Ma names Billy, well, William Wallace really, but my mates caw me Billy, and I fuckin’ love Rangers!
I’m fae a wee toon cawed Irvine in the west coast of Scotland. It has its up and doons like maste places, but it’s hame tae me, and there is a loat ae gid orange men doon this neck ae the wids, which is fuckin’ class.
I still live wae my maw n dad, pair of them are harmless cunts, but don’t have the same feelings about the teddy bears that I dae. I go to aw the hame games at Ibrox with my awl man, but the boring bastard just sits there and watches the fitba, I’m up aff ma feet every minute blaring oot the songs, ken wit a mean. But it’s gid spending some time wae um.
I’m sitting in my room wae the sash pumping out my Bluetooth speaker, getting in the mood fur the game, battle fever, butterflies, happens every time we play those cunts, I hate them, manky bastards. I’ve goat a few mates that support them, but I don’t let them ken that it secretly fuckin’ pains me to be pals wae thum. I lift my blue stone island jacket and my union jack scarf fae my PC chair, fire them oan and have a wee look in the mirror, “you look fuckin’ quality Billy son, lets get torn intae these bastards the day”, and I dae a wee header towards the mirror tae psyche myself up in case some wee dafty thinks he can have a go.
“William”, I hear gettin’ shouted fae doon stairs. “I’ve made you a couple of rolls before the football”. My maw, always lookin’ after me, makin’ sure I’m eatin’ enough. I guess that’s her joab and responsibility. “I’ll be down in a second mum, just grabbing my jacket fae ma wardrobe”, I shout back down. Before I leave ma room, I whip out ma phone, wae ma minted custom union bears phone cover, and I stawn right in front ae ma flags on the wall, union jack, hand of ulster and ma England flag. I take a selfie and upload it to snapchat, Instagram, facebook, the lot, with the tag, “intae this scum the day”, that’ll get aw my fenian pals wound up.
I bounce downstairs and intae the kitchen. My maw greets me wae two rolls n slice, one wae brown sauce, one wae tomato sauce, can never make my mind up whit wan I prefer. “take that scarf off and sit down to your breakfast William, yer dad is just getting out the shower”, she says tae me. “No problem mum, thanks for the rolls”. I scran the rolls down as quick as I can and I get a nice cawl can ae Irn-Bru fae the fridge, and grin as I put the can on the table, orange, blue and white, Irn-Bru obviously ken the score wae those colours.
Ma dad comes doonstairs fae his shower, wearing a pair of tan chinos and a navy blue jumper, whit a fud. “morning son, what’s your predictions today?” he asks me, “I’m no sure dad, I reckon we’re going to give them a game today, last one of the season, need to bring some pride back to the club”, I reply, and all he says is, “Aye, you’re no wrong there pal”, again, whit a fud. Where’s the fire, where’s the passion, nae whur, he’s a balloon. He’s that much of a balloon that he voted for independence back in the day. Why wid ye dae that? Nae gid proddy man wid want tae separate from being a part of Great Britain, we’re British men for fuck sake.
Me n ma awl man jump in his motor, a Ford Focus, company issue, nae fanny magnet that’s for sure. Whenever a get ma first motor it’ll be a fuckin’ belter, birds will love it. He fireson the radio as we’re driving to our usual parking space and it’s the blue nose Ally McCoist speakin’ and he’s goat Alex Rae supporting him, then that fuckin’ timmy cunt Chris Sutton next tae um. Everytime that Sutton cunt speaks I just want tae smash sumhin, he’s biased as fuck when it comes tae the manky mob, never takes his septic shades aff, canny stand it. Ally McCoist gets asked a question on Rangers’ chances the day, and in good old McCoist fashion he says, “it’s going to be a tough one, we need every player at their best, the fans need to get right behind the team and the lads can’t give Celtic any time on the ball, our pressing is important today, and we can only hope that the Celtic squad get rattled by the atmosphere and the pressure Rangers can inflict on them”, well said McCoist, an honest opinion, no biased at all, then this cunt Sutton gets asked the same question but in Septic’s favour, “Well I can’t see anything other than a Celtic victory today no matter what team Brendan Rodgers fields, it will still be miles ahead of Rangers. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is at least 3 goals for Celtic today”, fuckin’ dafty, knew he would just talk shite and no give us teddy bears a chance! Total wanker.
We gets tae the car park, grab our scarves and jaikits oot the back of the motor and make our way to the big house, Ibrox. Always a beautiful sight to see when yer on yer way to the games. Fuckin’ some amount of legends walked though those gates and pulled oan the shirt, mare than that other mob that’s for sure. We’ve mare league titles than these cunts, and mare importantly mare trophies in our cabinet. The only thing they cunts think they’ve goat oor us is a European Cup, big fuckin’ deal, Nottingham Forest huv two n they’re fuckin’ shite. They’re obsessed with everyhin’ we do as a club, some ae their fans celebrate oor defeats mare than their victories, tossers.
Ma dad buys a copy of the match day programme, as he normally dis, but always special when ye play these cunts, coz if we hammer thum, it will never be forgotten.
We’re through the turnstiles and we grab our usual pie and drink, then we make oor way to oor seats. Atmosphere is always crackin’ in here on old firm day, nuhin comes close. Canny even hear those fenian bastards for the sound of the union bears, real supporters, real orange men, they widny huv voted for independence that’s for sure, unlike my wanky dad.
The game has kicked aff, usual flurry of nerves on the pitch, but no fae the stands, we’re aw blaring oot the songs. Bastard, that Sinclair cunt has just scored in the first five minutes. “COME ON RANGERS, LETS GET TORN INTAE THUM!”, I shout fae ma seat. Fuckin’ hell, that wee rotter Griffiths has just scored a second.
It gets tae hawf time and we’re two-nil doon. I feel a comeback, that lot are runnin’ oot ae steam.
Whistle blows fur the second hawf, and ten minutes in, that wee prick McGregor makes it three-nil, I canny cope, this is fuckin’ sore to watch. Another ten minutes pass and that big bastard Boyata scores a fourth, fuckin’ hell. Aw a can hear is those dirty bastards singin’ noo. The fans huv gave up, the players huv obviously gave up, we’ll no see most ae them next season the useless pricks, and as for that Mark Warburton, he’s as good as sacked awready. We’ve awready been pumped by them in previous games this season, worse wan being 5-1 at their own hole, thankfully that’ll no be the result the day. Boom, Kenny Miller scores a wee consolation goal, four-one noo, a wee bit of pride restored. Joost grab aner wan and this scoreline isny a total embarrassment. Aw fur fuck sake, their shitey defender has only went a skipped by a couple ae oor players and scored a fifth, this is a fuckin’ shambles. “Dad can we leave now, this is torture” I say to my dad, “Aye son, mon’ we’ll head for the motor”, by this point maste ae the stadium is empty anyway, canny really blame folk for leavin’ that was hard to watch for any gid Rangers man.
I get outside the stadium and my phone is gawn daft, fuckin’ stupit pals sendin’ me aw sorts ae messages oan the wind up. I ignore thum, jump on Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook, the lot, and delete aw my earlier posts tae save the humiliation. I walk by this wee doll n I can see that she’s eyein’ me up, the stone island jacket has that affect on wee burds, so I give her a wee grin joost tae let her ken that I seen her.
Eventually, efter whit felt like a long drive, we get in the hoose. I head straight upstairs tae ma room, canny be fucked speakin’ tae any cunt, slam ma door shut, n fire Fortnite on the Xbox and keep my headset aff, coz I ken fine well my wee timmy pals will be dyin’ tae rip intae me.
First message came through as soon I sign in, message fae martybhoy67, “get it right fuckin’ up ye ya wee dafty”, whatta cunt, even his gamertag is cuntish.
“William”, my maw shouts fae downstairs, “hope you’ve looked out your uniform for tomorrow, it’s your induction day at Greenwood Academy”, she says, “fuckin’ hell gie me peace”, I say loud enough for me tae hear, but no her, but she must huv some mad mutant power coz she heard suhin, “What was that? Don’t think you can speak to me like that just because your team lost today, it’s only a game of football”, she shouts back. Only a game of football? What planet is this clown fae, this is ma life! Why am I gawn tae a school anyway with the word green in it? Goes against everyhin a stawn fur. I feel masel wellin’ up, so I jump oan my bed and grab my union jack cushion and smash my face intae it and burst intae tears.
Worst day of ma life.
Allan's Short Stories 