A COUPLE OF days have passed so by now it must have sunk in. You can't keep putting off your decision; you've got to face up to your responsibilities. Can you do it? Dare you do it? Are you big enough and ugly enough to cheer on Rangers in the UEFA Cup Final?
All over the country – everywhere that isn't Govan – Scots are asking themselves this question. We don't have many claims to football fame, but surely this is the game's most urgent inquiry right now. Those who don't understand football's subtleties
– and of course its perversities – will wonder why, as Scots, we're not automatically supporting the Scottish team. Oh that things were quite so simple.
Rangers exist to be the bogeyman of Scottish football. Actually, that's not the whole story. For their supporters, they're objects of devotion and I wouldn't dare suggest it's not absolute. Every second Saturday the faithful converge on Ibrox to pay homage to their heroes. They're there from kick-off right up until 15 minutes before the final whistle because, well, who wants to get stuck in traffic? But for the rest of us, Rangers are objects of derision. Just as a pantomime needs a villain – a giant slavering club-footed baby-eating monster – so the SPL needs Rangers.
We love to hate them. We moan about dodgy penalties, young talent being spirited away in the dead of night, the creepy unScottishness of Ibrox. We claim the SPL would be a better place if Rangers moved to the Premiership but the truth is we'd miss them. It would be like the political situation, post-devolution: who would we have to blame? (And I don't know why I made the analogy with England there, really I don't).
Back in October, when Barcelona's Lionel Messi accused Rangers of playing "anti-football", the rest of us chorused: "Tell us something we don't know!" Even some Rangers fans didn't like the style, or non-style, of play – especially when the solitary-striker routine was repeated at home against Inverness.
In Europe at least Walter Smith could argue that Rangers had to play to their strengths. They didn't have a Lionel Messi; they only had a Kirk Broadfoot. As they kept winning, it was rarely pretty. But the effect was weirdly hypnotic. Even the doubters began to wonder: "How far can they go without flair/ depending on defence/ sneaking an away goal/ holding on for the penalty shootout?" And even the dissenters were anxious to find out.
This is where the perversity comes in. We may have concurred with Messi, but when Rangers became the subject of a bizarre scientific experiment we were hooked. In the manner of beagles being forced to puff on Capstan Full Strength, David Weir and Carlos Cuellar were bombarded with crosses. How many could they head away before feeling woozy and turning green?
They're still standing, and the lab technicians are stunned. Smoking kills but it is possible for a Scottish team – six of last Thursday's line-up were home-grown – to reach a Euro final. And where's Messi? Barcelona never made their final. He may be a great player but he's not a great prophet. He's not the Messi, he's just a very naughty boy.
So, come on then, are you going to help make May 14 Honorary Bears' Day? I can see the issue – to support Rangers or not – dominating debate. It'll become another test of politicians' vision of a "modern, inclusive Scotland". Politcos will get involved and they'll only end up making fools of themselves, much like Tony Blair did when he harangued Scots for not supporting England at the last World Cup.
But guess what? The last people to be bothered about it will be the real Rangers fans. Celtic supporters in this situation would get paranoid. But those who follow, follow the boys in light blue won't lose any sleep. They'll just climb under their Union Jack duvets, turn off their Lee McCulloch nightlights and sing themselves off to Dreamland with a favourite lullaby: "We are Rangers, no one likes us, we don't care."
