The 90's for me had absolutely everything, without a doubt, no danger at all. It had A Gulf War, it had Brit pop, it had Raves and E's, it had unemployment for me and it had me also nudging the scales at a little over 47 stone! Oh and pies.
The decade of the 90's started for me with my career as a player over, my bank balance taking a pounding from all my pie runs and extravagances, but at least Rangers were winning the league and to be fair, they could hardly have not done at that time as Celtic where going through a shambolic time with the old board, as was, being as incompetent and stingy as they had been for a long time. Although I am always delighted to see the Gers win, in those early years and the memory of Souness booting my rotund arse out of the hallowed doors of Mordor for the last time still fresh, it was always, if Im honest, tinged with a hint of envy and wanting Souness to fall on his tash. In a strange way I was to get my wish when Souness, as ever believing his own hype, left Ibrox for Liverpool in a move that Sir Minty Moonbeans described as the "worst move of his life" It was and no sooner had his perm and tash grown another inch than his taught hairy arse was blootered out of Anfield…every cloud!
It was in the early 90's that I signed on for the first time in my life, what an degrading experience, not because I was signing on, but due to me carrying a few extra ounces the cheeky woman at the reception mistook me for a Invalidity Benefit fraudster and started to lecture me that I was making myself unfit for work by being so big and the state should not have to pick up the bill for lard balls who couldn't keep their slavering mouths out of a nosebag. When I told her I was not claiming Invalidity, she went rather pale, cleared her throat and said, by way of an apology, "You must be big boned then" Cheek of the woman. My unemployment did not last long as I was soon snapped up to talk pish on Radio Clyde, I was then and still am an absolute natural. No one can touch me for inane ramblings and utter gobbledegook, although, don't get me wrong there are a few who run me close.
As the decade , the Raves, too many E's and inevitably pies began to ravage my appearance and soon my head was the size of a moon walker, remember them, wee orange ball things with ears you bounced along the street on? Well that was me but in a strange way I was happy, I had come to terms with the fact that I would never play football again, I would never get into a pair of 36" Jeans again, I would never be able to wear my New Romantic gear outside my own front door and I couldn't get rid of chick Young, things were getting pretty desperate.
Across the city Celtic appointed Tommy Burns, the old board were gone and Celtic had built a new stadium thanks to the Bunnet. Burns had Celtic but a combination of great goalkeeping, Jim Farry and the refs, god bless them, Tommy was unable to prevent the Gers matching 9 in a Row. On the tenth year Rangers were stopped and Henrik Larsson came, after that it all went gradually downhill for the Gers and no matter how many times I tipped them for the title, and let's face it, that's every year, they seemed to be under the cosh. Martin O'Neil just made it worse and we bluenoses had to endure much, although to be fair we did win the league with the help of Dunfermline and a last minute penalty again from the ref, but over the piece Rangers were second best. I had never really taken what /I had seriously, apart from pie, obviously! But in general the years have rolled by with me rolling with it, if you know what Im getting at?
As we come up to the present day, I have split up from a long term relationship and was struck for the first time of the reality of single life. You cannot get a bird for love or money if you're a fat lard ball. Since I've been on my own I have had to shed about 18stone to get back into a 38 waist, so I can get into the Sauvé Sav of a Saturday night. I have to be honest and say it is a real delight to be able to see my tackle for the first time since I last put a tackle in. All is going well now, bird wise and although the pies are making a comeback I will try to keep them under control.
As I look back I remember things like my final discussion with Ally McLeod on the plane home from Argentina when I told him I wasn't pleased I didn't get a game, and informed him not to consider me as long as he was manager. He replied, "Piss off back to your seat you fat tart" or words to that effect, which in my opinion were down right rude. I also remember great victories over Celtic, and some bitter defeats, the multitude of birds and pies and my time spent having a laugh on Clyde. That's the future, having a laugh, because lets face it, it beats being in chronic pain and number one and number two incontinent. Think about that the next time you feel like a moan. It's been absolutely first class talking to you. Now, where did I put that pie……………………..?