Celtic's history is now 50-years out of date.
3. Go and read 'Ozymandias', by Percy Bysse Shelley.

I HAVE been interested in football's attitude to the on-going trial of television replays of contentious match incidents, something long established in the likes of rugby, cricket and tennis.

The Hand of God, but, would a TMO have definitely said: "No Goal"?

Some say this will eradicate such incidents as England' still dispute third goal in the 19 World Cup Final, or Maradona's “Hand of God” goal in Mexico 198. Mind you, from a Scottish perspective, Geoff Hurst's Wembley shot never crossed the line – it was that obvious, while the ball played wee Diego, rather than him playing the ball. Don't now what the fuss was all about.

Any way, as anyone who watched Scotland's agonising loss to the All Blacks on Saturday is aware by now – asking the Television Match Official – the TMO – to intervene, doesn't always clarify matters. Take the incident when Stuart Hogg was taken-out in mid-air by one of the All Blacks. Initially, the match referee was thinking of a yellow card, which is the normal, minimum sanction for such a challenge, but, the TMO allegedly talked him out of this action, rightly in my view, arguing that Scotland scrum-half Ali Price got in the way, and thus, the All Black hit Hoggie fractionally before his feet touched the ground. Not such a serious hit – so a penalty only.

Now, had Price not been there, the hit would have been earlier, and at the very least, the All Black player would have seen yellow, more likely red – but, the argument is still raging four days on. Then there was the incident when Scotland were pressing, and All Black captain Kieran Reid slapped the ball out of Jonny Gray's hand, with the line gaping – thereby saving a seemingly-certain try.

The referee, in spite of the entreaties of the Scotland players, refused to bring-in the TMO, if he had, Reid would certainly have got a yellow card, and Scotland would almost-certainly have been awarded a match-winning Penalty Try. But, the TMO wasn't called in.

There were also a couple of disputed calls in the England v Australia match. So, the message to football is – by all means introduce TMOs, but, the human element is still in there, and the system is not fool-proof – far less, Willie Collum or Andrew Dallas-proof.

Rangers - The Never-Ending Story That Keeps On Giving

ONE OF my fellow “coffin dodgers” is “An Ayr United Supporter”, who only ever wants to talk about Celtic. He keeps accusing me of being “A Hun”, and suggests I only ever blog about Ra Peepul.

Graham Spiers - if he doesn't get a move on, I might have to write the book

 

I naturally reject this scurrilous affront to my bad name – the thing is, Rangers is the gift which keeps on giving. The Donegal Blogger did, of course, cover the events leading up to Rangers' liquidation in his book 'Downfall'. The trouble was, he hired the wrong Editor and what should have been a total page-turned became all but unreadable. I had hoped a good sports writer, such as my old mates Graham Spiers or Roddy Forsyth might have taken-up the baton and written the definitive version of events, but, I still wait. I may have to do it myself.

The thing is, the Rangers story – Downfall and Beyond, might well be renamed: “The Never-Ending Story”; closure seems a long, long way away, and, when you see the mess the guys in the Blue Room continue to make of reviving the club, that is an awful long way indeed.

Any way, right now, the big issue down Edmiston Drive way is apparently, who is next to pick-up the poisoned chalice as Manager. I stand by my assertion, nobody in their right mind would touch this club, but, given football managers, like gym teachers, are believed to wear their IQ on their back, a useful idiot will step forward.

Since the last Right Worthy Master of the Lap Top Loyal came to his senses and decamped for a new life in Canada, the top job in the so-called Lodge 1690 has been held by a young man who is, from my experience – a zealot. Right now, his desperation to see Derek McInnes installed in the office at the top of the marble staircase is so painfully evident, I worry for his sanity.

 Derek McInnes - the Lap Top Loyal seem desperate to see him at Ibrox

Mind you, not as much as I would worry for McInnes's sanity, were he to take the job. I reckon, another two blank seasons and the lingering aura of greatness which surrounds the Ibrox club might well be broken. Managing Rangers is not, at present, a job with long-term prospects.

The club is skint; they do not have a credit line from a bank; keeping the lights on is reliant on loans from Directors and well-heeled fans; the Chairman is a Glib and Shameless Liar; and many of the players are not Rangers class. The club is living beyond its means, repeating past mistakes. No, if I was a top manager, I would not consider going there.

THIS BLOG'S assertion that football in Scotland, be it the Association or Rugby Union code, is fatally-undermined and held-back by the national obsession with “Aye Beenism”. In spite of our seeming aversion to the political term Conservative, Scotland is a deeply conservative nation.

Thus, clinging to the hackneyed phrase: “the glamour (or magic) of the cup”, we continue, as we did yesterday, to see an all-in draw for the William Hill Scottish Cup. I don't thnk this is right in the 21st century.

Genuine cup magic - Sammy Reid shoots past Norrie Martin back in 1967

I will tell you what the magic of the Cup is – it is Berwick Rangers beating The Rangers, Clyde beating Celtic, Albion Rovers turning over Motherwell. Giant-killing is what sells, and, to ensure giant-killing, you have to keep the giants apart.

Look at yesterday's fourth-round cup draw: 16 ties, 32 clubs, with the top 16 clubs in Scotland coming in to join the 16 winners from round three. Now, in almost any other sport you could name, at such a juncture, the organisers would move heaven and earth to ensure, the top 16 were kept apart. In tennis, for instance, with its long-established seeding system, you would never see the third and seventh seeds being drawn together at the last-32 stage. But, that's what we have in the Scottish Cup, with Hearts and Hibs paired. Similarly, the pairing of the ninth and tenth seeds – Ross County and Kilmarnock and the fifth and eighth seeds – Motherwell and Hamilton – simply could not happen at this juncture.

Sure, there is the prospect of “cup magic” with Celtic hosting Brechin and Fraserburgh entertaining Rangers, but, I feel it would be better if the SFA would embrace seeding fully. This would mean the wee clubs could have a crack at the big boys more-often, and with the Premier League sides' bigger followings, the money would be spread about a bit.

THE CHURNALISTS on Scotland's sports desks are currently a wee bit obsessed with the possibility of Celtic going on to win ten Scottish League titles in a row, yet, curiously ambivalent about the fact, Glasgow City have just clocked-up eleven in a row.

Of course, City is “a bunch of lassies” and women's fitba is not the real thing. Except, for the past few seasons, with very-little backing or media attention, Scotland's women football players have been showing up the men. Well, they would have, had the Scottish Football Writers Association not – with one or two honourable exceptions - contrived to largely ignore the women's game.

So, well-done City, who are, with Partick Thistle and Queens Park, the acceptable face of the beautiful game in the first football city of the world.

Eddie Wolecki-Black - back in the game after his near-fatal stroke

And while on the subject of women's football, good luck to former City manager Eddie Wolecki-Black, who is back in the game with Motherwell Ladies. Eddie, of course, guided City to four domestic Trebles in four years, then switched to men's football with Airdrie. However, he had barely got his feet under the table at Broomfield (or whatever they are calling the ground this season), when he suffered a near-fatal stroke.

It's great to see him back and well done to Alan Burrows at Fir Park for offering him a way back.