Morning, brothers. Aye, we've renewed our efforts to actually get this out in the morning again. Coming off the drink has its many benefits but a renewed vigour to write at midnight is certainly not one of them. You'll feel great, they say. You won't believe how much better it is, they say. You won't miss it, they say. All of this fails to take into account that firstly, it will be a living hell for the first few days, and secondly that anybody of sane mind who has gotten to the stage in life where they need to abstain for a wee bit has probably forgotten, in mind and body, what total sobriety is actually like. After this, GTBFO has lost the childhood ambition of acquiring superpowers at some point. We liked our breathing, walking and thinking speeds as they were. This just feels bizarre.
Anyway, here's what's going on in the world of Rangers.
Phew. At least the recent hold-up on this isn't (well, according to McKay at least) coming from his side. We were starting to get worried there for a second.
Or, in reality,any prospect of an actual punishment has been kicked into the long grass for eighteen months. When, presumably, we'll be too busy celebrating number 55 to be worried about it. Nice thinking.
There's been increasing rumblings going on about such a move, with David Moyes too pricy, Michael O'Neill too busy, and Ronny Deila too much of a useless clown to the extent that even the gullible masses at Parkhead can see it. That leaves Stubbs in pole position, with only "couldn't beat Bilel Mohsni's Rangers" and "has a face like a melted arse" blighting his "cons" column. GTBFO is resigned to the fact that we won't have Deila on our side as we compete for number 55, but replacing him with Stubbs would be a good choice for us, since Mark Warburton so clearly has his number.
Glad to hear it, ye wee ride. When's your "not playing for Rangers" nightmare going to end too?
GTBFO is delighted that this made so little impact that we didn't even notice it until desperately searching 'Scotland' for something amusing to put at the end of the roundup today. One to belatedly guffaw at Blair or Hamish in the office about as 'our' brave mob of privately-educated Edinburgh and Borders bawbags suffer defeat against their supposed ancient enemy with whom they have everything in common. Still, at least our rugby fans are predictable (well, outside the Borders, but really, who cares about them): the same set of braying poshos you get on the pitch. That weird entire class England seems to possess of wee men with round heads and hard hearts who work in middle-management who comprise most of their rugby-watching population never seemed to make sense to us. Where do they come from? Is that what Tories are? Answers in the comments, please.