Uilleam

..."The tycoon's profits have rocketed since he flogged the Ibrox club for just £1 back in 2011...." Is the writer positing a causal link, here?

Not only was it a disaster, you contrived to watch it sober. Let that be a lesson to you. Six pints and you'll be taking the positives out of it.

On reflection, any half decent player might well feel stressed when asked to play with that lot, out there, on display, today.

A Spaniard with no cojones, playing for a Portuguese who grew up fighting bulls: a scenario always likely to end in tears.

I think that somebody, one of those empowered, should change the title of this thread to: Turning Shame at Hampden into Complete, Abject Humiliation at Ibrox.

Personally, I fear that they will not win another game this season.

After 40mins, Sky tells us Rangers have had 1 shot at goal, fhilthfootballclub 11. Actually, that is shameful.

Their passing is appalling: either telegraphed, or badly executed. Their marking at set pieces leaves a lot to be desired, with fhilth fc's major goal threats seemingly being given freedom of the paddock.

Through beer goggles, darkly, is often the best, the only, way to watch, depending on form, both your own, and that of the team. I prescribe a kerry-oot, of substantial content.

In other occupations it would, in all likelihood, be held to be a potential conflict of interest. The problem, in practice, is that if you allow players to bet on matches , that privilege is likely to be abused; from the use of 'inside' information on the player's own team, or, perhaps exchanged between mates, who play elsewhere, for the opposition, say, on form, injuries, tactics, the star striker's marital issues, and so on, akin to 'insider trading', through 'spot fixing' or influencing the no. of fouls, throw ins, corners, cards, own goals etc., to full blown match fixing. The temptation to indulge in such behaviour would be increased by lack of success in the betting market.

I believe that this is 'smart, casual', in the Gallowgate slophouse dress code.

More probably Blind Turlough O'Carolan.

If memory serves, our referees lost the strike (a walk out unarguably engendered by that New Renaissance Man, Neil Lennon, and sellikfootballclub). Failing to win an industrial dispute of that nature will generally make those defeated think long and hard about repeating the experience. The success of Pinhead the Hand Puppet's false flag operation, flying in foreign referees, under, quite blatantly, false pretences, may help crystallise officials' thinking, although whether it would be as easy for the SFA to repeat the blacklegging operation is a matter for conjecture. A no. of the foreign officials were perturbed that the Scottish football authorities had lied to them about the reason that their services were required. The gentlemen of the media, I need hardly add, behaved like the sellik lickspittles they are, which aided neither the officials' cause, nor the pursuit of truth, one whit. At the moment, the League, unfortunately, is done, and even if the officials decided to withdraw their labour, the teams most likely to suffer are those fighting for promotion, or against relegation, and not the outfit responsible for alienating the referees in the first place. It is, therefore not, tactically, the optimum time to down tools, or whistles and flags for that matter. One rather hopes that the match officials will nurse their grievances, keeping them warm, hopefully red hot and furious, until competitions resume. Next season will, I imagine, see the fhilth cock-a-rahoops with themselves; their hauteur, together with their sense of entitlement, and their control of parties within the Association, and the League, will result in further and increasing disenchantment among the officials. It may prove to be an interesting season, off the field of play.

A friend suggested that Radio Liffey's football gub was, perhaps, on the independent, quasi judicial panel which considered Brown's red mist defence. He has previously fulfilled such an onerous obligation, apparently.

A friend suggested that Radio Liffey's football gub was, perhaps, on the independent, quasi judicial panel which considered Brown's red mist defence. He has previously fulfilled such an onerous obligation, apparently.

Hopefully, the bastard is in the gaol.

The bastard must be in the gaol, then.

Turning shame into success: it seems to me that that is more rasellik way.

Outrageous. They are making hay while the sun shines. Soon, their vile practices will be exposed in the courtroom, once again, and they will pay the penalty.

The Ages of Fandom. It's easy enough to work out to which one you belong............. The five ages of being a football fan You start off innocent and awestruck, become rambunctious, then detached and analytical, before finally reclining into a place where you say whatever you want By Ian Plenderleith for When Saturday Comes, of the Guardian Sport Network When the Premier League matchday experience has become too intense, it’s time to settle into life in the lower leagues. Ian Plenderleith Wednesday 26 April 2017 10.03 BST There are five ages to being a football fan. In Age One, you are the wide-eyed innocent in your father’s wake, awestruck at every kick, scream and swearword. In the Second Age, you are the young teenager at the game with mates, gleefully and liberally squawking those same swearwords. In Age Three, in your late teens and early 20s, you are the detached, laconic observer, trying to pretend that you don’t care by laughing at your team’s failures, all the while hurting underneath. In the Fourth Age, now in your 30s and 40s, perhaps with a family of your own, you prefer to sit and analyse, making frequent references to players and games from the past. You have reached peak wisdom, because in Age Five, as you hit middle age and beyond, you feel that your loyalty and longevity entitle you to do and say whatever the hell you want. Pay 30-plus quid for a ticket? Why the hell should I? Bollocks to that, I’m off to watch the North East Counties League. Those grimacing pensioners you see at every non-League ground are not just decoration for authenticity’s sake. It’s you and me, in the future. Maybe even now. It’s the logical reward for years of emotional hardship, and all that time and money you invested in teams that would only ever pay you back in the currency of disappointment. I recently caught a glimpse of Age Five, and it’s a comforting place to be. On a recent Saturday morning in north Lincolnshire, my dad and I contemplated the fixture list for our afternoon’s entertainment. Lincoln had already played the night before, and both Grimsby and Scunthorpe were away. So were Louth Town, Gainsborough Trinity, Brigg Town, Lincoln United and Lincoln Moorlands. The final choice was between Hull City v Crystal Palace and Barton Town Old Boys v Bridlington Town in the FA Cup extra preliminary qualifying round. Two decades earlier, we wouldn’t have hesitated to head off to Hull. On this day, we opted for a country drive, a spot of lunch with a pint of ale and then a game featuring lots of blokes called Phil, Dave, Tom and Steve. Not for us the cosmopolitan cut-and-thrust of a high-level encounter in a rocking stadium. We wanted a place where we could sit back, belch, and then smile as the rest of the crowd turned around to see who’d made all that noise. The idea of Hull and 18,000 other fans seemed like too much bother. The whole matchday experience has become too intense. You can no longer amble up to the gate just before kick-off, hand over your cash and find a spot to stand or a seat with a reasonable view. You have to plan, weeks or even months in advance. When buying tickets, you’ve got to be sure there’s enough money in your bank account to cover it. You have to work out how many hours before kick-off you’ll need to set out to avoid the traffic, get a parking space and beat the rush. After all, if you’ve paid all that cash for the privilege, you don’t want to miss a single minute. And once you’re in, you’re stuck with one seat. And so you decide that it all seems like too much hassle. If you don’t bother, you’ll save all that money and petrol. You’ll save the six hours that going to a 90-minute game now demands. You’ll save yourself from drinking cold, crappy beer from a plastic beaker. You’ll save yourself from the bloke next to you who hasn’t washed his replica shirt since last summer. You’ll save yourself from the bloke behind you who is very, very angry about everything that’s happening on the field, and plenty more besides. You’ll save yourself the disappointment of an unhappy result. On this particular Saturday, my dad and I left a village pub south of Barton a few minutes before kick-off, parked right outside the ground and paid a total of eight quid to get in. The grumpy old gate man got aggrieved at my dad for having the audacity to ask what colour the home team played in. Programmes were a quid, as were raffle tickets (prizes – a bottle of wine and “a breakfast”). You got to see and hear every grimace, grunt and foul-mouthed scream of frustration. The 138 spectators watched a 2-2 draw, which was three goals more than they had in Hull, where Palace won by virtue of a chiselling own goal. I can see myself in my twilight years, whiling away autumnal afternoons and sparsely floodlit Tuesday nights to a backdrop of thuds, yells and an occasional twist of real skill. Watching football wherever I feel like it, cheaply and without stress. Shouting out to the lumbering defender: “Oi, Dobson, you’re shite!” He turns around and sees an old man. What’s he going to do? By Age Five, you’ve paid your dues to football. It’s finally time to stand back with a pint and enjoy the game on your terms. • This article appeared first in When Saturday Comes • Read the full WSC back catalogue by subcribing to the magazine • Follow WSC on Twitter and Facebook https://www.theguardian.com/football/when-saturday-comes-blog/2017/apr/26/five-ages-being-football-fan-non-league-supporter

Bookie bankrolls one horse race. Like something out of Damon Runyon. (According to the media, which I believe, implicitly, always, the competition is by Racing Certainty out of Foregone Conclusion.)

They would have to knock the mould off first. The sports' media in Scotland is pretty dire, as a whole; the fitba' writers, commentators, pundits etc., are excepted, only insofar as as they are the most wretched, and irredeemable of the entire species.

They could console themselves with the notion that it would be another "furst furrahoops".... Seriously, a full investigation into the activities of that club is essential. If it is found to have sought advantage in youth recruitment by knowingly prejudicing children's safety, if it is found to have covered up criminal acts (flouting the Law in its own interests), then for either, or both of these wrongs it, and the men responsible, must receive appropriate sanction under Law, and exemplary punishment by the football authorities.

At some point even the corrupt of this land will have to concede that.

Prosecutions -successful prosecutions- will force the issue. It just takes one to crack......