Yesterday’s articles elicited just north of 27,000 hits. When the annual audit of Newsquest’s titles is conducted in February one anticipates that The Herald will do well to match my daily readership. By playing their paying customers for fools and inventing a fictitious holding company and the ludicrous Engine Room Subsidiary constructs, they have made a blue rod for their backs. I would not trust anyone from the Newsquest group – which is down 29.1% in year-on-year sales – to write a guest article on our Speakeasy. They are just not good enough and come with too much baggage. I would make an exception for Martin Hannan at The National who ploughs his furrows of excellence in a fallow field.
My second article laid out a rationale for insolvency procedures at Ibrox. I restricted my reportage to the known knowns. I steered clear of idle speculation. My arguments chimed with information that I received from my impeccable Ibrox boardroom mole this morning.
When the McInnes deal went sour the beleaguered board begged The Cardigan to return. Their initial overtures had been rebuffed but in their desperation to present the Gullibillies with a feelgood narrative, they doffed their caps and beat a path to his door.
Sir Walter (surely it’s just a matter of time for The Great Pretender) was open to a return to berating officials in the technical area with his inimitable phlegm-infused invective, but added one caveat. He insisted that Martin Bain was appointed as CEO. The Magnificently Maned Adulterer then reached out to his old china at Sunderland. Bain weighed his fatcat salary in the North East against the legal action he was forced to take to exact what he was due at Ibrox, and turned down Murray flat. He would not even agree to a sit down meeting. The Meningitis Moggy – as Walter is affectionately known for his hissy fits – was not best pleased. Did he wish Paul well in his new club?
When it became apparent that King had lied to the auditors and the beleaguered board apropos an injection of fresh capital, the rogue board then reached out to the Easdales. In daily calls from a revolving cast of directors, the majority of whom had plotted to have them kicked out of The Blue Room, the prevailing narrative was one of:
“We’re sorry we misjudged you. Please help us save the club. And yes, we know you didn’t take a penny or any interest on your loans. We just let Halloween Houston feed the gullibillies with that crap to destabilise you and David Somers. “
Desperate times, desperate measures. It might not surprise anyone to know that the Easdale brothers were not seduced by the beleaguered board. The Easdales are mixing in City circles. Venture capitalists are queuing up to pitch to them. They have a touch of alchemy about them in that they exchanged a scrap metal business for a thriving £100m public transport concern. David Somers’ endorsement that ‘they are tough, straight and get the job done‘ has resonated in The Square Mile. Is it not ironic that the Gullibillies chase away those best equipped to assist them?
The cash crisis at Ibrox is at fever pitch. At times like this some succour can traditionally be found by engaging the services of a face-painter. Inverting a frown to produce a smile is the estimable lady’s stock in trade. But even she turned the board down. Was there a causal link between an unpaid invoice for £40 and the creative lady choosing to demur?
When one tallies up the knock backs from The Meningitis Moggy, Bain, The Easdales and Smiles R Us, surely a call should be made to the doyen of romantic setbacks, Darryl Broadfoot. Darryl – who will date anyone as long as he can bench-press her and she answers to the name of Michelle – has remained staunch in the face of adversity. He has never been one to Mone about it. With Traynor pecking at continuation seeds with the blue tits in the Auchenhowie Apiary, surely it’s high time that the Ibrox stooge’s consigliere provided a lift. Michelle has kindly donated a bra.