At the Sons of Struth next karaoke get-together I would imagine a lot of people will be looking at the floor when someone gets up and starts belting that one out.
Yesterday, as Ally McCoist and his expensive squad were hiding from Cowdenbeath, using the excuse of an international break (in which a whole three members of said squad were called up to their national teams) a bunch of Sevco fans were making good use of their football free day to protest against the creeping ownership of their club by Mike Ashley.
The Brains Trust must have spent days locked in conference until they came up with the idea.
Their plan was simplicity in itself.
Across the country, shifty eyed fat men were assembling at various Sports Division discount stores, armed with bad breath and unwashed oaksters. Their diabolical scheme, hatched during all-night expletive filled Skype conference calls, was launched with perfect synchronicity, to achieve maximum impact. (I made that part up, as you’ll see.)
At random times during the day, in random cities, in random stores, these men walked in and began to pick up merchandise.
When they’d made it look as if they were simply Sevco fans out for a day’s shopping, and not undercover agents involved in a coup to root out the corruption at the heart of something they love, they took their merchandise up to the tills and they then watched, with glittering eyes and pounding hearts, as the totals were rolled up.
Then each of these men put a pudgy hand into unwashed jeans and pulled out a sweaty one pound coin, and like Craig Whyte grinning over his succulent lamb at David Murray, offered it for the merchandise.
And then … err … and then that was it. They left the shop like kids playing Chap Door Run Away, some gleefully recording the moment for posterity on their mobile phones.
Somewhere, a chubby billionaire is parked with his ample bum on an ivory lavvy, so as not to get his expensive boxer shorts dirty.
Do I sound like I’m mocking this nefarious scheme? Well, of course I am.
It’s like something out of The Pink Panther, the kind of thing you could only imagine emerging as part of this often barmy series of events. It is right up there with the mis-spelled email address that sent their supporters to a website advertising clowns. If you tried to make it up people would say it was too far-fetched.
This is how they’re going to crush the Ashley takeover plan. Harassing minimum wage shop workers (who used to be employees of their own club, by the way) with juvenile pranks and publicity stunts.
I understand the need to try and keep forward momentum. It’s important to any campaign, because the foot soldiers get itchy feet and start to drift it they don’t constantly have something to do. You lose focus, and when there’s a big ticking clock in the background it’s even harder to spend whole days sitting around doing nothing.
I get it, I really do.
Here’s what no-one told these people. The guy they are going up against is a serious operator. He has actual wealth off the radar. He can afford to take a hit that would give most businessmen a nosebleed and a heart attack. If you want respect from this guy the way to do it is with a show of force, something that makes him sit up and take notice.
You know what? You don’t have the organisation or the power to make that show of force. You’re just going to have to accept that your club’s destiny is in his hands. It’s the price you pay for not taking action, and paying attention, sooner. It’s a done deal.
But you know what? Mobilising correctly would have given the man pause. It would have made him stop for maybe a minute or two and consider whether the next step was worth his while. He’s got business interests all over the world and he doesn’t need Sevco Rangers to make it all work. In fact, if he wants to sell a lot of jerseys in Scotland an association with a club that, if you’ll pardon me for saying so, is almost universally reviled by everyone else is probably not a good idea. When their own supporters are gunning for you it’s a hellishly stupid idea.
So, some kind of organised effort would, at the very least, have given the man some food for thought. “Do I really need this in my life?”
Instead, what happened yesterday was akin to a wasp trying to force a bull to get out of a field by stinging it on the arse.
It was not a demonstration of force, but a colossal show of weakness. It was a big advertising board held up to Mike Ashley reading “If you make us angry we will … put itching powder in your jock strap.”
For Gods sakes guys, get real would you? Get serious. This is a world class player you’re going up against and this is infantile stuff which can only have the effect of making him believe he’s got no real opposition at all. You’ve tipped your hand. You’ve showed him how weak the cards are. You’ve already lost the first battle in the war, and weakness was the one thing you couldn’t afford to show this guy.
That’s this man’s license to walk all over you, right there.
A little more conversation and a less action was required here, don’t you think?
I’m amused to see, today, that your Facebook page is essentially saying to your critics “If you have a better idea let’s hear it.”
You realise you just advertised your own complete lack of a clue as to where you take this campaign next, right?
Honestly, if I ever want someone to screw up a piss up in a brewery … I know who I’ll call.
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