Piling on the agony

 

Piling on the agony

Maggie Rooney put the phone down on the kitchen table and looked at her sons. ‘Yer cousin Kevin fae America is coming o’er for a wee visit next month. Uncle Frank says you’ve tae show him aroon the old neighbourhood and try and get him a ticket for the game wi Rangers.’ Jim Rooney looked at his mother, ‘Whit? Tickets for that game are like gold dust!’ His bother Paul, a young man given to using rhyming slang at every available opportunity, chipped in, ‘he’s right, ma. Wilson Pickets are as rare as a handsome hun. Mer chance of getting him his Nat King than a ticket for that match.’ His mother gave him that withering look she saved when for she was seriously annoyed. ‘Just find Kevin a ticket or I’ll be giving him yours or yer brother’s. He’s flying in fae New York, no hopping a bus fae East Kilbride.’ The two brothers looked at each other. They had two weeks to sort out a ticket for a cousin they had never met. It was a tall order.

Jim and Paul sat in the Brazen Head mulling over their problem. Most ardent Celtic fans would never give up their ticket for such a game. They asked around the bar but were met by the same blank faces and shakes of the head. Their cousin was arriving the day before the match and they’d be picking him up from the airport. They had only seen pictures of a smiling 20-year-old in a baseball cap and New York Yankees T shirt, on their uncle’s Facebook page. Kevin Rooney had never set foot in Scotland and now Paul and Jim were set to babysit him through a derby weekend.

It looked as if Celtic could actually clinch the title if they won the derby match which made finding a ticket even harder. As the days slipped past and the game approached, they were becoming resigned to one of them giving up their season ticket for the day. On the Friday before the match, they met in a Celtic pub on the High Street. ‘We’ll roll the dice or play rock, paper, scissors to decide who gives their ticket to Kevin,’ Jim said, before taking a long sip of his pint. His brother shook his head, ‘naw, He can have mine. I’ll get behind him and double up.’ Jim looked at him doubtfully, ‘you know the stewards and cops are complete dicks in our section. I don’t want you huckled.’ Paul shook his head, ’I’ve talked tae big Andy. We’ve got a plan but it’ll take good timing.’ Jim shrugged, ‘right fill me in. How are we getting three guys in with two tickets, to the biggest game of the season?’

Paul and Jim stood at the international arrivals gate of Glasgow airport waiting for their cousin to disembark from his flight. They had exchanged a few messages on a WhatsApp group they’d set up and Kevin seemed genuinely excited about his flying visit to his father’s home city. ‘He’d better no be a Sherman tank,’ Paul said caustically, ‘some of these yanks are full of Lillian Gish.’ Jim shook his head, ‘you’d best drop that stupid rhyming slang or he’ll no have a clue whit yer oan aboot.’ Paul grinned, ‘shut yer Queen of the South afore I rattle yer RS McCalls!’ Jim laughed out loud and was about to respond, but before another word was said a trickle of people began to pass through arrivals. Sleepy looking kids in their parent’s arms, old folk with their garishly coloured American clothes and, near then end came Kevin Rooney.

He was around six feet tall, with neat crew-cut hair and was wearing a green t shirt with an image of Billy McNeill holding the European cup high above his head, on it. He carried a rucksack over his shoulder and He grinned at his cousins, showing the best set of teeth either of them had ever seen. ‘Paul! Jim! Great to finally meet you guys,’ he said in a thick American accent before hugging them both in turn. As they strolled to the car park, chatting and laughing together, it was clear they’d all get on very well.

On the drive back to Glasgow, Paul filled his cousin in on the plan they’d come up with to get all three of them into the game with only two tickets. Kevin smiled, ‘fuckin A,’ he said, ‘this is going to be a fun weekend.’ Jim smiled at his brother and gave him a wink which said that Kevin seemed a spot-on guy. The big match was just 24 hours away and after touching base at home and grabbing some food, they’d be heading for the pub and a good singalong.

Kevin Rooney looked up at the curved ceiling of the pub, gazing at the flags, shirts and scarves of various clubs, but mostly of Celtic. Jim handed him a beer, ‘there’s a band on later. I take it you know a few Celtic tunes?’ Kevin grinned, and replied in his New York accent, ‘my dad plays them all the time. Our neighbours are Greek and dad’s always bustin’ their balls with his Irish toons. They keep asking me what’s a Scottish guy doing in New York playing Irish songs?’ Jim nodded, ‘aye, uncle Frank always liked the rebs. He’s been in America for over 25 years noo and he’s no changed by the sounds of it.’ Before Kevin could respond, Paul showed up with his pal Andy Toner. Andy was as tall as Kevin and shook his hand vigorously, ‘nice tae meet ye, mate. Paul’s been tellin’ me yer a good cunt.’ Kevin looked at Paul, ‘that’s a compliment around here, cuz?’ Paul laughed, ‘aye, here in Glasgow it is.’ They discussed their plan for getting into Celtic Park the next day and each of them knew their part. Behind them the band started playing and the bar became more raucous. The beer flowed and the crowded pub sang along to a variety of Celtic songs.

Big Andy excused himself during the interval in the music and approached the lead singer of the band. ‘Here mate, Rooney’s cousin’s in fae America,’ he turned and nodded towards Kevin as he stood drinking with Paul and Jim, ‘the black-haired guy wi the teeth like Red Rum, could ye do a wee request for him? He returned to his friends’ side just as the band started up the second part of their set. The lead singer strummed his guitar and shouted into the mic, ‘are we ready to rock this place?’ There was a roar from the packed bar as he continued, ‘this one is for Kevin Rooney from New York City, here for the game tomorrow.’ With that the band picked up the tune and began to sing…

’A  Yankee came to Hampden Park a football match to see

Attracted by the magic of the old firm rivalry

Well, little did he know just what a treat he had in store

When watching Glasgow Celtic adding to the score…

 

The whole bar joined in in the chorus and Kevin, the worse for drink, had a grin like a Cheshire cat as he punched the air and roared out with the rest…

 

‘Piling on the agony – putting on the style

1-2-3-4-5-6-7 scoring all the while

There’s nothing in this whole wide world

That makes you want to smile

Like watching Glasgow Celtic putting on the style.’

 

The night passed in a blur of songs, drinks and carousing before they made their way home for some much-needed sleep. There was a big game coming and they needed to be ready for it.

The following morning, they ate a heart fry up made by the ever-vigilant Mrs Rooney, and drank cups of strong tea. ‘Did ye get a ticket for Kevin?’ she asked a bleary-eyed Jim. ‘Aye, ma. It’s all sorted so don’t you worry.’  She smiled, ‘oh I wisnae worried, he’s going no matter what, but I just want you two tae go as well so ye can look after him. It can get wild at those games.’ Kevin reached for the tea pot, ‘oh, my head. What a night that was.’ Paul smiled, ‘sure was cuz, you enjoyed yersel, ay?’ The young American nodded, ‘yeh, but a month of that and I’d be dead.’ Jim Rooney finished his tea, ‘quick pint in McChuills and then on to Paradise!’ The fresh air cleared their heads, their plans were laid and all roads led to Celtic Park.

At the turnstile big Andy was waiting. ‘Alright boys, we ready to do this?’ They lined up with Andy in front, Kevin behind him, clutching Paul’s season ticket. Paul was right behind him ready to double up, while Jim trailed up the rear in case anything went wrong. ‘Remember,’ Andy said, ‘timing is vital, When I distract the stewards you two double up.’ Andy clicked through the turnstile, smiling at the pair of dour faced stewards who stood watching the fans arrive, as he did so. Kevin hesitated as he’d been told to do, and watched as Andy went behind the stewards and dropped a batch of Chinese firecrackers. The noise sounded like an explosion of gunfire behind the stewards and they spun in fright to see what the hell was going on. As they did so, Kevin pushed the season card into the reader and he and Paul squeezed forward together. For a horrible second it seemed like they’d get stuck but Jim Rooney pushed Paul from behind and the turnstile clicked them through. Jim used his season card to join them, muttering to his brother, ‘your fat Khyber Pass nearly jammed the turnstile.’ Paul laughed, ‘you using rhyming slang noo, ya tadger?’ They grinned at each other and led Kevin to Block 111. Now it was time to see if Celtic could win the title against their derby rivals.

Kevin Rooney had never experienced anything like it. The noise of the crowd, the relentless drumming and bouncing up and down had him gasping at the spectacle of it all. When Odsonne Edouard opened the scoring on 14 minutes, he was swamped by limbs hugging him and delirious faces roaring out in primeval joy. It was sport at its crazy, visceral best and he was loving it. Forrest and Edouard scored again before half-time as Celtic swept Rangers aside. The noise and excitement in the stands were almost reaching hysterical levels. The second half began the same way with Rogic and McGregor slamming home and Rangers seemingly in for a record hiding. The Rooney boys sang their hearts out as their beloved Celtic stormed to another title win. As the final whistle sounded, Kevin looked up, smiling at the blue Glasgow sky, ‘wow! Dad, I know just what you were talking about now when you said this place rocked!’ The fans around him began to sing a song he recognised from the night before and he looped his arms over his two cousins’ shoulders and joined in…

‘Piling on the agony – putting on the style

1-2-3-4-5-6-7 scoring all the while

There’s nothing in this whole wide world

That makes you want to smile

Like watching Glasgow Celtic putting on the style.’

As he watched Celtic lift the trophy and fireworks exploded into the sky above the stadium, he glanced at his cousins. They were totally immersed in their club, totally committed to following its fortunes for life. He had the bug now and was so glad that he’d been here to watch Celtic piling on the agony.