Weisanthal knocked on the door. After a few moments footsteps were heard. "Yes?" A buck toothed, bleach headed figure looked out from behind the door. "My name is Simon Weisanthal," began the Boorman baiting Hebrew: "Have you ever heard of the name Alex Docherty?" Frank McAvennie paused: "Oh wait a minute - wasn't he a
great big fat person?"
"Yes he was. You may have seen...... Wait!" McAvennie vanished behind a huge pile of ancient Daily Records. A thin cry was heard. "Help me! Help me!" "Alex?" called the veteran nazi harasser: "Is that you" He moved slowly forward into the tenement flat.
Alistair Alexander took up his commentary: "1-0 now to Caley Thistle. McLaren oozing up the wing. To McInally, his cobra snapping at his heels, forward to Orange. Tackle on Orange. PENALTY!!!!" William Orange, Rover's Rangers supporting centre forward stepped forward. "Ah'll take it ya shower a taigs. This'll help getthat picture of me wi the UDA paraphernalia back into the Sunday Mail. I'll feckin show them for saying ah didnae know who Billy Wright wis!" He struck the ball crisply. It smacked off the upright, struck Les Rowbotham on his Hills Have Eyes head and sailed into the net.
Alistair Alexander was beside himself: "I've never seen the like in all my years watching football and being overly excitable about it!!!. Does the goal stand?" Rowbotham consulted with the fourth official. "No!! He's played himself offside!!!"
Play resumed at a ferocious pace. "Two substitutions being made," commentated the BBC git: "Ariel Sharon and Yasser Arrafat coming on for Andy McLaren and Big June McKelvie - complaining of stomach pains. But what's that tied around Arafat's waist?" Arafat ran up the aisle of the Excelsior to the directors box, a ribbon of dynamite tied around him, grabbing an utterly inconspicuous figure. "Freedom for Palestine!" he yelled "Or I will blow up myself and Jack McConnell!!!" The pseudo-leader squealed with fear. "Dae it! Dae it!" Chanted the crowd.
"Sensation here at the ShyBoy Excelsior", said Alistair Alexander: "Not only is the First Minister being menaced by a suicide bomber but a blaze has began on Scotland's first hemp pitch!" A strangely evocative odour began to drift across the stadium. "Hmmmm" Said Hawkeye: "Heap smell like Glasgow bus" In the corner of the ground, Kurt Hitler stood and breathed in the fumes.
"Mr. Docherty? Are you there?" Weisanthal wandered blindly in the pitch dark house. "I'm in here!", a voice screamed. Weisanthal fell through a doorway. A deep pit lay in front of him. He looked down and collapsed to his knees, vomiting on the earthen floor. Docherty stood at the bottom of the well. His flesh loose around him, faeces and urine surrounding his slug like body. Next to him lay the semi-devoured corpse of a dog. "Darlingheart!!!!!" Frank McAvennie screamed, sprinting into the room. A shot rang out. A body fell..........
So - who's deid? What happens in the Caley game? Will I be arsed reading the paper to get a few players names? Will Jack McConnell live or die? Will we be able to tell the difference? See the next extraordinary installment of: Brigadoon Rovers!!!