The Lions of Barcelona

[minisav]

Great stuff as per

Keep it up

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, minisav ... hope to keep you reading for awhile yet

___

My drive to Murray Park this morning was uneventful. I wish I could say the same for the rest of the day.

Murray Park is an Advocaat invention. During the heady days a few seasons back he wanted the team to have its own training base, like many bigger clubs throughout Europe. So, Murray Park, which is not coincidentally named after our chairman, was built. I have always enjoyed the surroundings of our state-of-the-art facility.

And since David paid the freight for it, he didn’t think anyone would mind if he took the naming rights for himself. I guess I can understand that.

So now we have a large, mostly new, training facility located on Auchenhowie Road in Milngavie (somehow pronounced by the locals as “Mill-Guy.”) It’s on the northwest side of the city, about twenty minutes by car from the Ibrox district and about ten minutes from my home.

Driving there after staying up a bit late with Heather on the phone last night, I entered the manager’s office to find my message light flashing.

It was a message from the media department, telling me that a reporter had overheard that David Murray was making squad selection decisions for me.

“Be prepared for questions,” the message said. “The story, which will run in Scotland on Sunday, says that Sir David has directed you to field an all-Scottish squad whenever possible and that you have agreed to this direction.”

My face went pale. The story would be substantially correct, of course, and what it will also do is establish me as some sort of stooge if the matter isn’t handled honestly and correctly.

We want to win with Scottish players. That much is beyond dispute. But the way the story is reported will be all-important. So I asked for some time with the chairman as my first order of business upon arrival today.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I realized how powerless I truly am right away. Murray and I talked about the pending interview and story, and how he plans to handle it.

“We want to win with Scottish players, as you know,” he said. “Of course, if we are asked about it, we will say that we intend to win matches with the best players our nation can provide. You, for your part, have agreed to this. That is the simple truth.”

“But of the thought that you are telling me who to play?” I asked.

“Of course that isn’t true,” he said. “A simple look at the Champions League qualifying squads will put the lie to that sort of thing. It is of vital financial importance to this club that we reach Europe and due to the injuries you face in the senior squad, we have no option but to play a group of players who are international by culture but who share a love for Rangers FC.”

“No option?” I asked. “That phrasing seems to be a tripwire.”

“Look, Phil,” the chairman said kindly, “there is a group of media in this country to whom we cannot possibly say the right thing. There is a group of people in this country to whom Celtic cannot possibly say the right thing. We are working to eradicate that kind of thinking. So we simply must tell the truth. You were hired with the idea of winning with an all-Scottish eleven. There is nothing wrong with that kind of philosophy. Clubs like Bilbao have playing home-grown squads for years.”

That’s true. They have. However, they aren’t in the media microscope that we are here in Glasgow.

“This worries me,” I said. “I have to admit it.”

“Phil, you built a reputation at this club by not being scared of what anyone thought of you. Remember that?”

I nodded.

“Good man,” Murray said. “Remember – you are here to do a job. While the job is being done, you will have my full backing. You’re finding that the microscope you’re under while managing this club is pretty constricting. You’re doing fine. This too shall pass.”

Yet as I headed to run training, I kept having this feeling of impending disaster. Murray may have my back now – but if the reaction is adverse, for how long will I enjoy that backing?

# # #

[gavrenwick]

Continues to thoroughly impress as a read

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks, Gav! I do appreciate it

___

“So, is it true?”

It was the moment of truth. I was taken aside by reporter David MacMurray after my regular media gaggle – after all, The Scotsman didn’t want anyone stealing its scoop on Rangers – and I knew what to say.

“Our goal is to win with Scottish players,” I said. “That was expressed to me by the chairman the day before I was hired. But I think it’s obvious from the squads and the selections I have made in our matches to this point that I have the freedom to choose my own squad. We do feel that we have the best talent in Scotland playing for us – I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that – but we do have the ability to choose players from all over the world in our starting eleven.”

MacMurray looked at me like he didn’t believe what I was saying. “DaMarcus Beasley is a decent winger,” I said. “He’s an international player and he is contracted to this club. He’s on the bench for the next game because he’s coming back from injury, but Sir David hasn’t said word one to me about whether he plays or not. Maurice Edu will contend for my holding midfielder role as soon as he returns from the Olympics – another American player.”

“Look, we have a goal here,” I said. “We are the most honoured team in Scotland in terms of league championships and for years that has been done with a lot of Scottish players. When Graeme Souness was here, when Dick Advocaat was here, when Paul LeGuen was here, we bought a lot of players from the Continent. We were raked over the coals for it – they were too expensive, they were English, they strayed from our Scottish heritage. Well, now we are looking at how this policy has affected this club. I should think that you can’t have it both ways – if we buy Scottish we are guilty of tunnel vision and if we buy European and North American, we’re turning our backs on what made Rangers great. I can’t stand for that sort of talk and you need to know that.”

“No one said anything about that,” MacMurray said in a defensive tone.

“Why else would you be asking me this question?” I said. “Look, places like Bilbao have developed home-grown talent for years. We have Murray Park, we have about a hundred schoolboys from ages 11 to 18 playing for us and our intention is to develop them so they can someday play or contend for the Rangers first team.”

“Should I not play John Fleck because he’s Scottish?” I challenged. “Tell me I shouldn’t do that. How about the others on my youth team? There are several of them who can sit on the substitute’s bench right now. And why would the SPL require three u-21s – who are Scottish players at most every team in this league – were it not for their desire to see teams develop home-grown talent? Why would Rangers be any different?”

“The story here is that your chairman is telling you to play Scottish players,” MacMurray said, regaining some of his challenging tone.

“The story here is that Rangers FC is returning to its roots,” I said. “We have a number of talented players from around the world on this roster and no one is going to tell me which of them plays and which of them sits. Sir David runs the club – but I am the manager.”

# # #

[The-Perfect-Fm'er!]

Brilliant read!

[BobBev]

The challenge, as I read it, is to win a European trophy with an all-Scottish team. I'm interpreting this to mean that I can play non-Scottish players in the league.

10-3 - the original challenge was indeed to win a European trophy with a Scottish squad but in the small print that meant that every match that was played during that season - league, domestic cups and European - had to use an all-Scots squad. The ultimate challenge was to repeat Celtic's achievement of winning every competition that they entered in that glorious season. However you can interpret this framework in any way you wish, as long as you continue to enthrall us with your excellent writing.

[tenthreeleader]

Bob, thanks for the clarification ... with all the injuries Rangers have at the moment I don't see how I can play any other way. But obviously this means Lions will be at least a two-season story

___

Wednesday, August 13

Rangers v Rapid Wien – Champions League Qualifier, First Leg

Lee McCulloch is about as popular among some Rangers supporters as Neil Lennon.

Okay, maybe it’s not that bad, but to call Lee ‘much maligned’ would be an understatement. Some Rangers supporters might call it an insult to malignancy.

The Land of 50,000 Managers was in full voice tonight for the first leg of our final qualifier against the visitors from Vienna. I’m in a quandary again – we have Hearts at Ibrox on Saturday and those Scotsmen who aren’t already on my injury list are resting for the league match. So when some of the faithful heard Lee's name announced in the eleven, they let me know they didn't appreciate my selection.

That was unfortunate. I can still call on a decent squad, of course, and Lee is certainly in that mix. But as we were the heavy favourites for this match I was able to try a few new things – with the goal of keeping the ball out of our net, of course.

One thing I’m finding out so far is that in spite of all our perceived shortcomings, we do appear to be reasonably difficult to score against. I won’t say I mind that, especially in the first-leg-at-home European tie in which we found ourselves.

Of course, fans don’t always see it that way. They were baying for us to start making Viennese sausage from the opening kickoff, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest.

I didn’t really blame them, and as McCoist and I sat on the bench watching the action over the opening minutes, we listened to the fans getting more and more impatient.

I liked our start. I liked how we were starting to break them down almost immediately, with Boyd at the heart of everything. That in itself was not only a welcome change, it was a necessity.

“Look at Boydie,” McCoist said as the striker whizzed a powerful header just wide of Raimund Hedl’s left post. “Made some space for himself. He’s working.”

I nodded. “That he is,” I said. Tonight he was paired opposite Miller as my first-choice strike pairing got a full runout in front of some players who frankly weren’t my first choices. But that is the price you pay for fixture congestion.

“I can see that thrills you,” he smiled.

“The ball isn’t in the net yet,” I said, stating the obvious as I leaned back in my seat.

“Hard-arse,” he replied, with a rueful smile.

“Hey, I’m the guy who needs results,” I said, defending myself. And as I did, we got a goal from the unlikeliest of sources.

At least to some. It was McCulloch, crossing from the left for Boyd only to see the ball miss the striker’s head and Hedl’s outstretched left arm, crashing home on 35 minutes to put us into the lead.

Just like that, the “Ibrox Roar” was back, the crowd of just under 49,000 was up, waving flags and singing, and it was the burst of energy that we needed. Rapid Wien was on its heels and we were, at least for the time being, in the ascendancy.

The old American saying goes that there are two things you should never watch: a law being passed and sausage being made. Neither activity is especially pretty and for the rest of the first half, we put our visitors squarely under the cosh. When the halftime whistle blew it was still 1-0, but I felt a lot better about that lead than I had about some others already this season.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The surprise of the second half, for the fans, wasn’t that McCulloch continued his fine play. For the more cynical, it was that Kris Boyd finally got untracked.

He has had his doubters – including me, at times – but the second half showed why he is the most talented – and most enigmatic – striker in the country.

Working with Miller, Boyd found his form early in the half. With Kenny doing the running, Boyd found space in the heart of the Vienna defense and before long he was creating havoc.

The visitors couldn’t account for both of them – which, in the end, was how it was supposed to work – and it was only a matter of time before one of them scored.

Turned out it was Boyd, to the delight of the bench. The entry ball was very nice, from Davis, and Boyd made no mistake. Despite what people might think of him as a worker, there is no more skilled finisher in Scotland and he showed it in spades, working the ball from Hedl’s left to his right and toying with the keeper before slotting home just after the hour.

The second goal really opened things up for us, and to avoid being routed Rapid soon focused on packing men deep and trying to hold down the score. That was the perfect turn of events for me, who was naturally worried about an away goal.

While celebrating Boyd’s goal, McCoist put his finger on the whole crux of the problem surrounding our striker.

“Why can’t he do that all the time?” McCoist said.

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question,” I said, looking over at him from my seat on the bench.

“Naturally,” he smiled.

We watched Boyd, now buoyed by his goal, creating real problems for the visitors. While the faithful screamed for a third goal that would virtually kill off the tie, we contrived to figure out how to avoid scoring it.

McCulloch made a stirring charge from the left wing position to veer onto a cross provided by Miller – leading me to remark that the whole play was bass-ackwards – only to head over from a range of about five feet shortly after Boyd’s goal.

“Tell me I didn’t just see that,” I sighed, as the ball ballooned gracefully over the goal, while McCulloch buried his head in his hands.

“Aye, ye did,” several different players chimed in with a smile. They could afford to smile due to the score, but a quick look down the bench shut up the laughter. The game wasn’t yet won.

Soon, however, it was. It was dry as dust the rest of the way, but the tie was soon half in the bag.

Rangers 2 (McCulloch 35, Boyd 60)

Rapid Wien 0

A – 48,911, Ibrox Stadium, Glasgow

Man of the Match – Raimund Hedl, Rapid Wien

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“Yes, I thought I’d come up to see you. Would that be all right?”

Big, supposedly tough football types aren’t supposed to feel their hearts do little flip-flops in their chests at the thought of a lady coming to visit. So much for that misnomer.

Heather’s words warmed my heart. I really do miss her and with a few days to spare before more preliminary work on the film, the thought of having her in Glasgow for even a couple of evenings together really made me smile.

I’ve been locked in on my work, of course, but last time I checked I was still a human being. I miss her. And I was glad, in a way, to hear that she misses me.

“That would be amazing,” I said. “I’ll get a room for you in Glasgow – quietly of course – and maybe we can spend some time together.”

“That’s why I’m coming to see you, silly,” she giggled. “I know people there and I’m sure you don’t need to find me a place to stay.”

“Yeah, but can they keep their eyes closed?” I teased, and she laughed out loud in reply.

“Naughty boy, Phil,” she said, in a ‘tut-tut’ sort of fashion.

“Sorry. I’m a footballer. We can’t help it.”

“Will you have much time?”

“We play Hearts at Ibrox this weekend,” I said. “The days are going to be busy but the evenings will be my own. Can you stay for the match?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she answered. “I like watching you work. I liked watching you work as a player and I don’t mind it either when you’re wearing a suit on the touchline.”

“You’re going to make me start to like this job,” I teased. “That’s dangerous.”

“Something tells me you already do,” she said. “Just wait until I get there. Your personal morale is going to get a boost!”

“I’m not sure I can stand that much good fortune,” I mused.

“Get used to it,” she answered. “You can’t stay down on yourself forever. I happen to love you, mister. So get ready.”

# # #

[minisav]

Great stuff as always

Keep it up

[JamboJen]

Can't even pretend to want Phil to win the next match!

How did Hearts get on against Motherwell? Hopefully we can give you a run for your money.

:D:D

Great writing as always 10/3.

[tenthreeleader]

Jen, in today's JamboReport, I am pleased to state that Hearts defeated Motherwell 2-0 behind goals from Lee Wallace and Jamie Mole before an enthusiastic crowd of 17,049 at Tynecastle. That said, we're gonna have to take yer measure at Ibrox.

___

It was a quiet evening. I sat in my living room watching television and before long couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. I dreamed happily of Heather and when my phone rang at 10:00 it shook me out of a sound sleep.

It was her. “I missed you, sweetie,” she said.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I fell asleep,” I said. “I had a pretty big dinner with the assistants tonight after we talked and I just couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

She laughed. “You’re a big guy,” she said. “You need lots of fuel. Now if you were a wisp like me, you wouldn’t have that trouble.”

“I love that wisp,” I replied immediately, knowing she would appreciate my words.

“I am so glad you do,” she said, e-mailing me a picture of her taken on the set today during her lighting test. “I thought you might like to have something new of me today.”

“Every day,” I said. “The more the merrier.”

In front of me sat a preliminary scouting report for Hearts. They’ve got a couple of players I wouldn’t mind having – Berra and Stewart being the two – but with the issue of money we face, neither one of them are affordable at the moment.

It’s a far cry from the Souness and Advocaat days, where there were millions available for stars from England or wherever else they decided he wanted to look. I have a mandate as well, which is to buy Scottish. So the players that were so attractive to purchase in the days of Lovenkrands, Gascoigne, Butcher and Klos aren’t available to me now.

It’s a bit daunting. So to think about it – and to think about how in the hell I’m going to manage to get the players I need if we don’t wind up in the Champions League – made my head hurt.

So I flipped the Blackberry back on and looked at Heather’s picture. It soothed my spirit, even if my mind was still racing a mile a minute.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

For crying out loud, she was hardly off the airplane.

Somehow the tabloid press had found out where we were and were shouting questions at my girlfriend before she had even made her way to the exit, where my car waited to take us back to my home for the evening.

“Can you confirm the reports we’re hearing that Paulina Fuller has had more personal contact with you?”

Now Heather stopped and looked at me. I wanted to know this answer too. She had told me about Paulina sending pictures of me to Heather’s address in London, but if there had been additional contact since then, Heather hadn’t shared it with me. It was a hell of a ‘welcome back’, I had to admit, but I wanted to know this answer.

I looked at her, not with an expression of apprehension but one of faith, and she didn’t disappoint me.

“She did try to contact me through my agent, yes,” she said. “I wish it to be known that I neither solicited nor desired this contact. She did not speak directly with me and even if she had, I can make up my own mind. I don’t know if she decided that Phil should never be allowed to be happy or what is on her mind, but I want nothing to do with it. I meant what I told Des Wilkinson on Friday – I love this man deeply and we are going to make a go of it.”

With that, she looked at me. “Ready, darling?” she asked, and I couldn’t help but grin.

I squeezed her hand. “Whenever you are,” I replied, and together we walked to the baggage claim.

# # #

It was starting to rain as I merged onto the Trans-Clyde Expressway and back toward the northwestern part of the city and home. I pulled the top over the Spider as we left the car park.

“She tried to contact you,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you know about this but we didn’t talk and I figured I’d tell you personally. I hadn’t banked on the press knowing about it.”

“Someone is leaking Paulina’s activity to them,” I said, stating the obvious.

“I’d like to know who because I’d like to take it out of their hide,” Heather answered, with as close to a snarl as I’ve ever seen pass her lovely lips.

“Baby, it’s okay,” I said, reaching for her hand. “I would like to think I know you a little bit by now and I know you wouldn’t deliberately hurt me. I know you’re loyal to me, and you told the entire country about it on live television last week. Right now all I want to do is concentrate on loving you for a few days to let you know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”

She looked over at me. “I’m so glad we found each other,” she said quietly.

“I can’t tell you how strongly I agree,” I said, now squeezing her hand. “I feel like I’m alive again and there’s more to life than just football.”

“You must have been in a pretty deep shell,” she observed.

“That’s a good way to put it,” I agreed. “Paulina just wiped me out. At the end it was so negative.”

“But you dated other women,” she said. “That much is pretty plain from the pictures.”

“Yes, I did,” I said. “I mean, I had to at least try to rebuild my life. I met some nice people but I never met anyone who seemed seriously interested in hooking up with me, if you know what I mean.”

“I can’t imagine why,” she replied. “Someone who looks like you and has your reputation should have been a target.”

“That’s just it – my reputation,” I said. “She made sure I didn’t have a reputation when she was done with me. Nobody I wanted to be around would have anything to do with me for years afterwards. You can understand why I’d be a bit sensitive about that.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

This morning, she was my guest – very quietly – at training.

I took her inside the club offices, and up the marble staircase, to meet my co-workers at Ibrox before heading back out to Murray Park. They were all most interested to meet the Hollywood star Heather Middleton, and she made a most welcome splash.

Even my chairman came out to see Heather, though they had met before. I explained that I would like to have her at training as my guest for the morning session and he nodded.

“No harm in that,” he said, knowing that we entertain guests of board members virtually every day in training sessions. “You know the rules.”

I nodded. “I do, but it’s just for the morning,” I said. “We have a light workout scheduled for today in any event.”

Murray smiled in reply. “Very good,” he answered. “Miss Middleton, would you care to join us for lunch in the board room today? Feel free to bring your significant other.”

I laughed out loud – my relationship with Sir David still allows me to laugh and joke around others – and Heather giggled in reply.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” she answered, and he headed back to his office.

With that, it was back to the training ground. I showed Heather to the guest lounge while I headed to the changing room to get into my workout kit.

As it was raining, I wore a waterproof slick top and shorts, not what I would have preferred to wear on an August morning. But you do what you have to.

I also gave in to the current “initials” craze, and allowed mine to be impressed upon my warmup top. It’s all the rage for staff to have their initials embroidered on their kit. Players, of course, have had their names on their shirts for years, so some bright boy at Nike figured staff needed the same.

For some people, it’s an ego trip. For me, it’s an annoyance. I know my own name, I expect my players to know who I am, and if the press can’t figure it out I’ll be more than happy to teach them.

I donned my workout top, sighed as I viewed “PS” upside down on my right breast, and tied my boots to head out to the training pitch.

Since it was wet, I checked to see that I had the longer 5/8-inch studs on my boots, and headed outside. I like to be the first on my staff to the training ground which usually puts me in competition with Ian Durrant, another Rangers favorite and one of my first team coaches.

Iain was a defender of note and a teammate of mine for two years. Today, he was first to the ground and he was crowing like a rooster at beating the gaffer.

“Fine, get wetter than me if you want,” I smiled at him, and he just sort of shook his head. Iain is a good coach but by comparison to the rest of my staff he is rather dramatically underpaid. I have discussed this with the board and they are aware of it, but he’s been asked to wait for his raise until the budgets are a little better sorted. And out of loyalty to the club, Iain has agreed.

You can’t buy that kind of loyalty. It has to be earned. Iain earned a hell of a lot more money when he was playing, and he knows it. But he’s a Light Blue to his fingertips and he won’t do anything that will cause trouble for his beloved club. I admire that kind of dedication and make it a point to praise my coaches when they show loyalty to the badge.

I walked to the pitch and there was Heather, sitting in a covered viewing stand, unconcerned by the rain. I smiled at her and approached quickly before starting the workout.

“Sorry to keep you out here in the rain,” I said, and she merely smiled.

“It’s a warm rain and you look gorgeous just a little bit damp,” she giggled, making me blush yet again. “I don’t mind.”

I really didn’t know what to say, so I smiled at her and quietly excused myself to run my training session. She watched, with apparent interest, but the senior players gave anecdotal evidence of what can happen on a training ground when things are going well.

The players were having fun today. It was a relaxed training session by a team that is winning matches. While doing the drills, you could hear the players chiding each other, riding those players who were either too cocky or for whatever reason annoying their teammates.

The banter was light, more than a little bawdy, and some of the things heard made me blush for Heather and our other guests, sitting barely within earshot. Finally, I approached Miller.

“Kenny, let’s tone down the banter a bit,” I said. “The board have guests here today and we want to put out a good face.”

“And your missus is here too,” he laughed, and I nodded ruefully.

“I’ll handle Heather,” I said. “I just don’t want the board mad at me for the players getting out of hand.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I’ll tell ‘em to quit bumpin’ their gums.”

“Not that, Kenny,” I said. “I just don’t want it X-rated.”

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I called the workout to an end just before noon so the players could eat lunch. I then retired to the board room after taking a towel and a comb to my hair to remove the effects of the morning’s rain.

“Sorry to be so soggy,” I said, as I entered the room. “Scottish rain does that.”

“So does rain everywhere,” Murray smiled, and I couldn’t argue with him. At that moment, my beautiful companion entered the room and I rose to greet her.

“Well, how did you like the training?” I asked.

“Not bad,” she smiled. “The players sure seem frisky today.”

I blushed. Obviously I had cautioned Miller too late.

“Nothing I haven’t heard before, though,” she quickly added, knowing Murray and several board members could overhear her.

“They’re in good spirits,” I said. “That does happen when you’re on a winning streak.”

We sat to lunch and to no one’s surprise, Heather was the main topic of conversation. Her celebrity is growing by leaps and bounds since she signed the contract and to have her in a situation where she wasn’t surrounded by handlers was rare indeed. So my board members and their guests got a very nice opportunity for time with a movie star and she effortlessly obliged them.

She wound up signing about twenty autographs as well, while I looked on with pride. I don’t get many autograph requests and the only one the board seemed to care about was my signature on a contract for this season.

But today was about Heather – and that was fine with me.

# # #

[mark wilson27]

What can I say really tenthree, your an example that all newbies should look too. pure class mate

[tenthreeleader]

Mark, all I can say is thank you for your kind words. I appreciate the loyal readership of everyone who takes the time to read my work and it's great to hear that you're still enjoying this!

___

The matchups between the teams from Glasgow and Edinburgh are always fun. I enjoy the challenge that the capital teams offer even though they’re banana skins, putting me in the company of some of our more perpetually nervous supporters in that belief. With Hearts the visitor, we were in for a rough go and a competitive game.

At home, though, we had every right to feel confident against a team that, though talented, has other things on its mind. Finances have been an issue there in recent weeks, with a rather heavy debt owed by the team’s controversial chairman, Vladimir Romanov.

Of course, the official name of the club is Heart of Midlothian FC, and since Scotland’s capital city is in the middle of County Midlothian, that makes perfect sense.

What hasn’t made sense, frankly, is Romanov. He’s easily the most controversial figure in Scottish football, with his Roman Abramovich-like attitude and win-at-all-costs mentality. Fans do like board chairmen who share their passion and commitment for the club, but Romanov has raised more than a few eyebrows in the past.

Soon after taking charge, he publicly accused the officials of backing Celtic and Rangers, which frankly is an opinion that many in Scotland do hold. Those of us in the Old Firm naturally hold the opposite view – we often feel it’s tougher to get a call because we are who we are.

But Romanov’s position isn’t one a board chairman is supposed to hold, at least not in public, and as a result his wallet was £10,000 lighter for comments detrimental to the game.

He has a go at whomever he feels like roasting, and it doesn’t matter who that person is. He’s ruthless with his managers, with his playing staff, and with his back room. There is only one thing that matters to Vladimir Romanov – getting to where the Old Firm presently is.

So to see his team warming up on the opposite end of the Ibrox pitch told me that we were in for a struggle.

I say that because in my mind the side is Romanov’s – not his manager’s.

# # #

[JamboJen]

It seems to have taken you a long time to get to the match tenthree, are you trying to delay the pain as much as possible?!

'Mon the JTs!

[gavrenwick]

Great writing as ever. Followed this from the beginning and its always a great read. Im sure you have heard this countless number of times, but keep it up tenthree.

[minisav]

Tremendous stuff The way you write is an inspiration. I'm taking notes.

[tenthreeleader]

JamboJen, gav, minisav, thank you very much. I'm glad you like the work -- or at least in Jen's case, tolerate it

___

“You know, this is dreck.”

McCoist looked across McDowall, who was again seated between us on the bench, and carefully considered his thoughts. Usually a man who jumps up and down on the touchline and is very animated, he’s been a comparative pussy cat since I took over – mainly because I reserve the right to pace like a caged animal on the touchline to myself.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing, Phil,” he finally said. “What d’ya say I go up there and give ‘em a shout?”

He motioned to the touchline and I knew he couldn’t resist. So I smiled, and nodded.

It really wasn’t very good football. We contrived to find all sorts of ways to miss attempts at goal, but there was one Heartening thing about the match, if you’ll pardon the expression – as bad as we were in the first half, the Jam Tarts were even worse.

They didn’t come near us. On those occasions when they did, it was almost as if they apologized for having done so. Csaba László had hit his touchline a lot earlier than I had allowed McCoist to hit ours – only twenty minutes into the match, the Hearts manager was up and screaming at his players.

He was trying to be positive, I’ll say that much for him. But when the best he could do was applaud his players for stringing three passes together from midfield into the attacking third, you could tell he was hard up for something nice to say.

McCoist, though, was under no such restriction. “Kenny, come on!” I heard him scream, with the veins in his neck already starting to bulge. Our all-time leading goal scorer looked like he was ready to put on a shirt and have a go at Hearts himself. Miller, in a manner quite atypical of his play, wasn’t moving much. It led me to wonder whether he was hurt in some way – but he just wasn’t moving.

“D’ya think Kenny could take Davie Weir in a dash across the pitch?” McCoist mumbled as he returned to the bench. His mid-half pep talk had resulted in no effect and as the teams headed back to the changing room I decided to give my players a science lesson.

They all sat, and I stood in the center of the room. I moved to the wipe board at the far end and wrote a single word on it.

Inertia , I wrote.

“Anyone know what that means?” I asked.

No one made a sound. If I had any Rhodes scholars in the room, they were quiet about it.

“It means inactivity,” I said. “Which is what I’m seeing out there. Hell, they won’t come near you out there! It’s time to wake up, gentlemen! This is a Saturday afternoon out for some of you, and I’m not going to pretend I like that – or pretend that I’m going to stand for it. You’ve got 45 minutes.”

With that I left the room. McCoist stood up.

“I’ve got nothing to add,” my deputy said. “You’ve got the plan. Now unless the gaffer has any changes, it’s up to you lot who finished the half to figure out how you’re going to find a winner. Because, believe me, Phil’s right – this game is beggin’ to be won.”

# # #

“Coisty, this is still dreck.”

Seventy minutes into the match, not a damned thing had changed. I was starting to get upset – the Jambos had managed exactly one shot on target to that point and really looked unlikely to attempt any more.

They had men behind the ball and after seventy minutes Laszlo realized he had a real good chance to get a point out of Ibrox, so he packed men behind the ball. I didn’t blame him a scrap, but what I was seeing was no real effort to break them open.

Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. I emerged from the dugout and walked to the touchline, before a silent Ibrox crowd. Some of them, I was sure, were waiting to hear what I had to say – because it was quiet enough in the grand old place for them to hear me.

I walked up and down a few times and finally had seen enough after a long ball upfield went behind for a goal kick. “Is that good enough for you?” I bellowed. Heads turned in surprise, all wearing blue shirts.

The red-faced look I had just given the team indicated that I wanted better ideas in a hurry. Unfortunately, they were slow in coming.

When they did come, though, they came from Miller. He went up for a header against Berra a few minutes later, and he nodded on forcefully for Boyd, who went in clear. His shot sailed over the target, and then I realized that Kenny had paid a price for trying to be a targetman.

He was lying on the turf clutching his head, with blood streaming from a cut on his forehead. He had clashed heads with Berra, who looked like he did that sort of thing every day.

Kenny was helped off the pitch and I brought on the on-loan Spaniard, Aarón, along with Hemdani in place of the tired-out Kevin Thomson and the injured Miller, moving to 4-3-3 in the process. Boyd was the lone striker, which wasn’t optimal, but he was supported by great pace on the wings in Aarón and young John Fleck. I hoped that would do the trick.

It didn’t. The match dragged on, and soon referee Kevin Toner signalled for four minutes of injury time. Hearts still hadn’t come near us, and we hadn’t the talent to go after them. Not a word was spoken on our bench, as we all realized the disappointment we were about to endure.

Then Hearts’ Lee Wallace motioned toward his bench as injury time kicked in. He had turned an ankle chasing after a ball headed in the general direction of Boyd, and couldn’t continue. Out of substitutes, László moved everyone behind the ball in an effort to play for a goalless draw.

We had put the ball into touch to allow for treatment for Wallace, and the ball was duly returned to us in a fine sporting gesture. The ball soon wound up at the feet of Hemdani, and he moved down the right side, working toward the byline.

He crossed the ball – and there to rise up for it was none other than Sasa Papac, who had been silent for the whole match. On the way to head home what would surely be the winning goal, the Bosnian could see the end to his day covered in glory.

Only the ball never reached him. Christos Karypidis, a defender brought on at the end of normal time, raced back and headed the ball first.

Into his own net. It was one of the truly great own goals of our age, the header looping over the outstretched arm of keeper Marian Kello and into the upper right corner of the Hearts goal.

Ibrox erupted with joy and not a little bit of surprise. It was the last kick of the match – and it gave us three points I’m pretty sure we didn’t deserve.

Rangers 1 (Christos Karypidis og 90+4)

Hearts 0

A – 49,859, Ibrox Stadium, Glasgow

Man of the Match – Marius Zaliukas, Hearts

# # #

[Wegason]

Lucky, lucky, lucky *tuts*

Don't you just love it when that happens

[JamboJen]

Great writing...

absolutely gutted (not at the quality of the writing obviously!)

[tenthreeleader]

Weg, thank you for the smile. Sometimes you just steal one. And Jen, I can fairly say that it wasn't Rangers that did it to your beloved JTs ... that loss was entirely self-inflicted.

___

The Rangers Way

David MacMurray

Scotland on Sunday

The time was when every player on a Scottish club flew the Saltire, if you will.

The modern game is a lot different. Nowadays, supporters aren’t fazed to see an international lineup take the pitch for their favourite club – and if you happen to support either of the Old Firm clubs or Hearts, you never know how many nationalities will be represented in your side’s eleven on a given day.

There’s nothing wrong with that. But reports coming out of Glasgow indicate that new Rangers manager Phil Sharp, who has gotten off to a slow but acceptable start with the Light Blues, is under orders to try to field an all-Scottish eleven.

Why that should create controversy in this day and age is baffling, but the fact remains – we can reveal it as a fact because no one in the Ibrox hierarchy including Sharp himself refutes it – that Rangers have such a plan.

“The story here is that Rangers FC is returning to its roots,” Sharp said earlier this week. “We have a number of talented players from around the world on this roster.”

That those statements are inherently contradictory is obvious to even the casual observer. When crosstown rivals Celtic are attempting to win their fourth SPL championship on the trot, one wonders why Rangers are in such a hurry to return to the ‘old school’ – or the Old Firm School, if you’ll permit.

A source within the Rangers family confirmed that Sharp was asked prior to his hiring about his willingness to purchase only Scottish players as a condition of employment. For his part, Rangers chairman Sir David Murray will neither confirm nor deny what was said.

“That is an internal club matter,” he said in an e-mail to Scotland on Sunday seeking comment. “I will not comment on any private statement made to any employee of Rangers Football Club.”

So far, Sharp has made no purchases of any kind, in perhaps as much of a reflection of the international financial situation as anything else. But when he does buy, is he required to purchase Scottish players?

“When Graeme Souness was here, when Dick Advocaat was here, when Paul LeGuen was here, we bought a lot of players from the Continent,” Sharp said. “We were raked over the coals for it – they were too expensive, they were English, they strayed from our Scottish heritage. Well, now we are looking at how this policy has affected this club.”

Sharp’s unwillingness to comment directly on Rangers’ reported transfer policy speaks volumes. The question now, for the club’s demanding supporters, is simple: does the available talent base in Scotland, which is of course also available to Celtic and others wishing to tap into it, enough to push Rangers over the top?

Bearing in mind that Rangers last season sold Scottish full-back Alan Hutton to Spurs for a princely sum, one wonders when the thought occurred to Murray that buying Scottish was the way to go. Elite players such as Birmingham’s James McFadden or Manchester United’s Darren Fletcher are quite far beyond the financial resources of either side of the Old Firm. So where does that leave Rangers?

It leaves Sharp in a precarious position. Should his purchases be Scottish, they won’t be of the calibre needed to raise the level of the team’s play. And should the need for profit force any of the club’s current Scottish stars to depart from Ibrox, it is hard to avoid the feeling that Phil Sharp is being set up to fail.

“I think it’s obvious from the squads and the selections I have made in our matches to this point that I have the freedom to choose my own squad,” Sharp said. “We do feel that we have the best talent in Scotland playing for us – I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that – but we do have the ability to choose players from all over the world in our starting eleven.”

Indeed, Rangers’ squads in the Champions League and even in yesterday’s encounter with Hearts at Ibrox indicate that there is freedom of action available to the manager. However, it is also fair to note that Rangers, in terms of Scottish players, are decimated by injuries and to put a credible first-team side on the pitch Sharp has had to move to foreigners or else risk his credibility as a manager.

“Sir David is watching,” the Rangers source, who asked not to be identified for this story, insisted. “He knows that getting into the Champions League is vital for Rangers and since we didn’t win the league last year we don’t have an easy road in. So he’s willing to look the other way. But Phil is going to be under pressure, and soon, to start winning with Scottish players.”

Patriots around the country, and Rangers supporters in particular, may have reason to stand and cheer. But it is a high-risk, high-reward strategy and since Sharp is on his first managerial assignment, he must surely be aware that failure in this venture may well destroy his future capability to manage at the highest level.

Welcome to life in the Old Firm.

[tenthreeleader]

We’re top. At least my dad will be happy.

After looking at the statistics from the weekend, I can see where people are suggesting we should have blown Hearts right back to the capital. We had five corners to their one in the match, they committed 19 fouls to five for us when we let them have the ball, and when all is said and done none of it matters because it’s all been forgotten for the time being.

That’s because Dundee United held Celtic on Sunday in a 2-2 draw that has us two points clear after only two matches. Willo Flood opened the scoring for United, only to gift the ball to Aiden McGeady to equalize seven minutes later. Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink netted in first half injury tie, but Danny Swanson shocked Celtic and perhaps a good part of the SPL by pulling the home team to 2-2 six minutes after the restart. They then made it stand up.

When Celtic drops points, that’s all our supporters can seem to talk about. So the relative ineffectiveness of their beloved Light Blues is on the back burner for some of them – at least for the time being. We have a lot of work to do before we hit anything approaching mid-season form, but there is also this to consider: I don’t want to jinx us but it’s been six matches since we conceded a goal.

The last team to score on us was Roma in the friendly schedule. Granted, our opposition hasn’t been to that calibre since then, and Hearts has been the best team we’ve faced outside of Anderlecht in a friendly where both teams played reserves, but that has to count for something.

If we aren’t going to set the world on fire with our attack, we may as well keep the ball out of our goal. If we’re going to play in the Champions League, we will need to know how to do that in any event, so now is as good a time as any to dominate our own defensive third.

Today’s discussion, though, was dominated by yesterday’s article. I found it a bit interesting, if rather unfortunate, that Broadfoot was carried off the training pitch today after landing hard on his right heel while returning to terra firma during a positional drill.

My media briefing was dominated by discussion of MacMurray’s missive, but I couldn’t resist.

“You may have noticed we lost another Scotsman today,” I chided. “Now, David, you may have an eleven in mind for me because the chairman hasn’t phoned me to suggest one. I’m running out of Scotsmen. What do you think I should do?”

The reporter wasn’t smiling.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The news comes at a particularly unfortunate time, as we head north to face Aberdeen.

The rivalry between the clubs hasn’t seemed to extend to a couple of Dons bosses. Of course, Sir Alex Ferguson played for Rangers before turning Aberdeen into a powerhouse on his way to Manchester United. Even though Sir Alex’s famous refusal to manage his old club is a part of our history, he made no secret of his friendship with Walter Smith during his time here.

Now Jimmy Calderwood is Aberdeen’s boss. He, too, lists Rangers as one of the clubs for which he has a soft spot. Sometimes I wonder how well that sits with Aberdeen’s supporters, but then I remember I have a job to do and I stop thinking things like that.

I took my weekly call from my dad today as well. Pleased as punch that his son’s team – and his Rangers – now tops the table, he was in a fine state of mind.

“Top already,” he crowed, by way of greeting.

“With only 36 matches, Europe and two domestic cups to go,” I said.

“I know that,” he answered. “But already you are doing the business. That has to count for something. And who’s this stupid clot MacMurray, anyway? Does anyone really tell you who to put onto the pitch?”

“Well, yes and no,” I said.

There was a silence on the other end of the phone, and the return of my dad’s brogue told me his dander was up. “Lad, when I get to Glesca, we need to talk,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve a few thoughts to share wi’ ye.”

# # #

I also had quite a nice moment this noon, when I stopped into the boardroom to watch 16-year old striker Kane Hemmings put pen to paper on his first professional contract.

The youth staff believe Kane has done enough to warrant a deal, they love his potential, and it’s always the best moment in a player’s career when, for the first time, he realizes his talent is wanted by his club. And for a young Scottish lad to have that first club be Rangers, well, that’s an added thrill.

So I stood in the back of the room while Kane signed the contract. His parents looked on with considerable pride, and I thought back to the day I signed my first contract.

It wasn’t quite like that with me. It was with Brentford, now in the English League One. They were a smaller club, without a network in North America. My high school coach had a friend in the Brentford organization in the form of former Arsenal striker Alan Willey, and my size and skill at center back suggested that someone might want to take a look at me.

I could have stayed home and eventually played in some league over here prior to the invention of MLS, but I knew right away I would be a better player for going to England, getting my head down and maybe not playing right away. I could have stayed home and gotten first-team football of a quality that was decent, but for a player with ambition, America was not where I wanted to be.

So off I went. After making my name at Brentford, Portsmouth came calling and the rest became history of a sort.

Portsmouth, at the time, was a Second Division team, a step below the Premiership. But the time I spent with them showed I could play a league up, which was noticed by Alex Ferguson at United.

I had to start somewhere. And Brentford was the place. If Ian can make the grade at Rangers and become a home grown talent, so much the better. That’s up to him, and how hard he works from this point forward.

I watched the boy sign his contract, and accept a hug from his mother and a handshake from his dad. I thought back to myself at that age and couldn’t help but smile.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

There are ugly rumblings afoot. Well, ugly from the point of view of my immediate supervisors but perhaps not so ugly from the point of view of our hard-to-please support.

MacMurray had another hot story today – Sir David Murray is reportedly finally ready to sell the club.

Some supporters have wished this to happen for years. He also owns Murray International Metals, which is of course where he made his fortune – he sure didn’t make it in football – and may celebrate his 20th anniversary of chairmanship of the club, which is coming in November, by selling it.

He purchased Rangers in 1988 for £7 million and even in this economic climate, he’d make a princely sum for selling. Right now the club is worth an estimated £83 million less loan debt of about £16.5 million – still not a bad return on investment.

His goal over the last few years has been to make Rangers Football Club self-supporting. Considering the spending sprees this club has had, especially during the reigns of Graeme Souness and Dick Advocaat, that’s hard for fans to accept.

And since Celtic has regained the ascendancy in the SPL over the last few years, the pressure has grown on Sir David to either sell or put money into the club. The fans think they have a legitimate gripe, but for his part Sir David has remained quiet.

He’s made no secret that he would sell the club – but only to the right buyer. Now it appears as though there is one. I just wish I didn’t have to find out through the newspaper.

Of course, board takeovers, if they happen, result in transfer embargos until the takeovers are complete. This being August, I’m not sure that’s really the best course of action, especially when I need to sell to buy in any great quality or quantity.

So, like the rest of Scotland, I get to sit and wait.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

“We really aren’t paying attention to it,” I said. “Our goal is to figure out how to get three points from Aberdeen as we’re expected to do.”

“The story about the sale of the club doesn’t mean anything to you?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said. “I did say that we aren’t paying attention to it because we can’t control anything that goes on. This is the football side of the operation and we have jobs to do. We know full well that if we don’t do these jobs, the chairman – whoever he is – will make sure we are looking for other employment soon.”

“Has Sir David talked with you?”

“Not as yet,” I admitted. “I do hope to take care of that this morning.”

“I thought you said you weren’t paying attention.”

“I do have an obligation to find out,” I answered. “I can’t control it, but I do need to know what is going on.” This was a losing battle, and I hadn’t handled it well.

# # #

The message boards are weighing in on the MacMurray article and the general conclusions are that either I’m some sort of ned who is programmed by the evil consortium of Murray and Martin Bain, or else an independent thinker who is clearly not influenced by the poison seeping down from the top of the Ibrox ivory tower.

Our fans are sometimes given to hyperbole.

These things were on my mind as I headed off to Murray’s office to meet with the chairman.

“There’s really not much to tell, yet, which is why I didn’t tell you,” he said disarmingly. He waved me to a chair across from his large mahogany desk.

I sat. “Well, then what can you tell me?” I said. “I was caught out by the media today at my briefing and I think you can understand I really don’t care to have that happen on a regular basis.”

“Understandable,” he said. “We are negotiating with a Glasgow group that, at present, will buy the club and clear the books. Of course, in this economy, everything is up in the air until the cheques are signed, so to speak. I’m working on the assumption that I will be chairman today, I’ll be chairman tomorrow and the day after that, until someone who has the best interests of the club, and the finances to make it work, has purchased the club. Then I’ll pack my things here and get on with my life.”

His road has been well-chronicled. After first losing his legs in a car accident in 1976 and then his wife to cancer sixteen years later, Sir David has certainly had to deal with as much tragedy in his life as triumph. Yet his personal wealth remains formidable even though the holding company that contains the company he started is facing large debts.

This is the atmosphere in which my chairman finds himself. Obviously, for the sake of the club, it must reach the Champions League and it must do reasonably well in so doing. Whether Sir David has the personal wealth to continue to fund Rangers is not for me to know. All I know is my task is to make sure it doesn’t become an issue – by winning football matches.

So as I sat across from him in his office, looking around at the walls filled with memorabilia and other items of twenty years spent at the helm of one of Scotland’s two largest clubs, I got the impression that he is still very much the man in charge.

And, in a way, I got the sense of my own helplessness in that same context. Sir David and Walter Smith were good partners in a business sense – the pragmatist Smith providing a steady hand on the till for the equally pragmatic Murray.

I’m different. I have been given a job to do and there’s no telling what a new chairman will do to that job – or even if I’ll still be around to do it. It is quite possible that if a new chairman comes in, he might opt for a more famous name at the helm.

In the end, though, whoever is in charge of this place must do what is best for the club. I know that and I understand that. I realized when I retired that staying here and playing would not be in the best interests of Rangers FC since I had lost the ability to play at my peak. If another manager is brought in, I’ll go down as the shortest-tenured manager in the history of the club, which won’t make me happy. But I’ll still look at Ibrox and remember happy times and happy days.

Fatalist, am I not?

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

The reception we got at Pittodrie was predictable. We aren’t popular here. In fact, we aren’t terribly popular most places we go, and we expect that.

However, the added news about our club had the home fans in fine voice. My own arrival to the pitch was greeted with a resounding chant of “P45!” from the Aberdeen supporters, which I didn’t find nearly as amusing as I otherwise might have given the circumstances.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about what will happen if and when the club is sold. All I can do is note that we’ve won all of my official matches in charge of Rangers and the next goal we concede in a live match will be our first.

The atmosphere was thus fairly toxic as the match kicked off. Today I stayed in the dugout for the most part, mainly because I couldn’t help but hear the chanting from the Aberdeen supporters behind me.

What they said didn’t bother me. I’ve heard, and been called, much worse during my career. I just didn’t care to listen to it today.

At the start of the match, we simply absorbed their attempts to flood our midfield. Calderwood started his team in a 3-5-2 and tried to take over the center of the park. Our 4-4-2 held them comfortably, even if we didn’t have the eleven of my choice. It was close, though, and I did like our spirit.

Their back three of Andrew Considine, Zander Diamond and Lee Mair didn’t have a lot to do early on – while we held them in midfield, the match soon degenerated into a bit of a stalemate as we tried to find a way past their five.

At the start, it was a test. Novo, restored to the eleven after serving a suspension that carried over from last season, got the start on the right side of midfield and we really benefited from his energy.

Twenty minutes on, he took the ball and took off down the right with Gary McDonald and Mark Kerr in hot pursuit. The ‘wee man’ was soon past both of them on a searing run that took him to the byline with surprising speed. His cross to the middle seemed destined for the forehead of Lafferty, who came in from the weak side having found a way to goal against their back three.

Kyle’s header was true, but Jamie Langfield was up to the task, collecting at full stretch in a wonderful save to deny us the first goal.

I looked over at McCoist, who looked like someone had kicked his dog.

“Coisty, don’t take it personally,” I smiled. “First of many today, I think.”

“I hope you’re right,” he mused. “You can’t waste too many of those and hope to win.”

I didn’t see it as a waste. It was a good play and we did what we were supposed to do. Even though Novo sees himself as a striker more than anything else, his devotion to team means he’ll play the wing without so much as a second thought, and his cult status among our support meant the showing of his face on the pitch would help quite a bit.

Defensively, we were close to perfect. Whittaker got the start at right back today while Broadfoot continues to heal, and he was very good. The central pairing of Weir and Bougherra were immovable and Papac played his usual steady game on the left. I was well pleased, but we went to halftime still scoreless.

# # #

“Not bad,” I said at halftime, and the players looked at me with a bit of surprise. “You know what I expect out of you, but I’m here to tell you that if you play like that in the second half we will break them down. It’s up to you, of course, but I think you’re good value so far.”

I had numbers to back it up. They hadn’t had a shot on target in the half and defensively we had committed only three fouls in the first 45 minutes. That was pretty good work. Positionally we were very good and all that mattered to me was getting the ball in a position where we could do something with it.

I looked over at the strikers, where the admittedly odd pairing of Velicka and Boyd looked back at me. Velicka was on his Rangers debut and was desperate to please, either to get himself off the transfer list or out of Ibrox entirely. One way or the other.

“You two are key to it all,” I said. The injuries that have affected my strike force forced me to pair two players who I wouldn’t usually play together and they were obviously looking for understanding.

McCoist sat with them, and if the two weren’t listening to Rangers’ all-time leading goal scorer, I would have been most displeased. After my talk, McCoist talked with the two about playing off each other.

Boyd is used to working with a playmaker and Velicka isn’t exactly that type. They’re both pure finishers and that meant we had to find another way to get them to work together.

The second half kicked off and the crowd of just under 20,000 was in full voice again. We continued to hold them off with almost ridiculous ease and soon our thoughts turned toward trying to get three points out of the place.

Ten minutes into the half, we won a corner as Langfield tipped a long drive by Mendes over the bar. The Portuguese then headed off to take the kick – and Velicka rose to head past Langfield.

Our away support, always loud but now inspired, screamed its approval at the goal by our debutant. Andrius reacted with joy and looked over at the bench, directly toward me. I nodded my approval and Velicka went off to celebrate with his teammates.

So that was a start. I looked over at McCoist to see that a more normal color had returned to his face.

“You’re gonna wind up in the hospital if you don’t calm down,” I laughed.

“You’re a fine one tae talk, Phil,” he replied. “Who was the one yellin’ at the lads during the Hearts match? Wasn’t me.”

Somehow, today I didn’t have that need. We were really playing well, despite the margin being just one goal. My good feeling was soon doused, though, as Whittaker took a hard knock to the thigh and fell like he had been poleaxed.

“I suppose when we have an all-Scottish team all our injuries will be to Scotsmen,” I couldn’t help but think. Yet, in our multi-national lineup, all our significant injuries this season have been to Scottish players. As he struggled to his feet and I realized I had no other players in the eighteen capable of playing right back due to our injury situation, I wondered how on earth we’d line up against Vienna if Whittaker couldn’t answer the bell.

Twenty minutes from time, I switched us to 4-5-1 and once the supporters figured it out, some of them started to whistle. Boyd really hadn’t done much (again), and I need him fresh for the Rapid Wien return leg, so he came off at that time in favour of Hemdani as a second holding midfielder.

There are supporters who won’t be happy unless Rangers play two or sometimes three strikers all the time, everywhere we play. However, they don’t have my injury issues and they wouldn’t have to face the music in the event Aberdeen somehow found a tying goal.

While we didn’t have Boyd on the pitch, we still did have the ‘wee man’, who was playing much bigger than his size. Barely sixty seconds after the formation change, there he was, taking a ball from Mendes and cutting back across a suddenly stranded Langfield.

“McNovo” rolled the ball into the open left side of the goal to put us two to the good, suddenly making 4-5-1 a formation of choice. The way we were playing defensively, it was the safe play to make.

I looked over at McCoist, and finally I got a smile from my deputy.

“Not bad, Phil,” he said, as referee Calum Murray blew for full time. He extended his hand.

“Not bad at all.”

Aberdeen 0

Rangers 2 (Velicka 56, Novo 70)

A – 19,356, Pittodrie, Aberdeen

Man of the Match – Nacho Novo, Rangers

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Our third straight win had kept us two points clear. Aberdeen is still looking for a first win for Calderwood in three starts and has only a draw to show for their early efforts.

The stats told the story – only three attempts at our goal for Aberdeen and only one on target, with just five fouls for the entire match to our account. We also had 54 percent possession away from home, so there was really nothing to complain about to the press. Even for me.

That was rare. The only thing I had to worry about was Whittaker. That wasn’t rare, but it was also unfortunate.

The physio staff says that he’ll miss a couple of weeks, but there are two things I have to worry about – our next two matches away from Ibrox.

The first is the must-perform second leg in Vienna against Rapid. The second is the first Old Firm meeting of the season, and it’s at Parkhead.

The conspiracy theorists are in full bay already. Why do Rangers have to fly 1100 miles to Vienna, turn right around, fly home and then play the greatest rivalry in world football away from home three days later?

It is safe to say that the trip on Saturday won’t be a long one. At least not if we win or draw. If we lose, the trip back to the west side of Glasgow will be the longest ride of my life.

We’ll also go to Vienna and Parkhead with only one healthy right back in the squad – Christian Dailly, who has yet to see senior action in a meaningful game but who now will line up in the Champions League against Vienna.

Broadfoot is recovering from his injury, but won’t be ready to play against Rapid and may well not be fit for Celtic either. If anything happens to Dailly, I’ll have no choice but to play three at the back. And since we haven’t even discussed the idea of 3-5-2 in training so far, that is a daunting prospect indeed.

We’ll go into the match on Saturday leading our great rivals by two points. Celtic hammered Falkirk 4-1 at home yesterday, while Hearts stuck right with them by thumping St. Mirren 4-0. In fact, the only goal Hearts has conceded all season was one they scored on themselves – and it cost them three points at Ibrox. So defensively, Hearts has been nearly as good as we have. Since McGregor has now gone over 540 minutes without conceding a goal, that means they’ve been pretty good indeed.

Inverness knocked off Hibs 2-0 yesterday, Accies went on the road and defeated Jim Jefferies’ Kilmarnock side by 2-0 and Motherwell slogged to a 1-1 draw against Dundee United. The league is in full swing but now it’s time to get serious.

I think we should be all right against Vienna, but the league tilt against Celtic is huge. With an injury riddled squad, I have a lot to think about as we prepare for the matches this week. How much do I deplete the squad in Vienna to allow the best chance of domestic success at the weekend?

The people who write the newspaper articles and the fanzines don’t have any idea how difficult the decisions are to make. If I don’t get them all right, people will be on my case and screaming for my head. I am determined that neither of those things should happen.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

Heather’s voice over my mobile phone was thrilling and wonderful. Unfortunately, it was also 1,100 miles away. That sort of put a damper on my excitement.

I imagined she was whispering in my ear as we talked. I tried that for about thirty seconds before I realized I wasn’t fooling myself.

“I wish you were here,” I admitted. “This place is absolutely magnificent.”

“I’d like to be walking along the Danube with you,” she admitted. I smiled at the thought, but knew she had other things on her mind, including getting ready to shoot the movie.

“Tell you what, love,” she said, in a tone that suggested she was about to change the subject dramatically. “How about I visit you this weekend?”

“Uhh,” I said, “we’ve got a pretty important match this weekend and...”

“Yes?” she teased.

“...and it’s Celtic,” I said. “Or had you forgotten?”

“I wouldn’t forget that,” she said. “I just thought you might want to have me around when you get the result.”

That was a very confident attitude for her to take and I told her so. “It’s going to be a battle,” I said. “It always is wherever we play, and you know that. If you came here and we didn’t win...”

“...you’re afraid,” she said.

“I’m not afraid,” I answered. “It just wouldn’t look good.”

“It wouldn’t look good if you saw your girlfriend? Really, Phil, I think you’re reading too many newspaper columns.”

Her tone was chiding, but not as much as it had been. She was offended.

“Hon, I didn’t mean to make it sound like that,” I began.

“Then tell me you’ll see me this weekend,” she said. “Really, Phil. We have a mature, adult relationship and you can’t think about what other people will think about you if you don’t beat Celtic. Besides, if you don’t see me you’ll miss the party.”

“What party?” Now I was really feeling nervous.

“The party Neil is throwing at the King’s,” she answered.

“The party. Neil is throwing a party.” Now my head was starting to spin.

“Yes,” she replied, in as patient a tone as I’m sure she could muster. “He’s having some of the studio executives up to Glasgow for a look round this week since some of the scenes for the movie are supposed to be shot there. And while we were all in town, he thought he’d have a little gathering.”

“I’m assuming this is really no ‘little gathering’,” I said.

“You’d be right,” my sweetheart replied, some of the lilt back in her voice. “And you are of course invited as my guest.”

“We had better win,” I repeated. “And there’s just no debating that.”

# # #

[minisav]

Fb stuff as always

Pity you beat the Dons though

[Spav]

I'm continuing to read this story and to marvel at the quality of your work, tenthree.

[tenthreeleader]

Gentlemen, thank you very much. I appreciate the kindness and also your ongoing readership

___

The Ernst Happel Stadion contained a good-sized, and loud, crowd gathered to greet us.

About 25,000 of their faithful showed their loyalty with a long and loud greeting for the home side, which faced a bit of an uphill climb. I had weakened the squad as much as I dared to give us as much leeway as possible for Celtic this weekend, and of course the only question now was would it be enough.

This match was vital to the club’s finances and I was playing a very dangerous game. Boyd, for example, was on the bench but not in the eleven, and as I handed the team sheet in to the referees before the game, I wondered if I had gone a bit too far.

McGregor, Smith, Dailly, Weir, Hemdani, McCulloch, Mendes, Davis, Novo, Velicka, Miller, the list read.

Some of it made me smile – for example, Hemdani seems to flourish in a European environment, and I wouldn’t have thought of starting the match without Mendes in the holding position – but McCulloch’s insertion would raise eyebrows among the faithful on general principle, and Velicka’s inclusion would do the same.

And as for Dailly ... well, not to slight the man but there honestly was no one else. Nobody. Everyone else was injured.

I sat on the bench and as I got comfortable for the start of the match, McCoist reached across McDowall and poked me in the ribs.

“Phil, there’s a power failure,” he said, pointing to the pitch.

“I don’t see a problem,” I said, and my assistant laughed.

“Aye, you’re right,” he said. “It was just Maierhofer moving from in front of the lights.”

I laughed. Striker Stefan Maierhofer, all six-foot-eight of him, had just walked past our bench on the way to his. He was Weir’s assignment tonight, and our tallest central defender at six-foot-three had his work cut out.

Davie may not be the fastest man afoot in the SPL, but there is one thing he still does surprisingly well – he is very good at getting off his feet and into the air. I was good at that too, as previous entries have testified, but Davie has kept his legs for longer than I did.

I would get so far off the pitch that sometimes landings took the shock right up my thighs from my knees, so it was not surprising that eventually my legs couldn’t handle the strain. Yet Weir soldiers on, and I knew that even though Maierhofer had missed his true calling as an NBA small forward, Weir would at least contest the high balls we were certain to see from the Rapid service providers.

Stefan Kulovits and Branko Boskevic were the briefs of Davis and Mendes respectively and I had every confidence in our ability to shut down the opposition as required.

From kickoff, they came after us, and our more defensive alignment took the pressure well. We started in a straight 4-4-2 tonight – no mucking around with a 4-1-3-2 away from home with a lead to protect – and we did a good job out of the gate.

Twenty-three minutes into the match, we caught them on a quick counter attack and it was a bit odd how we hit them. It was Velicka leading the way. Not normally known as a dribbler of the ball or a man of great pace, the ex-Hearts man has really flourished since getting his chance in the eleven against his former team, and this time he took the ball to the byline with gusto before crossing into the six.

Once there, the ball struck defender Marcus Katzer in the kneecap and deflected straight at keeper Raimund Hedl. With his hands low, the ball hit Hedl in the chest and he spilled the rebound.

Enter Kenny Miller, ever looking for a great opportunity. With the ball laying on the line and the keeper lunging, Kenny simply couldn’t miss and got us an away goal to really make me smile for the first time during the entire tie.

He raced off to the bench to celebrate his good fortune and our increased advantage, and for me the issue was now to keep Rapid from scoring the four goals they would now need to get this job done.

For me, that meant simply staying the course in our 4-4-2. Considering our defensive record, we ought to have been pretty good value for that, and at halftime I reminded the players that they needed to mind their responsibilities and stay in the counter-attacking tactic to avoid disaster that would have far-reaching consequences.

“Especially for me,” I thought to myself. We then took the pitch for the second half.

The giant Maierhofer was finding it hard to find space in our area. Weir was marking him closely and quite well, showing the ex-Premiership defender in him in what was truly a sterling performance.

Yet with nothing to lose, Rapid figured out pretty early that they needed everyone forward, so their shots started to mount. Most of them were from distance as we stayed patient in our 4-4-2, and when we would get the ball back we would take it as wide as we could, as slowly as we could to work the clock and simply get the job done.

However, their engine room was into the match far more than it had been in the first half and the pairing of Hofmann and Boskovic soon started to get the better of the tiring Davis and Mendes, whose forte isn’t exactly man-marking.

Yet, you play the hand you’re dealt, and I watched with some concern as the Rapid midfield soon started to assert itself. Hofmann was starting to become especially annoying, flitting in and out of the channels between Mendes and the defenders before finally gathering the courage to shoot on 61 minutes – and beating McGregor cleanly in the process for the first goal we had conceded in anger all season.

McGregor fished the ball out of this goal for the first time in 601 minutes and punted it back toward the center line. The look of disgust on his face was palpable, but with half an hour to play we were still in good shape.

Nine minutes later, though, we weren’t in such good shape as Boskovic had slammed a shot off Stevie Smith’s shin and past McGregor on a wicked deflection to put Rapid ahead 2-1, cutting our aggregate lead to 3-2. Miller’s goal suddenly looked a lot more like gold than like insurance.

That brought me off the bench and to the touchline – the risk being the showing of worry in a public setting. I remained as calm as I could given the circumstances, while at the same time waving Bougherra and Thomson into the game for Velicka and the flagging Davis, as we moved to 4-5-1.

Now, conceding twice in twenty minutes was starting to look like a disturbingly real possibility. The introduction of Bougherra allowed me to move Hemdani alongside Mendes as a second holder and the added stability the move brought really helped us when we needed it the most.

After a few minutes, I returned to the bench and sat down, this time beside McCoist. He looked over at me.

“You’re in the wrong seat,” he said.

“Like hell,” I answered. “They scored twice when I sat over there, so I’m moving.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he agreed. The change in formation did better for us than my change in seating habits, though, and we weathered the storm.

But we lost. That will count for something heading into the weekend.

Rapid Wien 2 (Steffen Hofmann 61, Branko Boskovic 70)

Rangers 1 (Miller 23)

A – 25,015, Ernst Happel Stadion, Vienna

Man of the Match – Steffen Hofmann, Rapid Wien

# # #

[Offspring8]

Unlucky with that last match, 10-3. But unfortunately you can't win them all

“You’re in the wrong seat,” he said.

“Like hell,” I answered. “They scored twice when I sat over there, so I’m moving.”

“Can’t argue with that logic,” he agreed.

This may sound very weird, but I use something along those lines while playing FM I position my mouse cursor on my score - I don't know why, it just comforts me and makes me believe I have good luck for it

I know, I'm strange:o

[tenthreeleader]

Offspring, that's actually quite interesting to me ... I have my own sets of superstitions when I play as well. I have a favored substitution pattern, and am very much a creature of habit whenever it is possible to be such in a game as difficult as this one is at times.

___

The post-match interrogatories were devoted more to the fact that we had lost the second leg rather than the fact we had won the 180-minute tie. That didn’t bother me so much – the cheque for £3.5 million for reaching the group stages of the Champions League will reach Murray Park early next week and no one will say a word about dropping a match in Vienna with a weakened squad.

I suppose the press reaction shouldn’t have come as a surprise given the general negativity of media the world over, but for now, I can live with it. I want to be able to concentrate on Celtic and if the press wants to put us in the position of underdog as a result of losing in Vienna, so be it.

We absorbed Rapid’s pressure and a look at the match stats shows that to be true. They had 18 attempts at our goal with eight on target but only three of them were good scoring chances. True, two of them wound up in the net, but we did a decent job of keeping them where we wanted them on the pitch.

We also had 55 percent possession, which showed we could hold the ball away from home. We’ll have to do as good a job at Parkhead, no question about it.

The first turn of the screw in the media wars has already come from Gordon Strachan, and to call it incendiary would be a bit of an understatement. While we were still unpacking our things at Murray Park for a full day’s training today, he was over at Lennoxtown saying we are ‘not capable’ of winning the title.

Naturally, that brought the press from east to west as fast as their cars could carry them, in expectation of finding an angry Rangers manager.

In that respect, they were right. I haven’t even been seen in public with Gordon yet, so to see him slagging us off after three matches is a bit hard to take. Obviously he wants to test my media mettle, so to speak.

The fact of the matter is that it’s very possible neither of our teams will top the table when we actually play. Hearts might, because they play at Accies first and if they win big enough, they’ll top both of us on goal difference. So it’s far too early to be talking in such a manner.

“You’d think Gordon would be aware of that,” I said in a pointed comment in my media session today. “And I’m sure he is. We are going to be ready and of course, whenever these teams meet it’s a competitive match so to say what he said doesn’t really make a lot of sense. But then, sometimes football makes no sense at all.”

Truth be told, I’m excited for my first shot at Celtic as manager, given my history with them (and theirs with me). It’s going to be an emotional time and even though it’s quite early in the season and we lead them in the table with plenty of time for both sides to recover from any result, there’s always quite a bit at stake.

“Gordon has a big challenge,” I told the media in an attempt to play nice. “Like we do now, he has to prepare for a Champions League campaign in addition to all the domestic challenges he has here. People always give Celtic their best shot and he knows that. And that includes us, who want to reclaim the championship. He has a strong roster with players who can play more than one style and that gives any opponent something extra to think about.”

“How do you expect them to attack you on Saturday?”

Then I stopped being nice. “My job is to make opponents worry about how we’ll attack them,” I said. That raised some eyebrows.

“Does that mean you aren’t concerned?”

“You are always concerned,” I replied. “But we have a different set of expectations. Contrary to reports, we are capable. Very capable. We’ll have to show it this weekend, of course, but everyone in my changing room will be ready for this challenge. But as for exactly how I’m preparing, I trust you’ll excuse me if I don’t share that with you.” I got nods of understanding from the group.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

When the Rangers’ coach rolls to a stop at Celtic Park, a passerby could be excused for thinking a tornado was going through.

That isn’t because of the coach, of course, but rather the reception we get from the supporters of our great rivals. When they come west to Ibrox, the sounds are much the same.

You certainly know there’s a game on. I’ll put it that way. I led the team off the coach and through the players’ entrance and it was like stepping into a blast furnace of noise. There’s no doubt in mind that this is the greatest rivalry in the world and to have the part I was about to play in it meant I could hardly feel my feet touching the ground.

That feeling allowed me to block out the noise, which in itself was an amazing feat. Having played in this fixture almost thirty times in my career, I can safely say that the feeling never, ever gets old.

The players followed and we took the turn into the visitors’ changing room while the home stadium came to life. Outside, members of the Strathclyde Constabulary took their customary places – Old Firm matches are not played without the extensive cooperation of the police as a matter of course – and as we prepared for the match, the fans began to arrive.

I sat in the visiting manager’s area with McCoist, McDowall and a team sheet. The biggest question we had was whether we should start Boyd, a wonderful goal scorer against the rest of the SPL but the owner of just one goal in 17 career starts against Celtic.

It has been the biggest rap on his career to this point. It’s not quite as bad as saying you were married to Catherine Zeta-Jones and expecting her to be able to cook, but in this game it’s close. In a job where success in this fixture makes or breaks men and managers, getting this decision right was vital.

I looked at McDowall. “Boydie?” I asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Ally?”

“I would, Phil.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. No help at all, those two. Boyd had been rested in the Rapid match – and resting him now would make no sense at all as a result. I like the pairing of Boyd and Miller even though I am very pleased with Velicka’s recent play. For me, as the seconds counted down until the sheet had to go to the referees, the decision was one of a matter of seconds.

I called for Bougherra, who was passing by the office at that moment, and asked him to call Boyd to the office.

Moments later, the striker stepped in, fully dressed for the game.

“Get it done, Boydie,” I said, pencilling his name onto the sheet. Without a word, he nodded, and turned back to the changing room. He had a slight smile on his face.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

It’s usual and customary for Rangers and Celtic, in this day and age, to be first and second in various permutations when the clubs play.

Today, though, we came into the match second and third respectively due to Hearts’ 3-0 hiding of Hamilton Accies that did indeed put the Jambos top on goal difference. So as the supporters of both clubs sang their respective songs before kickoff, we all knew the importance of the match.

I sat back in the dugout, while the supporters exchanged shouts and songs. I suppose some of the chants on both sides were unprintable, but that’s the nature of this particular beast.

I was reasonably happy with the eleven – Broadfoot had passed a late fitness test and started at right fullback with Weir and Bougherra in the middle and Papac playing on the left. Adam was also healthy again, and he was restored to the left side of midfield, with Thomson in the middle and Novo on the right. Mendes played the holding role, with Boyd and Miller as the strikers.

Novo is our talisman against Celtic and always seems to play his best football against them. In that respect, he was not unlike his manager as an active player.

We weren’t missing spirit, that was for certain, as Thomson stuck himself into a hard tackle right from the word go to knock Paul Hartley right off the ball. That got our support into the match, and it started the fur flying right away.

The appointment of Allan to the match as referee had raised more than a few eyebrows during the week. The only professional match he had done all season was a Challenge Cup match between Morton and Peterhead and his most recent match was a clash between Arbroath and Queen of the South u-19s. In the eyes of the pundits, that meant the Old Firm was probably just a bit of a stretch for the 41-year old from Edinburgh.

Yet, he showed he was there to do a job. I wasn’t too happy with that job when he immediately put Novo into the book for a hard, and I felt clean, tackle on Shunsuke Nakamura a few moments after Thomson’s signal of intent.

Play resumed, and we continued our attempts to assert ourselves physically. Novo showed he wasn’t going to be cowed with another sharp challenge on Nakamura – a bit of a risk given his early card – but he won the ball cleanly and took off after it down the right touchline.

He got there before defender Lee Naylor and was off to the races. He sprinted toward the byline and pulled the ball back artfully to where Boyd was waiting ten yards from goal just left of the penalty spot.

Boyd’s eyes grew big as the ball approached and our bench stood as one. Kris calmly stroked the ball toward the Celtic goal and gave Artur Boruc no chance.

He had indeed done the business, Boruc was beaten and we had the lead in the first ten minutes at Celtic Park. We couldn’t have asked for a better start.

His joy was unrestrained and after pulling himself toward the visiting support by the badge on his shirt, we awaited the Celtic riposte as play resumed. It wasn’t long in coming.

Their support behind them, they poured forward. First Nakamura, then Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink and finally Scott McDonald all tested McGregor in our goal, and all within five minutes of Boyd’s opener. McGregor answered all three, though, and even though we surrendered three corners, McGregor was standing tall.

A fisted tip of McDonald’s drive over the bar brought a smile from goalkeeper coach Jim Stewart, seated at the end of the bench. He turned to me and caught my eye.

“Scotland’s number one,” he laughed, as play resumed. When he plays like that, he’ll surely give Craig Gordon a run for his money. Yet as the first half resumed, we called on him far more often than I would have liked.

By the time Allan blew for halftime, McGregor had faced six on-target shots and was the reason we led by a goal to nil. I knew one move was absolutely necessary as we headed to the changing room.

Novo had to come off. He looked lost, which was rare for him. Even though he prefers striking to playing midfield, he’s a good soldier who does what the badge needs to have done. Today, though, he was out of sorts and out of place. I told Hemdani that he should prepare to come into the match. We were also gettingoverrun in the midfield, and I wanted Brahim’s steady manner of play alongside Mendes.

Thomson shifted to the right, due to looking fairly ineffectual in the center of the park himself. So that was sorted – I thought.

# # #

[Spav]

Halfway there, now for the second 45.

[tenthreeleader]

Spav, those are often the worst 45 ...

___

With the new look midfield we looked to be pretty good value. At least for the first ten minutes of the half.

When we broke down, the midfield wasn't responsible. It was Papac at left fullback, who managed to make a complete hash out of a simple little flick toward the byline off the boot of McManus.

Sasa raced after the ball, controlled it with a deft first touch, and simply gifted it to Vennegoor. That was annoying enough. The Dutchman then slotted past McGregor from ten yards to get Celtic level.

That naturally brought most of the capacity crowd to its feet and singlehandedly changed the complexion of the match.

The physicality on both sides increased as well, with referee Allan forced into a series of warnings after hard tackles by Thomson on McGeady, which resulted in a card, and Hartley on Mendes, which did not.

That in itself was annoying to us, but the atmosphere in the place was really starting to heat up. Of course, you don’t play or succeed in this fixture if you can’t stand the heat, so for us there was never a question of shying away from the challenge.

Allan’s decision regarding Hartley brought me out of the dugout, which at Celtic Park can be the equivalent of a soldier sticking his head over the ramparts. You’re a target, and the Celtic faithful welcomed me back to Parkhead with gusto.

And fervor. And volume.

You put up with that as a visiting manager, everywhere you go in this game. There are always going to be people who don’t like you and for me, that really didn’t matter. I felt the need to be out on the line so that’s where I went.

The match resumed, with the fourth official getting a chewing from me. For the first time I locked eyes with Strachan, now out of his dugout and working with his players.

I just nodded in his direction, and he in mine. Neither of us dropped our eyes and the crowd behind the dugouts caught the staredown. The fourth official, quick to realize what was happening, stepped between us to allow both managers the opportunity to look away without losing face.

Just then the play passed in front of the benches, with Boyd racing onto a ball provided by Broadfoot from the right. He passed in front of the bench and worked the ball back to the middle. He was in an unusual position, having come deep to help gain possession, and the ball moved toward Mendes.

Just after the ball left his foot, McManus came crashing in, making solid contact with Boyd’s right shin with both feet. Boyd spun sharply and crashed to the ground in front of me. It was as plain as day.

I couldn’t help myself, raising my arms over my head and yelling. “What’s that?” I screamed, while the visiting support stood to howl its collective outrage. The corresponding yells from the home support nothwithstanding, it was a real flashpoint in the match.

Allan ran up at a sprint, and called the Celtic captain to him. It didn’t take long. He pulled the red card out of his pocket and wasted no time in inviting McManus to take an early shower.

The noise in the place was unbelievable – our support cheering, theirs screaming bloody murder. Strachan had a look of utter disgust on his face, and was already waving for a substitute with the look of a man who feels he’s been cruelly wronged.

Boyd was assisted to his feet – he had taken a shot from McManus in the challenge but hobbled his way back onto the pitch – and I was thinking of substitutions as well.

Papac was moody and frankly his play since Celtic’s goal had been shaky at best. I moved Whittaker on for him, brought on Davis for the flagging Mendes, and went to a 4-4-2 diamond, Adam in direct support of the strikers. Novo’s poor performance meant that I was out of substitutions, so the double move meant I was going for broke in the most hostile environment a Ranger can imagine.

Playing against ten, we naturally snapped out of whatever lethargy we had been in, and every facet of our game had improved. Now it was Celtic hanging on by its fingernails, and we were providing the attacking verve.

Boyd, clearly slowed by his knock courtesy of McManus, was trying his best. Now even slower than usual, he had to use his keen sense of positioning to make space for himself. I had never appreciated Miller’s work rate any more than right then – he was absolutely tireless and even Adam, not the fleetest of foot either, had found some new ideas to support the front line.

Charlie had a superb chance ten minutes from time, but his swerving drive from twenty-five yards was tipped just wide of the post thanks to a truly marvellous save from Boruc. The Polish keeper dove to his left at stretch and got just enough of the ball to redirect it behind for a corner.

However, with Mendes off, our main threat from that set piece was now recovering from his second full match in four days separated by 1100 miles. Adam took the resulting corner and Boyd headed over.

The pressure was consistent, the application was fine, but the winning goal was lacking. I turned to McCoist on the bench and we shared looks of dismay.

“Could have been ours, Phil,” he said, as Allan blew for full time. I got up and headed over to Strachan.

I shared a perfunctory handshake with the Celtic boss and waited for McCoist so we could head back up the tunnel together. We filed out first, followed by our hosts.

“Should have been ours, Coisty,” I said, a shade of red now creeping into my complexion. “Should have been ours.”

Celtic 1 (Vennegoor of Hesselink 63)

Rangers 1 (Boyd 8)

A – 60,341, Celtic Park, Glasgow

Man of the Match – Allan McGregor, Rangers

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

When we got back to Murray Park after the match, she was there.

It was wonderful to see her, and she had taken the initiative to meet me at the training ground. We were in a reasonably good mood fater the match, but Heather’s appearance changed all the rules.

There were supporters outside the gates to welcome the squad back. After dropping off our kit, we passed by them on the way to my home. I stopped to sign a few autographs and when the onlookers saw Heather was with me, we nearly had a scene.

We stood and signed for about twenty minutes – more for her than for me, an extraordinary thing at my own place of work – and then she told me we would be late if we waited any longer.

We waved to the remaining fans and headed out, with Heather’s promise that she would be back another day soon. That was enough for them, and before long I had Heather tucked prettily into the passenger side of my Spider.

I then wheeled us to Hyndland and home. She looked at me lovingly as we moved through the suburbs on the comparatively short trip home.

“You were magnificent,” she said, touching my hand. “I watched you on television on the touchline, barking out instructions to the players and watching them listen to you. It looked like you were conducting a symphony out there.”

“When it goes right, that’s what it looks like,” I replied. “When it doesn’t, it looks like a primary school recess.”

“Well, tonight won’t be for kids,” she said. “This is a black-tie, formal event. And there will be dinner and dancing too – we haven’t danced together in public before so this should be a lot of fun!”

# # #

Somewhat ironically, the gathering was at the King’s Theatre. So I knew right where we were headed as I took us to the gala event after I had had the chance to shower and change clothes.

She changed in my guest room. She wore a strapless white formal dress that flattered her hair perfectly. I had the pleasure of donning my tuxedo for the event – I don’t get to wear it often so I was very pleased to give it a night on the town, especially in Heather’s company.

I love the easy familiarity Heather and I already have with each other. It’s beautiful to experience and it’s even more wonderful to feel. We dressed together and I helped her by zipping her formal.

“Up,” she teased.

# # #

[tenthreeleader]

I pulled the Spider into the car park behind the theater and when we got out this time, we were news.

“You know, a star like you should have a real driver,” I teased, as she took my arm to ‘make our appearance’. It was very much a red-carpet type of entrance. Judging by the hordes of media outside I guessed Bond had not yet arrived.

“I’ve got the driver I want,” she said sweetly, holding on just a little tighter as we walked up the main drive and to the door, where this time we were greeted by a doorman. That was a nice touch.

Flashbulbs popped – and this time they were more numerous than ever. The Hollywood media had representatives here. When Neil Bond makes a public appearance it’s entertainment news, and the media were out in force.

How popular is Neil Bond? He’s the highest grossing actor of all time, with over $7 billion in box office sales. Naturally, he’s phenomenally wealthy and very influential, with his four Best Actor Academy Awards accounting for a great deal of that.

He doesn’t go out unless he wants to be seen. That kind of fame is really mind-boggling to me, even after years of professional football with some of Europe’s highest-profile clubs. I’ve made about £25 million in this game with endorsements, and my current contract will add to that. Of course, that’s great money – but my entire career is now one film for Neil Bond.

I knew my role tonight – or at least, I thought I did. My role was to be Heather’s beau and I was only too happy to do that.

We entered the theater foyer and Heather’s light wrap was immediately taken by a coat check. We were then escorted to the main mezzanine level where the event was to take place.

Most of the cast was to attend, in addition to invited guests from the filmmakers, which for this movie is Warner Brothers. Why the event was in Glasgow instead of London was a bit of a mystery to me, until I looked at my beautiful companion.

“I asked that it be here,” she said. “We’re shooting a few scenes here. Neil’s never seen Glasgow before and knows it’s a beautiful city so he thought it would be fun!”

I was flabbergasted. Heather had made a suggestion to him and he bowed to her wishes. I wondered what kind of pull she possessed that I didn’t yet understand, and decided I’d just enjoy the evening.

We were served drinks and I looked at Heather, who was radiant. Her dress boasted a tasteful slit in the skirt that reached halfway up a wonderfully shapely thigh, revealing just enough of her legs to really heat up anyone she chose.

“You’ll make every man in this room want to take you home,” I said, and she looked up at me with that perfect smile.

“And how would that make you feel?” she asked.

“Like I was the luckiest man on earth because I’m the one who gets to.”

“Good. That’s exactly how you should feel – and exactly how I want you to feel.” I was seeing a slightly different side of my sweetheart at this moment – very confident, self-assured and wonderful in a way I loved more than ever.

Her whole demeanor showed she was every inch the professional – all five-foot-six of my darling dynamo – and that professional wanted to be with me.

We touched glasses and shared an intimate toast – right as the doors opened to admit the evening’s main guest.

[tenthreeleader]

There he was – Neil Bond himself, with his wife Carole Armstrong on his arm. Behind him came a small army of support staff and entourage, ready for any eventuality. I looked at Heather.

“You know, if you had that big a staff I’d never get near you,” I said, and she just smiled.

“It’s a challenge,” she said. “That kind of an entourage means you’ve made it. I want to have that kind of success and I always have. But nothing that could get between us.”

That was an admirable attitude to hold and I appreciated it. I would never stand in the way of Heather’s career but to hear her say she held me as her top priority in spite of the circus we were about to observe was very gratifying.

Now he looked around the room, asked the host a question, and he responded by pointing to us. I swallowed hard and had never felt quite so self-conscious before. The flashbulbs popped as the two stars recognized each other. I nodded and motioned to Heather. This part was one only she could play.

She took a few steps toward Bond and he toward her. Desperate for a cue as to what to do, I looked at Carole Armstrong and caught her eye. She smiled at me and caught up with her husband. I followed Heather at a distance and watched as she greeted him.

They met in a blaze of flashbulbs with a tasteful hug and pecks on the cheek – not quite “California kisses” but in a way that friends of the opposite sex might greet each other.

Carole smiled at me and smoothly moved behind her husband with her hand extended to me. She was a pro at the Hollywood game, and I was certainly grateful for that. I stepped toward her and in a slightly less dramatic entrance, met the lady for the first time.

“Hi, Phil,” she said brightly. “I’m Carole Armstrong. So nice to meet you!”

“Thank you,” I answered, gently shaking her offered hand. “It’s great to meet you too. Please pardon my reaction – I’m afraid I’m out of my league.”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just do what I do and everything will be fine. I’ve done this a few times before.”

“I imagine you have,” I said with a smile.

And then he turned to me. Heather made the introduction.

“Neil, this is Phil Sharp,” she said. “Honey, this is Neil Bond.”

He stuck out his hand and grinned. “Great to meet you, Phil,” he said, and this time the flashbulbs blazed again, both as I met him and Heather crossed behind me to visit with Carole.

“My pleasure,” I replied. “I’m honored.”

“Heather’s told me a lot about you,” he said. “You two were very new when she was negotiating.”

“Well, we’re still new, but we’re doing very well,” I said. “She’s amazing and I’m thrilled you’ve taken such an interest in her.”

“Heather is a wonderful actress and she’s perfect for this part,” he said in reply. “It’s not a case of me taking interest – it’s a case of a talented actress getting a role that will be great for her.”

“Of course,” I said. “I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t,” he smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re here to have fun and talk with some of the studio people Heather hasn’t met yet who are footing the bills. So just enjoy the evening and take Heather dancing when you have a spare minute. We’ll keep you busy.”

“I have no doubt of that,” I said, hoping I could avoid saying something else stupid.

Bond did a wonderful job of putting me at ease in the middle of that forest fire of flashbulbs. “Sorry for the attention. It happens, though I’m sure you’re used to it,” he said.

“Your kind of stardom is something I’ve never experienced,” I said. “After most games I have half the city happy with me and the other half wanting my head on a spike. But when you release a film, the only question is how much money it will make. There’s a little difference.”

Our conversation was free and easy. I noticed the photographers had turned their attention to Neil and me.

I laughed. “What the hell do I do now?” I asked, and his laugh in return told me I was on good ground.

“Well, we could talk about the game,” he said. “I don’t know much about soccer but it sounds like you did all right.”

“I was pleased, yes,” I admitted. “Rivalry games are always fun, especially when you don’t get beat. If we had lost today I might not be here this evening. Fans here don’t believe in having fun after you lose, especially not to your arch rivals.”

“Understandable. So let’s go meet some people and talk about this, shall we?”

“That’d be great, Mr. Bond,” I replied.

He smiled. “Neil,” he answered. “Please. It’s Neil. I know you’re trying not to offend but you’ll find that movie people are pretty relaxed around people they work with and trust. Relax, enjoy the evening and just have fun!”

# # #

[M0nk3yFac3]

nice updates 10-3, great read, got me wanting more.

[tenthreeleader]

Thank you kindly ... well, here's some more!

___

I did indeed have a wonderful evening. Heather wasn’t around me very much – she was with her co-star and director, making the rounds.

That gave me the opportunity to talk with Carole for awhile and I mentioned I had seen her in several television series over the years.

“I appreciate hearing that,” she said. “I have had a nice career for myself but some people always will see me as Neil’s wife. Not that that’s a bad thing, mind you!”

I looked at Neil and Heather making the rounds and couldn’t help but smile. Heather wore two-inch heels to draw herself all the way up to five-foot-eight, while Neil’s six-foot-two height complemented her well.

“They do look good together,” Carole observed, reading my mind.

“They do,” I agreed. “Good thing they’re both taken!”

She chuckled and we sat down to enjoy a drink while the room swirled around us. Carole is a very nice lady and before too much time had passed she had put me completely at ease.

“Heather thinks the world of you,” she offered without so much as a second thought. “When we cast her she made it clear that she didn’t want a role that would compromise her relationship.”

I was quite surprised. At the time she did her screen test, our relationship was less than ten days old. To hear her say such a thing was extraordinary and I couldn’t conceal my surprise.

“We had had only a couple of dates at that time,” I said. “What a wonderful thing to hear! And how on earth could she say something like that to your husband?”

“Wouldn’t kid,” she said, raising a hand in a ‘promise’ sort of gesture. “And of course Neil has never done, and will never do, a movie like that. So Heather was easy to persuade. He wanted her in this picture in the worst way after seeing Emerald Isle last year. Heather deserved every accolade she got for that picture.”

“She has been very excited but very professional at the same time,” I said. “I observe the same kind of behavior in my players sometimes and I’m just really happy for her.”

“You’re going to come visit us on set, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I think she wrote it into her contract,” I said. “I hope so. I’ve always wanted to visit a movie set and this project sounds fabulous.”

“Your office is a little bigger than ours,” she smiled, and I blushed in reply. “We’ll look forward to seeing you.”

# # #

Finally Heather and Neil were done with their rounds and they returned to where Carole and I sat.

“I’d like you to meet some of these people too,” Heather said, sitting prettily next to me.

“I’m here for you,” I said. “Whatever you need, you just have to ask. Let me support you.”

She smiled at me. “Somehow I get the idea that even though you’re the boss at Rangers, you end up supporting a lot more than you’re bossing.”

“Perceptive,” I answered. Just then the band began to play.

I looked at our new friends and together the four of us walked to the dance floor. My arm slipped protectively around Heather’s waist and she nestled close to me.

The band began to play “I Only Have Eyes For You,” and I looked down at my darling.

“No time like the present,” I said, and she looked up at me with an expression of pure love and simple joy. I took her softly in my arms and pulled her to me at her waist. She draped her hands around the back of my neck and I bent to her softly.

We danced cheek-to-cheek for a moment before the difference in our heights began to tell. Finally she simply leaned her head against my chest and we swayed back and forth to the music as Heather closed her lovely green eyes. Though Heather is an accomplished dancer and I even took ballroom lessons when I was with Paulina, this time we just wanted to hold each other.

The song is, of course, beautiful, and for a few moments I almost couldn’t hear the band as Heather and I swayed back and forth and I concentrated solely on her. She sighed with pleasure and this time, as flashbulbs popped again, the photographers kept their distance.

She caressed the back of my neck with her fingertips as the music played, and I smiled with pleasure at the warmth of her touch. We kissed and for just this one time, the blaze of flashbulbs was for us.

# # #

[sherm]

Wow. Just, Wow!!! This is awesome 10-3, absolutely awesome. Us mere mortals can only dream to aspire to your standards

Brilliant Story

[minisav]

I keep cpmpmg back expecting a good post. I don't get that. I get a great post! Fb stuff.

KUTGW

[viperk1]

I can only reiterate what sherm and minisav say above me - and I must add that your writing has me thinking that some parts of this story could be used as a movie script. It's THAT good (though what do I know, eh? I'm just a teenager )

Keep up the fantastic work, 10-3 - and here's to hoping for a bright future for Phil and Heather .

[tenthreeleader]

Fellows, I really appreciate the praise. This is a really fun story to write and I'm happy it is being well received. I hope to keep you entertained for a long while yet.

___

It really was a lovely evening. I met a few of the studio heads as well as some of Neil’s personal representatives. In that regard, the evening was actually instructional as I learned quite a bit about the world in which my darling lives.

We even tried the dance floor a few more times, when the musicians played slow songs. Though an accomplished central defender in my day, on the dance floor I am definitely equipped with two left feet despite my attempts at lessons. I’m afraid Strictly Come Dancing will never be for me.

Subsequent efforts with Heather passed without the passion of our first dance. We joked about it, mainly by whispering in each others’ ears as we moved slowly around the floor.

We switched partners too, so the photographers got the chance to snap Neil and Heather together while Carole and I swayed off to one side.

“I do get the last dance, don’t I?” I asked Heather, as the two couples passed in the middle of the floor, surrounded by onlookers and invited guests giving the music a try for themselves.

I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. She gave me a delightful little giggle as she passed, and that picture wound up being taken as well. Her bright, happy face was sure to make the papers and I couldn’t have been more pleased.

Finally we were all seated at a big table with Neil, Carole, and three of the studio heads. “Part of the movie is to be shot here,” one explained to me. “It’s to do with Jill’s family background. That would be your sweetheart’s character.”

I nodded – I had already read the script thanks to Heather, though of course I didn’t tell anyone that – and played along. But to have her shooting at least part of the movie in Glasgow will be wonderful as well.

“I hope you like the city,” I said. “I came here eight years ago and never really wanted to leave.”

“Some of us have been here before,” I was told. “But Heather has such a wonderful Glaswegian accent it would have been a shame not to have some of the movie shot here. It’s a wonderful city.”

I looked at her. “You never told me that!” I exclaimed.

She smiled in reply. “My dad was born here,” she said. “It’s why I have an attachment to Rangers. He was a Teddy Bear to his fingertips.” She had told me merely that her father had moved south to Surrey, where he met and married Heather’s mother, as a young man. But this was a wonderful development.

It made sense when I thought of it. She seemed to have quite a bit of this evening, and perhaps a few other things, well planned. As I looked into my sweetheart’s pretty face while she talked business with the studio heads, I realized her incredible beauty is matched only by her mind. She is plainly very well equipped in more than one vital area of life. Better so, perhaps, than her boyfriend.

# # #

We took our leave at about 11:00, with the promise of more time with Neil and Carole on-set. It was a very enjoyable evening.

One final time, I thanked him for his kindness.

“Don’t mention it,” he said. “Whatever you’re doing with Heather in your life, it sure seems to be working. You two are made for each other. I’m looking forward to working with her and seeing you again. Good luck.”

He paused. “I mentioned people in the movie business are informal,” he said, as we took our leave. “But not too many of them are nice. You two are. So we remember that as well.”

I’ve been called a few things in my career, but ‘nice’ has never been a word generally associated with me. Sometimes hearing that kind of criticism hurt, but to hear Bond’s praise in such circumstances made an indelible impression on me. Wordlessly, I extended my hand and smiling, he shook it.

I got Heather’s wrap from the coat check, tipped the concierge, and together we headed out to the car. The photographers were still inside with Bond and by this time, perhaps it was only my imagination that allowed me to see stars before my eyes.

# # #