YOU ARE cruising south on the M6, when suddenly, south of Penrith, you grind to a halt – obviously, up ahead there has been a crash. But, as you sit in the queue, fuming quietly at the delay, you suddenly realise, the steady flow of north-bound traffic has also slowed somewhat. It's still moving, but more slowly than normal, and with the line of vehicles more-bunched than is usual.
Finally, you reach the scene of the accident and you understand why the north-bound flow has changed: it's because, human nature being what it is, even though their side of the motorway is unimpeded, the north-bound drivers have slowed to gape at the carnage.
Well, maybe now the most-obvious car crash of 2025 has happened, and Russell Martin's ambition has hit the buffers of The Rangers support's unachievable expectations, the rest of us can get back on our journey to whatever destination.
I cannot recall the full gag, but, one of the best efforts from early Billy Connolly, was his suggestion that getting World War II started was great work by Vera Lynn's agent – it has got me thinking: getting Martin appointed was great work by the British betting industry's pr arm. William Hill, Paddy Power, Betfred etc can look forward to a bumper time until the next sap is inducted into what is, at the moment, an impossible job.
My old mentor – Ian “Dan” Archer, some 40 years ago now, famously described the Ibrox clus as: “a constant embarrassment and occasional disgrace.” The erudite Old Rugbeian aimed that particular arrow at the club's following. This century the slur could be better aimed at the High Heid Yins within that football fortress on Edmiston Drive.
They may have had personal failings, but the Rangers board of my young days represented the club's status as one of the most-dignified institutions in the city of Glasgow. Chairman John Lawrence built most of the new private houses on the peripheray of the city. Vice-Chairman John F Wilson was a Bailie – if you like a Cardinal on Glasgow City Council. George Brown and Alan Morton were club legends as former players, while Brown was Head Teacher at Bellahouston Academy, one of Glasgow's better state schools: Morton was a qualified mining engineer. These men had a status in the city which has been beyond the reach of their 21st century successors. They had a way of doing things which helped give the club it's aura, through traditions such as the annual Loving Cup Toast.
It may be a small thing, if you wish, dismiss it as irrelevant, but, is there nobody left at Ibrox able to enforce traditional Rangers' standards? You look at the way the current squad takes the field and in particular at their stockings.
James Tavernier – Captain of Rangers lest we forget: takes the field as the poster boy for this ludicrous modern fashion for having his stockings above his knees. At least five of the other ten have their stockings down round their ankles, or at the highest, mid-calf.
Bill Struth insisted on one inch of black showing above the red band on the club's stockings. We maybe don't need to go back to those days, but just look at this picture of Greig, taken on the occasion of his Testimonial Game; doesn't he look a lot better than Tavernier does? Maybe getting Greig and Alex Ferguson, complete with high-powered hair dryers, into the dressing room to enforce Rangers; standards, might lift the on-field performances.
The problem for whoever picks up the poisoned chalice of being Manager is, he can only pee with the pricks he's got (pardon the crudity, but, it has to be said). Some of the guys whose under-performances got Russell Martin his jotters, are not Kilwinning Rangers or Cambuslang Rangers' standard, far-less good enough for The Rangers.
I remember sitting in the old Ibrox press box, perched on the roof of the main stand, alongside the late Doug Baillie, as he threw away his pen in disgust as “the next big thing for Rangers” tripped over his own feet and missed a sitter. “That yin will still be a promising boy when he's 30” Big Doug observed.
Said player was gone by the following season, back to the Juniors, where, to be fair, he did score a few goals. I don't think several of the obviously NRC – that's “Not Rangers Class” - stumble-bums taking a good living out of the club today, would get a regular game in the West of Scotland League, into which the West of Scotland Juniors have morphed.
But, let's get back to basics – who's next for the skylark? The man who started it all is probably deid, but, Glasgow audiences have a long history of being hard to please – a history best summed-up by the legendary tale of Bernie Winters sauntering on-stage at the old Glasgow Empire on Sauchiehall Street, one Friday night in the 1950s, to join brother Mike, to be greeted by a cry of: “Fuckin' Hell, there's twa o' them” by a punter in the stalls. Now the critic's religion has never been verified, I sense perhaps his usual place of worship was Firhill, but, mindful of Craig Brown's great story, he might have been a regular worshipper at Shawfield.
The story: as Craig told it, he had just been appointed to the Clyde FC board, and as he made his way to the dug out for the game, he was halted by two long-standing Clyde fans – Craig could even name them; these guys were constant critics of his managerial style and the message was: “Haw Broon – noo yer oan the board, can ye no sack that useless manager o' oors”?
Maybe if whoever is making the big calls inside Ibrox was to enter a few Rangers' watering holes in the city they would get similar treatment.
Another of my inspirations and mentors along the meandering path I have taken to sports-writing immortality was Hughie Taylor. One of Hughie's best pieces was his description of Willie Telfer's first act as a Rangers' player, in his debut, against Clyde, at Ibrox, on 16 November, 1957.
As Hughie wrote it: “The cross could have been headed clear by one of the club's Victorian founders, still wearing a top hat, but, the roar from the Rangers' fans indicated their relief at having a centre half who could do the basics spoke volumes.”
The background to the arrival of life-long Rangers' fan and Larkhall man Telfer was, poor John Valentine had been cast adrift after Celtic's 7-1 League Cup Final triumph: “Hampden in the sun” four weeks previously. Valentine had been signed from Queen's Park to succeed the now-retired George Young, but he had struggled to rise to the challenge and after that cup final, he was history and quickly off-loaded to St Johnstone.
The untried, 20 year-old Willie Moles was the next cab off the rank, but a head injury did for him and, almost in desperation, Rangers turned to the now 32 year-old Telfer to hold their creaking defence together. This he did as he went on to play over 90 games for the club before serving them off the park as a club scout. This month marks the centenary of Telfer's birth.
So, to today's question: who's going to be the 2025 version of Willie Telfer? Supplementary question – will it work as well?
I don't have the answer, but, one thing I do know is, the new High Heid Yins at the club are only now perhaps realising, Glasgow is a lot different from San Francisco.
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