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Introduction

Members of the Dublin Loyal in Amsterdam prior to the Uefa Cup game v Feyernoord in Febrauary 2002

The Dublin Loyal Rangers Supporters Club would like to congratulate the Managment and Players of Rangers FC for bringing the League Flag back to Ibrox where it belongs.Special thanks to Alex Mcliesh for delivering out 50th title and for the manner in which he has conducted himself since becoming Rangers manager .

It's Good to be "Out"

"Next meeting of the Dublin RSC to be held in The George," ran the spoof posting on the FolloFollow messageboard. For those of you that are unfamiliar with Dublin nightlife, The George is the city's most prominent gay bar (or so I am led to believe!).

But what is it that our timposter interloper was trying to say? As far as I can deduce it was one of two things. It may have been a homophobic insult in which he was trying to infer that Rangers fans are all gay. Now nobody is saying that footie fans are paragons of understanding and tolerance - and that goes for fans of Forfar and Arbroath right up the likes of Barcelona - but is anyone really insulted by this type of insinuation any more?

The other message our friend might have been trying to convey was far more weighty. He may have been drawing an analogy between the double lives homosexuals were once forced to live due to society's homophobia and bigotry and that of Rangers fans (and Protestants generally) who are currently living in the 'Free State' and in Dublin in particular. A biting satirical comment on a contemporary Irish Republic.

Let's give our poster the benefit of the doubt and say the latter. Or is it the former? I always get those two mixed up. In any case, the second one!

Carrying the analogy further we can illustrate several comparisons. Us Dub-Gers generally don't advertise that we subscribe to an alternative footballing lifestyle than that of the 'moral majority'. We meet secretly in 'Rangers-friendly' bars where we are able to whip off our jackets and jumpers to reveal the clothing preferred by us of a blue-nose persuasion without fear of intimidation or attack. We have to get Rangers literature mailed to us secretly in un-marked envelopes.

Now don't get me wrong. I am sure that there are a lot of people here who are not Rangersphobic but they are very much a silent minority. The formation of the supporters' club has given us a much-needed focal point and a place to express freely our footballing preferences.

On our trips to Ibrox we are very well received but the club polo shirts got a lot of double-takes, although I think we were right to leave the tricolour off it! Some of you may have seen the 'Dublin Loyal' banner in the Broomloan too. Only 12' x 6' but let's not get Freudian.

It may well be a long time before we have a Rangers Pride march down O'Connell Street but at least it is good to be 'out'.

Cup Final Memories by Sgt Steve McGarrett

In recognition of my complete and utter genetic inability to gloss over the most insignificant detail I have written a subheading way down 'The Match' for those who don't give a fig about my before and after and just want to remember the 90 minutes!!!

The build up

Scottish cup final 2002 was as eagerly awaited a cup final as I can recall for many a year, and I've awaited for quite a few! I think the spice had been added in December when a flagging Rangers camp introduced some much needed ginger in the shade of Alex McLeish. Three weeks prior to the cup final a sanitised and polite 1-1 OF draw in which only 3 players were red carded, Celtic's captain attempted to snap the leg of Rangers dangerman (more of him later!) and the referee blowing an early end so as not to upset the loveable rogues, demonstrated that all minds were really on the Cup Final - May the Fourth.... (.....be with you, said every cliched journo........after I had thought of it). Hand in hand with such an eagerly awaited occasion is the ticket scramble. I was denied my usual palpitations fun when for once Plan A came up trumps and my season ticket voucher produced the desired beauty at a cost of 35 quid. Cup final weekend just happened to coincide with a family christening on Sunday in Birmingham so no alternative to driving up and down on the day was available. The driving looked like a solo effort until my brother, struck green with envy at my ticket status, began ringing round all the dodgy ticket agencies that lurk in the shadows on these occasions. Now apart from a striking facial similarity, short stature, fondness of beer served in old mans pubs and 80s music, my brother is about as diametrically opposite a person to me as you'll find. Mainly because he supports Celtic. We are indeed products of the old 'me father he was orange (wee free, actually) and me mother she was green' routine. Eventually he got a ticket for £200 and seemed ecstatic after reassuring me that Martin 'extrodinary' O'Neill this, Lubo 'Lubo' Moroncik that and Henrik 'all fall down' Larsson the other would overcome Dallas and the generally accepted laws of the game to win the double without fail fail. I could have retorted with logic, facts and reasoned debate but given that he was the one driving up to Glasgow that would have dangerously disorientated him. Departed Birmingham at 6.20 and arrived in Glasgow 9.55. First stop was Parkhead's Sellik shop were my brother wanted to buy some CD record that 70 million other sellik fans had bought, was number 1 in over 400 countries and was predicted to stay at the top of the pops for approximately 3 years, yet curiously to this day I have still not heard. So there we were parked in the famous Parkheid car park - my brother dying to obtain some piss, me dying to expel some a piss. Desperately I ventured into the sellik shop to ask to use the loo. 'There is no loo, try the stadium' helped the shop bouncer. The chuckle of a Sellik employee pointing a pee laden individual to Parkhead stadium was not lost on me, as I ventured through the throng of offishul blazer, white socks and slip-on shoes clad very important people. Not one stopped me as I sauntered into the main Parkhead receptionistless reception and stood to observe where evidently the entire stadium decoration budget was spent. I have to say I didn't know what to do at that point and stood like a Lemmon for a few moments until a helpful offishul walked past. 'Whit ye daen here there an aw'rat byraway, eh?' 'I was told I could use the loo here by the guy in the shop' 'O'wer there.....did ah ever tell you aboot 1967 when fresh frae solving world hunger and the Cuban missile crisis, Jock Stein and 11 blind orphans won ra' yooniverse cup wi' just one leg between them aw an.......' By then I was in the loo. Now there is no polite way to say this but you know sometimes when you aim straight but the ball spins left field. Ahem. Yes. Didn't mean it. Honest. Tee hee. 1-0. After phoning his 2 yr old son and asking 'who's gonna win today?' my brother's nose was well put out of joint at the response of 'Uncle Stephen' Tee hee (2-0). Our next stop was the Glasgow Thistle hotel where my brother was increasingly anxious at his spent-a-lot-of-money-but-not-got-a-ticket-yet status. By this time we'd met up with Prod (Prod is a Rangers fan) and in we went to the foyer. No signs of life but we were early so we wandered to the designated banquet suite and sure enough it was set out for a £200 champagne dinner (£196 actually as you got a £4 programme). All the candles were red, white and blue on royal blue tablecloths. But over an artificial partition the tablecloths were green, white and gold. Along came an organiser and struck by the colour scheme I asked if this was how they split the corporate troops before the game - 'nah', says the guy, 'the green hall is used before the game, the blue hall is for the after-match celebrations!'. Tee hee (3-0). My brother was not amused but did eventually get his ticket and did join me and the rest of the Bears for a couple of hours beforehand in a Shawlands bluenose hostelry. The game approached and as we got to the ground I had to nip off and collect 150 metal pinbadges heralding the Dublin Loyal RSC. On the way back I saw two chumps in England tops (sorry guys but why couldn't you have worn Rangers tops?) being interviewed by a TV crew. As I hurried past I made a throwaway comment that we aint all supporting England you know - the interviewer was hooked and called me back for my tuppence worth which I duly gave. Now I didn't ask at the time but have since found out the interview went out on the Channel 4 News a week later and yet another week later on CNN! To date, thankfully, no Englishman has kicked my heid in for it.

The Match

Got into the ground for the main event at about 2.50. The first thing that struck me was the brilliant colour, buzz and atmosphere coming from the Rangers half of the ground. Sure the tims were there but obviously hadn't gone for the pageantry quite as well as we had. Indeed, having an entire block of corporate suits (3-4,000) in the end where their 'real' fans (i.e those that can remember watching Sellik as far back as 1996/97) should have been must have been an atmospheric faux pas in favour of the punt. Gordon Durie sat just behind and some bloke called McCoist about 6 seats to my left. As the players came on this day and this noise was unbelievable - this was my 8th OF cup final and without a shadow of a doubt this was the most intense thunder I could ever recall. For those, like myself, who have questioned Hampden's redevelopment this occasion surely retorted in fantastic fashion. Kick off and a good start for the Gers, looking sharp, not letting them settle or dwell on the ball. This was going to be a contest. 20 minutes in and the tims get a corner. Over it loops and Clown barges everyone out of the way to connect, the ball bounces slowly and its one of those silent moments as Fatson nonchalantly nods the ball in the net - you see the ball is in, yet still it is silent, but as soon as Fatson started away you heard the noise. My thesaurus suggests the word 'bollocks' for moments like this. All the good groundwork and whoosh, its taken away from you in a moment - like we hadn't seen that storyline earlier in the season. But the feelings don't get the chance to settle, the tims are still cheering and haven't yet found their collective voice for a wee sing song and what's this, a fankle, a cerfuffle, a stramash, a cock up and the ball falls to Whippet and is it in? You better believe it is! Phew and cry no surrender! Game on and all of a sudden the spring is in our step - better to be 1-1 in these circumstances than 0-0! The rest of the first half is played out in similar fashion with Rangers edging it but both keepers gloves retaining their shine. At half time the McCoist bloke is presented with an honorary Dublin RSC badge but his offer of a kiss is declined! By the way, Ally, honorary doesn't mean free ya cadging bassa! I was a little excited at the time and that's three Euros you owe us! Second half is barely underway and Clown outjumps Amo and all of a sudden it is gobsmacked time again. The tims do find their voice this time and enjoy a 5 -10 minute singsong to remind us that they did turn up today and are faithful fru'n'fru. Quite an incredible noise considering 70% of them weren't born until Fergus McCann came along. Crucially Celtic do not use the goal or the backing as a springboard to dominate or kill the game and cannot deny us the majority of the ball. Worryingly though Sellik haven't conceded many this term and turning possession into goals is hardwork. Midway through the second half and Bassa gathers the ball deep in enemy territory and unleashes a shot through the throng which smacks of the post - aaargghh, it drains your face, it guts your middle and it dampens your undercarriage that such a great effort brings no reward. But it also reminds you that it only takes a second to score a goal and the Bears tensions manifests itself into a wall of noise, urgency, backing and passion - we are not giving this one up at all. The pressure piles on and Clown clatters into the back of our man. Free kick in...er...in...er, Bert Konterman territory. But Captain Bassa is the one to take it and majestically sweeps the ball into the far side of the net - the place goes absolutely bonkers - twice down, twice back and the real feeling that this IS our day. In the last 20 minutes the Rangers players put their aggression, heart, spirit and souls into this one like real Rangers should. We dont give them a moment on the ball, we track back when we lose it and vitally we get the ball when we track back - the tims have no answer to our desire. They are empty, we are full, they are down, we are rising. Eight minutes to go and Douglas spoons the ball onto the 18 yard line and the surprised Fernando has a shot on goal but the shot is too tame and is cleared - that looked like the chance - ach, it looks like extra time (we'll still take them). Only the Bears are showing any energy but its gone 90 and its got to be extra time. McCann has it though, very little support around, nothing can happen, so he floats one into no mans land......surely the 9 tim defenders that are there will clear.....but there's only one jersey still moving......and into the space....... its a blue jersey....it's Whip ............ it's.....it's.....jesuschris.....it's IN. Ex-puckin-plosion!!! I'm in the air, I'm on my chair, I'm on the ground and I'm drowning in a blue sea of noise...and I am Loven it!! I see through the see off arms to see the ref raise both arms - the sea gets wilder as the Bears erupt again - We have Won The Cup. 3-2 to the Teddy Bears! I'm dizzy. I'm dancing and I'm singing. The handshakes with strangers are as warm as with friends. Sheer beaming joy as the Bears lift the cup with last one the podium our Ginger 'Eck. Fantastic moment and while I would rather be where I was at that moment than anywhere else in the world I cant help thinking of all the Bears I know across the globe who'd be bursting with joy at that moment, all the NARSA boys I've met in Toronto, Chicago, Calgary and Vancouver. Andy listening to Radio 5 in Laos, South East Asia, Roger in Galway, his uncle in Botswana. The rest of the Dublin Bears in Belfast, Scotty in London, the Aussie Bears, the FollowFollow messageboarders ah, the list is long and very very happy! If I could see their faces - if they could see mine!

The aftermath

As the players left the pitch I headed for the car to revel in my brother's face. £200 for a ticket for that match - well at least he saw a memorable cup final. He isn't there which surprises me as he did have a 20 minute start on me. But I soon see him toddling into sight, carry-oot in hand - 6 bottles of lager, a bottle of cider and a bottle of Buckie (if only it was me that was stereotyping him!). With sore beaming cheeks I ask 'Did you enjoy that?'. 'Fcuk off' I am told. Oooohh lovely. Civility was not long in returning and as the driver I was treated to a long, damning verdict on the Celtic tactics and performance by a subdued then philosophical, tired then emotional, defiant then depressed, and all the time increasingly pished tim. You could not have paid for such entertainment. However, to his credit he did manage 3 hours and almost 300 miles before falling into the abyss that was 'it was all that cheating, Masonic bastard Dallas's fault, cheating cheating bastard!' My perfect day was almost complete - that took another 100 miles before I tasted my first beer of the day, just before 10pm and toasted the greatest team on the planet - the famous Glasgow Rangers!