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50 Shades of Blue


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Valentine's Day approaches, the annual regatta of sappy sentiment kept afloat on a sea of chocolates, flowers and insincerity. A florist on Steelonia High Street is breezily suggesting declaring your love via a dozen red roses for £50: I don't care how deep your love is, demonstrating it by throwing away money is only going to impress the most immature of ladies. The majority, I feel, would purse their lips disapprovingly and think of how much shopping £50 would get you in Lidl these days.

 

Always a trial for West of Scotland man, not a creature overly given to public displays of affection, this year's ordeal is made worse by the release in cinemas of '50 Shades of Grey', there seemingly being a gap in the market for movies depicting tied up women having their arses skelped. It's good to see the advances made in equality since the heady days of the 1960's.

 

My contempt for the book, naturally not based on actually reading it but by reading all the stuff in the papers and deciding from that what it's like, is heightened by the revelation that the owner of the skelped arse in question, one Anastasia Steele, not only possesses a sex drive ludicrous in anyone over the age of 16 (or certainly anyone with kids) but displays an extraneous 'e' at the end of her surname. Plainly, you get different spellings of the same name, but given the fairly obvious origin of 'Steel' as a surname, sticking an 'e' on it is about as useful as sticking another Ashley place man on the Rangers board. She'd be better losing that 'e' than losing her knickers.

 

Anyway, a sexploitation film as romantic evening out doesn't work for me on any level, no matter how accurate the spelling. Cinematically, Valentine's Day used to mean maybe a Tom Hanks - Meg Ryan film. Older Bears may have enjoyed what is now the rather ironic sight of Rock Hudson wooing the honey-voiced Doris Day (and to think people considered him a poor actor). Changed days, indeed. Few now recall the scenes in which Rock chastised Doris for burning his dinner by taking a belt to her no doubt flawless, snow white cheeks, for the good reason that they never happened.

 

It's hard to imagine anything less romantic than watching niche sexual activities like domination and arousal via corporal punishment at the pictures, in a room full of strangers. Even in the privacy of your own boudoir, taking your hand to most Glasgow lassies will result not in the moist, softly moaned discovery that your other half is a secret masochist but either a frosty or furious response which may or may not include you sleeping on the couch. Or so I'm told.

 

There's no escaping the publicity for this faintly ridiculous film. Staff at B&Q have, it seems, been instructed to read the book in order to deal with the raging hormones of shoppers looking for cable ties and tape: http://www.theguardian.com/film/2015/feb/10/fifty-shades-of-grey-tape-bq-tells-stores-to-stock-up-on-bondage-hardware

 

They haven't really, but it gets the name of the film 'out there', on the back of a presumably pliant DIY chainstore, whose name also receives promotion. I wonder if they realised that they, B&Q, are the Ana Steele in this story, or whether they care. I suppose it's unlikely, it's all about money. But really, it's all cobblers! When in B&Q, my wife is likely to be more excited by the thought of buying wallpaper to redecorate the living room than the sight of me lurching breathlessly toward her clutching gaffer tape, enveloped in an arousing mix of amorous intent and asthma.

 

No matter, the point is that the '50 Shades' media overload is pure advertising and PR gold, raising awareness all round, driving sales, regardless of what little substance there is. The outcome is what everyone involved wants (money), a successful example of what I believe professionals call 'selling the sizzle, not the steak'. Which is why I am concerned at the never ending stream of what looks like rubbish PR coming out of Rangers: it doesn't seem to be sizzle or steak.

 

What a ride, if you'll excuse the expression, the last few years at Rangers have been.

 

Well into my forties, my passion lies as much on Edmiston Drive as between the sheets. And certainly, my footballing cheeks have taken a pasting which even Christian Grey would struggle to better, bound as I am with Newcastle United ties and with a Sports Direct large bag covering my head. Thank you Mike, may I have another!

 

I've been in plenty shops where the staff viewed me as an annoyance, but none have come close to the total and continual contempt Rangers show for their customers. It's beyond weird: there's no doubt Ashley, Easdale and their 'friends' are universally detested by all but the most odd of Bears (the ones who, presumably, enjoy being hurt) but their PR does nothing to address it, indeed it almost willfully makes it worse week by week.

 

The EGM debacle is just the latest example of this. But since the chap in charge of Rangers PR is, by all accounts, highly effective at what he does, we need to take a step back from dismissing the club's PR as just useless and ask instead: if it is effective, if it is actually being done to a purpose, what on earth could that purpose be?

 

Here's where I enter, if you'll forgive that word in this context, dark and murky waters. For I cannot see any outcome for all this behaviour which has Rangers is a happy place. Let's see what the strategy consists of, shall we? Drive away customers, now an impressive 75% down; insult and lie to customers at every opportunity (protests, fan boards, statements); sell any asset which isn't nailed down while failing to invest in infrastructure at any level; ban media outlets; hamstring the club's financial future by removing income streams in favour of loans. How does that add up to a prosperous future for anyone?

 

None of these strategies are done in the dark, indeed it's all quite aggressively up front. What on earth can the plan be, unless it's to kill Rangers completely stone dead? I wish I could dismiss the idea as ludicrous fantasy as easily as I can the E.L. James book, but for the life of me I cannot see what an alternative could be. Either Ashley and Irvine, both very successful at what they do, have got this one horribly wrong, or there's something going on we don't know about, but which is not likely to be good.

 

My last hope has to be the EGM, currently stumbling around London like a 1970's Scotland fan, looking for a dosshouse, but being turned away by one sniffy landlady after another. Yet another PR disaster - or is it? Good news, or bad news? I'll be happy if it just goes ahead. Like Anastasia Steele in the film, it can't come soon enough.

Edited by andy steel
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