I flew out to Mallorca the day before the "hame" leg.
In truth I hudnae gave how i wis gonna watch the game any thought whatsoever. I hud thought about whit I was gonna be wearing though.
1985 Cup final retro. Rarely pack Celtic stuff now mainly because I dinny buy anything fir myself. Awe ma tops are 7 years old and not retro. Just scabby as shit. But this was different. It wis cool and wid look cool in a baleric sunset after a face saving win.
How wis i gonna watch the gemme though? The previous week a jack shit satellite channel mair known for showing UFC or NASCAR gave me an easy option.
Facebook hud informed me of numerous local ale hooses- that im never in - who saw a quick buck and paid for the gemme. They wanted passing trade, a one off punter. I wisny willin tae embarrass maeself being the one off punter who buys a diet irn bru. Fuck that. It's a rid neck. Bad enough getting the funny looks or the look of pity cause folk think im ill or dying cause I dinny drink.
Only in Scotland can no drinking through choice make you a weirdo.
I hud looked at subscribing tae the channel over the previous weekend. How tae subscribe then - mair importantly - how tae unsubscribe in the quickest possible fashion. Wis gonna cost me 20 quid awe in. Wis it worth it or should ah jist get a dodgy stream and hope it disnny buffer every 5 mins while pop ups ask me if i want to meet hot 40 something's in ma area who are ready and willing ?
Leaving work I wis asked:
"You watching the gemme the night?"
" I will be but I huvnae subscribed tae the channel and i dinny ken if I will."
"You will"
Before I wis oot the office ma cousin hud text wie the offer of going halvers. By 6pm I wis watching some shit rugby league. By 8pm I wis watching some shit champions league qualifier featuring a well organised but average polish side and an ill prepared halfarsed scottish side.
It wis an one sided affair and though my support fir ma team made me want to watch the return and using the brain dead logic of someone beyond help that we could still go through it was this drubbing that wis still fresh that made me no care tae dae much planning.
That an I wis already 10 quid oot ah pocket as well.
So when I awoke on the first morning of my holiday, ma thoughts turned to how wis i gonna watch the gemme wieoot annoying ma family. Surely amongst the sun faded apartment blocks and the numerous bars would be somewhere close by?
I hud noticed that night before when we hud arrived that we wir right on the road to magaluf. Groups of drunk french, gesticulating loud italians and towie and geordie shore inspired brits wir a testament to that.
Plenty of potential spots that may have the hoops on.
So, out for a walk past numerous bars offering 3 courses fir under 10 Euros, bars we mair tribute nights than yer average sevco convention and loosely conceived sports bars, whose only justification fir this title wis a telly bigger than a back room portable, some beer oan tap and a sky sports poster wie wayne rooney gurning at me. Most dinny know that the champions league exists until sky tell thum. A timely reminder of how small fry we are in this modern age.
I decide that if I see a hoops top I will ask. The spectre of santa ponsa raises its heid. Thats a trip a didnae want tae suggest or want to make. It impinges on the holiday and in truth fir whit I hud seen previously fae the team it wisny appealing.
Thir wisny hoop in sight. A saw a leicester and a leeds - you always see leeds kits, leeds must be in the top 5 kits you see on holiday no matter how shit a kit it is - but nothing else.
I remembered I hud saw a Scottish boozer oan the way in oan the bus fae the airport. I figured oot where it wis and marched along. Thir it wis. Proudly proclaiming tennents as if it wis some long lost nectre not jist some chemical piss.
A sign ootside said "football here". Yes, I thought. 2 mins fae the hotel noo much hassle and it looked a decent enough establishment. I then noticed whit wis written on the sign.
Aberdeen v real sociedad.
Oan the other side:
Rangers v hearts.
Nae hoops.
I considered this. Wis this one of those places that wis frequented by those wie two heids but when I walked in i was the one with the two heids? This gemme wid be available on any cheap satellite system that could pick up polish stations. These are ten a penny in this part of the world. A boozer not showing this didnae have the will or the want tae show it. Well, this wis ma reasoning for no going in tae ask.
The hotels WiFi. Aye, it was free in public places. If it wis guid enough i could pick up a dodgy stream or radio hootsmon if it wis oan digital. Nae need to leave the hotel. Magic. Off I went. Got the WiFi password and the iPad and started logging in. At this point I started tae believe. I started tae believe that we could and would overturn the first leg. They wir just a well organised but average side. An early goal and it wid be gemme on. If we went two up early doors then I wid taxi tae santa ponsa to watch a famous victory. That added caveat wid make it a goer fir Mrs LOTW and LOTW JNR.
I informed Mrs LOTW of the plan. I wis chuffed wie myself. A cunning plan that wid see us enjoy the comfort of the hotel, the mini disco and the free WiFi. Then came an expected bombshell.
"Why don't we jist let the wean go to the mini disco then jist go tae santa ponsa anyway?"
Fuckin result!
The iPad experiment wis abandoned with glee. The bloody thing wis still logging oan. Ma phone worked fine. Aboot 20 minutes of twitter then I would be watching the gemme. Simples. We never scored until just before half time against karagandy anyway.
So, as I sat watching a man in a black and white clown suit trying to control weans of awe nationalities I logged into the world of twitter. It wid just be like the 80s when I used tae watch ceefax for the results. I soon realised it was nuthin like ceefax as I can never remember ceefax giving you the urge to smash stuff up and make you clinically depressed then hyper in the space of 30 seconds. Its a rollercoaster of sunshine then shit.
As soon as I logged on I realised that this wis going to be stressful. A tweet spoke aboot the great support at Murrayfield. Another spoke of vast empty spaces. Whit was it then? Thing aboot ceefax was that it allowed you tae imagine what wis going on. Twitter tells you someone else's opinion of whit is going on. So, when yer telt that we are playing well you think that. If you get a tweet saying its rubbish you think that. There is no imagination. Ceefax was innocent that allowed you to dream. Twitter isnt and swears a lot.
The gemme started and the tweets started to flow. Celtic in control, Celtic going nowhere, wir looking sloppy at the back and loads of expletives. I started to loathe folks opinions and question the validity of those opinions. I wanted to be told that we wir great not that we wir shit by someone who husny bothered to go to the gemme but is sitting at hame tweeting aboot it providing guys who also urny at the gemme a service.
Then it happens. A few tweets that jist hud "ffs", " awe fuck" and " shit". Whit wis going oan? Hud they scored? I started frantically refresh ma phone, which wis overheating. The battery wis as hot as the earths core. It turned out that it wis a corner. That's it I thought. I need tae get oot of here. It wis then I noticed or perceived to notice the ineptness of the children's entertainer. He was like oor midfield. Meant to fulfil a role but clueless at how tae dae it.
How long should a mini disco take? This guy was stretching it oot big style. Every song wis announced in four languages. Superman is superman in any language it shouldnae need repeated four times. As the hokey cokey comes tae a close the in out in out line takes whole new twist.
1-0 legia is the refreshed top tweet. Then follows a barrage of Izzy baiting and clueless defending tweets. In the world of ceefax when you lost a goal then you could jist tell yourself it wis against the run of play. It wis lucky. Flukey even. Nah, wie twitter you knew the goal wis coming as you wir told by number of folk before hand.
I dinny even need to see the goal tae know whit it wis like. Ive seen Izzy make a mess of this type of thing many a time so I jist imagine that. Twitter takes away the unknown. The tweets then become more vitriolic and abusive. None seem to be focusing on the gemme. Ive now noticed that the wee guy who won pass the parcel looks like reggie blinker and has flip flops that flash. I can imagine the real reggie having the same flip flops.
Its one tweet jist after the goal that sends me intae a conflict of emotions. It tells me that legia are playing a short sharp passing and pressing gemme, the type we wir promised when ronny took over. I realise that nothin hus changed since the first gemme. We are still shapeless, clueless, tactically naive and half arsed. Im glad that I'm not yet watching it but absolutely livid that we are still all of the above and I huvnae seen it.
The music man is jist finishing. I wonder if ronny can play the trombone as it seems that fitba management might not be his gemme. Its now half time. The disco has finished. Im spiralling intae depression not seen since inverness in lennys first season. The taxi wis meant to be taking me to happiness not dignitas.
Stuff it. "Dinner?" I ask Mrs LOTW. She looks puzzled. "Don't ask" I say.
I still keep the phone on the table through two helpings of pork. I canny hold it now as its so hot it is burning a hole in ma hand. The tweets are becoming more and more angry. They are now just the international language of screaming. Most are having a go at peter lawwell, lack of investment and a lame duck manager who is being hung out to dry by his paymasters, his players and himself.
A toodler in the table next to me is banging a knife on a plate. Legia scoring the second. The sound is like the warning bell on a sinking ship. The first tweets start coming through aboot "lawwell oot" chants. That is momentus. That is a gemme changer. Since we beat barca we’ve been on a downward spiral. It wis almost as if that night made people untouchable. That everthing they touched wid turn tae gold.
Thir is to many tweets to many conversations that I want tae huv wie folk. I tell myself to stop looking. I cant. Twitter must operate the same area of her brain as drugs and bacon. Its addictive even though ye know that its bad for ye. Even if the result wisny a clusterfuck I reckon I still wid hud felt as helpless and overloaded.
The tribute act in the hotel is tom jones. He's a guy in a bad wig and looks like he's sat to close tae a 3 bar fire. He's singing- sorry murdering- the green grass of home. He's mocking oor decision tae allow john barrowman, Karen Dunbar and giant fucking tunnocks tea cakes appear in the biggest hogmanay piss take ever attempted. I have no argument when Mrs LOTW says we will just go up tae the room. I huv nae will or want tae relive the horror of the last few hours using someone else's words if any interested party or gloating sevoite asked.
Mrs LOTW says the next day that I'm not looking at my phone as it made me crabbit. I wholly agree. Watching a gemme on twitter isny therapeutic or enjoyable. It made me worse than what it wid have done if I had been at the gemme or had been watching the gemme. By doing this you can form yet own opinion and thir is closure. Social media can then be used as a celebration or a self help group.
A few days later I'm using twitter again. Thir is another match going on in the offices of UEFA. Its a match whose outcome I diny really care aboot. Its result wont effect my mood. Im still worried aboot the state of ma club and embarrassed by oor recent European showings. A clerical error gets us back into the qualifiers and European fitba until Xmas.
I smile and pit the phone away. I willnae be watching any of those gemmes on twitter.
