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Sad, Sad, Sad...but you're gonna be mine?

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Another week, another court appearance, another gut wrenching series of unfortunate events. Welcome to our world, Oscar Pistorius.


In poor taste, of course, since no-one that we know of has died because of this shambling wreckage currently impersonating our club. Even so, just as in the OJ Simpson case and just as with Oscar, sides are being taken and battle lines drawn up. As a completely uninformed and lonely outsider with no inside info at all, it's just plain depressing.


Amazing what a difference a week makes - last Tuesday, I was sitting in the garden with sun cream on, this week the only use I'd have for the lotion is to hold the shiny orange bottle in front of me as a guide through the gloom. Last week, hopes were high Dave would ride to the rescue, this week, the Man Who Would Be King revealed his plan for increasing pressure on the board this week, a pledge scheme which is, presumably, intended more to demonstrate the level of power over the club's income streams that Camp King possess rather than actually force a result; posters have pointed out already the slim chance of the present lot actually handing over securities in exchange for ST cash.


If this is a game of chicken, I think King will lose, because unlike the Kelly family when Timothy was at death's door, the people running our club couldn't give a toss whether their name is forever mud on the streets of Glasgow (or, in fairness to all, Fraserburgh or Berlin). They won't blink because they don't care if the outcome is catastrophe: that unpleasant fact, which incidentally ought to help us decide whether they are fit for purpose or not, gives them an advantage in any poker game.


Speaking of Timothy...he's been invoked a few times during this saga, usually along the lines of 'if only Rangers had a Fergus McCann figure'. Last week saw a cacophony of media types berate King for not just spending his money and getting it over and done with; curious, really, considering that (a) he was apparently offered a controlling interest for approximately £6m, quite a saving on the 70p a share deal he was offered a year ago - it seems holding out for a good deal can be advantageous. It's also curious because (b) these same media types were only a few weeks ago lauding Fergus McCann to the skies on the anniversary of his bailout of the dying Timothy, berating fans who booed him at cetlc Park and castigating the journos who mocked him.


And now, they do exactly the same to a similar figure across the city.


Whether King is tyre kicking or driving a good deal I have no idea. Hopefully every penny he's saved as yet will go into Rangers because by heck, the club will need his money. While I can see that people are fed up with little detail and much bluster, the lesson history certainly suggests deciding the issue in advance can lead to subsequently looking daft. Telling someone else to spend their money is never a position which can be defended: we simply don't know enough facts. We don't know if Rangers, like the Stones sing, are 'gonna be mine', his or theirs; with King, all we can do is hope he either does or doesn't come through. depending on your personal preference.


I suppose it indicates how far we've come (or gone?) socially that instead of a toff whacking a peasant on the head and loudly crawing 'you there! make my mark, you beast!' we now grab the rich person and yell 'Haw, you! Get yer waalet oot!' But really the main impression is of people just talking for the sake of making a noise: I'm uncomfortably aware how close to the bone this criticism is!


As Mick says, it's just sad, sad, sad, coming on top of years of sadly depressing viewing all round in football. Other sports don't seem to be so institutionally useless as football is, here and elsewhere. The owner of the LA Clippers basketball team makes a racist comment and is immediately forced to sell by his fellow owners: just imagine that level of corporate accountability here! We can but pray the suspiciously Scottish-sounding Donald Sterling doesn't fancy investing his dollars in our club; there is a limit to the number of bad publicity one team can withstand.


All I can hope is that , when the dust eventually settles, people aren't too bitter. While there are probably some people in your Rangers life you'd be glad never to talk to again, life is too short for grudges. Like the seemingly infinite number of ants who are apparently holding a month long sports day under my kitchen window, the highlight of which is the 'climb in Steely's windae and run aboot the worktops avoiding his crushing thumb' event, we'll need to show a level of patience and stoicism last seen when Seneca was penning his dramas.



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I look forward to the day Andy pens a cheerful piece again. I fear we've a while to wait though.


It's hard work writing about Rangers at the moment. Not only is there nothing all that original to commentate on, it's hugely difficult to be positive about anything.


Makes us all look like right grumpy buggers. At least Andy is one anyway I suppose.

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Not me. I think Steel is at his best when he's maudlin and despondent; His 'Blue' period, if you like. :)


No, no, no. It's just been so long since since his blue period started you can't remember when he was a beacon of frivolity, humour and reimagined country music. In those days he used to write about Stephen Whittaker's lack of hair, you can't even write about that anymore.

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No, no, no. It's just been so long since since his blue period started you can't remember when he was a beacon of frivolity, humour and reimagined country music. In those days he used to write about Stephen Whittaker's lack of hair, you can't even write about that anymore.


I had actually heard rumours to that effect. Also, that this used to be a forum for talking about football. I put both down to the ramblings of old men, so unlikely is either one.

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In my youth it was the Everly Bros, "So Sad".


We used to have good times together,


but now I feel them slip away,


it makes me cry to see love die,


so sad to watch good love go bad.



This version, perhaps not the best, from the Reunion Concert in 1983.


Look out for the legendary Albert Lee (complete with perm) on lead guitar in the background.


Sadly Phil Everly passed away in January.

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