Corruption

SO THE failed English bid to host the 2018 World Cup is back in the news, with Lord Treisman's appearance before a parliamentary committee this week - and his allegations of improper approaches from certain FIFA Executive Committee members, including, surprise, surprise the lovely Jack Warner.

Don't you find it ironic that a guy bearing the same surname as the actor who made 'Dixon of Dock Green' the personification of the decent, solid, English "bobby" is (again) put in the frame as the biggest chancer in world football - a body inhabited by chancers.

It is hardly news that Warner is (probably/allegedly) corrupt. Didn't dear old John McBeth get flung off FIFA, before he was even on it, for implying that Warner was one of a number of FIFA executives who forced him to count his fingers after shaking hands with them. Then there was the case of him asking for Trinidad and Tobago's fee for playing Scotland in a friendly to be paid into his personal bank account.

That was years ago. McBeth was fed to the wolves and the FA couldn't wait for him to be gone before they were picking-up the British FIFA vice-presidency which had been McBeth's.

Now they're shouting foul as loudly as they can. But don't shout too-loudly chaps, or some light might be shone on darker recesses of the FA, such as how the peers, queers and comic singers who run the EPL have managed to get so well-in in the FA's corridors of power.

SPEAKING of guys who are "well-in"; what about wee "Battler" Brown getting off with a slap on the wrist after his contretemps with John Boyle at Fir Park? Actually probably another sensible reaction from an SFA Disciplinary Committee, not previously known for common-sense dispersing of justice.

Or is it, as one of the SJFA High Heid Yins, a man who can navigate the Hampden corridors without a route map, insisted a few weeks ago, when we spoke, even before the case was heard: a case of Craigie boy being OK, since he was "well-up".

If you're not from the West of Scotland and don't know what "well-up" means; it's a secret and I cannot tell you.

I AM writing this prior to the Hearts v Celtic game, a match which could yet - if the Edinburgh side wins it - hand the title to Rangers with a match to spare. In spite of the pre-match posturing as regards Lennie's remarks, Vlad's intervention in the Hearts selection process and whether or not the moon is in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with Mars, I still think Rangers will have to come to Rugby Park on Sunday and win to take the prize.

Turning Sunday's game into a victory cavalcade might not be a bad thing, given Killie have this week had to warn Rangers fans who have bought a ticket for the two pitch-length stands they risk being flung out, as these are Killie-only areas.

I don't think Killie have 9000 regular fans to fill these two areas, so it is obvious to me that a good number of Rangers fans have clearly bought "Killie" tickets. Mind you, some of my Celtic-supporting friends tell me it is impossible to tell a Rangers fan from a Killie fan under normal tests.

I first started going to senior football in the old days of no segregation. Certainly come Old Firm game time, the fans segregated themselves, indeed, in those pre-Stein days at Celtic Park - the "Rangers" end stretched to more than half-way along the old Jungle, Celtic being in a deep recession, there weren't too-many green-and-white wearing fans at the first few Old Firm games I attended.

But, apart from Old Firm games, the fans tended to mingle, with very little bother. One memory of these long-gone days which has always stuck in my mind was of a Kilmarnock v Celtic game back in about 1960 - it was so long ago Billy McNeill was the new boy playing right back for Celtic, with Bobby Evans at centre half.

We were in our usual spot in the old "hay shed", across from the main stand at Rugby Park and in front of us was a father and son pairing, Dad supporting Killie, Son favouring the Hoops. The banter between the two was priceless, well worth the admission, paticularly since Killie won.

Then there was a visit to Ibrox, standing where the Govan Stand is now, next to a group of Rangers supporters, one of whom spent the entire match hurling abuse at Killie captain Willie Toner. Eventually one of the adults with us asked him: "Excuse me pal, what exactly have you got against Willie?"

"Sorry pal, but Willie was one of my apprentices at Shettleston Works and he was a lazy young so-and-so; so I suppose I object to him being oot there enjoying himself playing fitba"; was the reply. You cannot argue with logic like that.

Would the fabric of society be irrepairably damaged if we again allowed that sort of banter at football? I think not.