The default champions prepare to go again

Up until the visit to Tannadice, it is fair to say that Operation Soothe was on cruise control.

Like the shambolic unwritten British constitution, the Stenography Corps obediently observes the traditional convention that the team playing at Ibrox ALWAYS wins the Close Season Cup.

 

 

Unfortunately, those pesky competitive games eventually come around, and the Pollyanna narrative comes under pressure.

Results, dear boy.

Results…

Before the match at Tannadice, this image was put up on Sky to demonstrate the extent of the rebuild under McInnes.

I checked in with a well-placed source to check those numbers.

He demurred.

Here is what I was told, and you, dear reader, can make up your own mind.

For the avoidance of doubt, this person is in a position to know and has no material reason to lie to me.

Here goes:

Panduar £6m [£3.25].

Dragojević £4m [£2.75]

Makhanya £3m [£1.75].

I asked about McCrorie, and I was told that “undisclosed” translates as £200k or thereabouts.

For the avoidance of doubt, I’m sure that the broadcast organisation put those figures up in good faith.

So why the putative disparity?

It was suggested to me that they may have been given the headline figures of what the deal COULD amount to if all of the add-ons are met.

My understanding is that Dragojević will go up to £3.25m with add-ons and Makhanya from £1.75m up to £3m.

My source stated that some of the trigger points for extra payments were, to put it kindly, optimistic.

As with these things, if an inflated spend level is proffered to the Ibrox klanbase, it has a soothing effect.

That the club is wealthy and that the player must be a good un if he cost X instead of only.

The reality is that after a decade of emotional ownership since the Off Licence Putsch of 2015, it’s about the Dollars.

Always the Dollars.

I was told that if Raskin and Chermiti are sold for the target amount, then that will cover the stretch in the budget in January and also pay dividends to the Delaware Crew.

The Dollars.

Always the Dollars.

As Alan Morrison recently stated on the Huddle Breakdown at Sevco, there has been a “pivot to Staunch”.

Of course, that explains the choice of who replaced Herr Röhl.

Mr Derek played for the old Rangers, so his appointment to the new  Rangers was hailed by the Ibrox klanbase as a homecoming.

The breathless narrative proffered by the Stenography Corps is that he is the man to deliver triumph.

Consequently, he has been and was hailed like a returning general to Rome after the Second Punic War.

Nice one, Scipio!

In reality, the wheels could come off the chariot in the Ibrox Colosseum before Christmas.

They often do.

Meanwhile, his first decisions are going down well at  Auchenhowie.

I’m pleased to report that the appointment of FNG Lawrence Shankland as captain has been universally welcomed by the entire squad.

Moreover, his ex-Tynecastle colleague Mr Cameron Peter Devlin has had an immediate impact.

His new teammates have been particularly appreciative of his kinetic contributions in practice sessions.

The champions begin the defence of their title tomorrow night against Dundee United’s neighbours.

This is the post-2012 dispensation that the Stenography Corps are mandated to deny.

That:

[1] Rangers (1872) died owing millions to HMRC and 275 other creditors after a decade of cheating.

[2] Celtic are now, in effect, the Bayern Munich of Scottish football, as in the default champions at the start of every campaign.

Only rank incompetence at the Court of King Dermot can make it competitive.

Last season is an exemplar of that truth.

Then even when Sevco’s low-calorie cousins were provided with their Leicester City moment, they Hertzed it!

With just a reasonable level of professionalism at Celtic, the resource disparity is a strategic advantage.

That’s why the club formed by Irish immigrants is, once more, champions.

That is only inexplicable if the events of 2012 are willfully ignored by the venal invertebrates in the Stenography Corps.

Now, that’s the truth that dare not be uttered.