Frankenstein’s Football Club Seeks Frankenstein’s Footballers.

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Chris Jack’s headline in The Times tonight is one of those unintentionally hilarious ones, one of those which is quite brilliant in every way.

“Rangers need a DNA model for transfer targets, says Ibrox DoF Mark Allen.”

Wow. Just wow.

I cannot be the only one wondering what the Hell DNA has to do with footballers, but I’m willing to let it go as it’s a term I’ve used in relation to Rangers once or twice, in exploring the notion of Sevco as “Frankenstein’s Football Club.”

It’s the only explanation for the Survival Lie that makes the slightest shred of sense. If you think they are the same club you’re making a case for resurrection, and no exploration of that subject is complete without referencing Mary Shelly’s dark masterpiece.

And if you think I’m being ridiculous read the following, from Allen himself.

“There has to be a DNA that says – that is a (Sevco) player … The way they act on and off the pitch is very important. I think at this moment I am still trying to find out what a (Sevco) player is ….”

Apparently Sevco players have very specific DNA, which they share with players who once played for Rangers.

I’ve heard this kind of guff before, of course, but it’s not surprising and it never was.

When you think of Rangers, Frankenstein’s Monster isn’t a stretch. Shambling, lumbering, brain-dead, ugly … that could describe any number of their first team players over the years, and huge swathes of their home support.

Anyone who ever watched could not have been unaware that he had certain characteristics which weren’t quite human, and you either believe that somehow Rangers found the only man in the whole Latin world who even a £3000 suit couldn’t make look better or you have to assume Carlos Cueller was made in a lab somewhere.

There is, of course, a specific “type” of player who pulls on that jersey; almost all get infected with the DNA of sectarianism, for a start.

It’s a brave one or a smart one who resists that pull into the darkness. Several Catholic players have wound up virulently anti-Catholic as a result of it; Nacho the Rat foremost amongst them. (He was definitely some kind of genetic experiment gone seriously awry. Do you even really doubt it, folks?)

The mutating effect extends to turning football players into “ up the park” merchants. And to the vicious use of elbows, and let’s not forget the use of theatrics to con referees into awarding free kicks, penalties and the brandishing of cards.

I’m not sure how putting a scouting network in place identifies those guys … you could do that by going through each league’s respective count figures from the last few seasons.

All of the rest of the article is sheer pie-in-the-sky. When Allen talks about his grand plan for the club he sounds an awful lot like another former Man City employee who turned up at Ibrox in a flurry of great only to be run out of town on a rail in the end; Graham Wallace, who’s 120 Day Review was so derided (I wrote a lengthy piece on it) that it can be best summed up by what my mate said upon reading it;

“Good work, but what did he do with the other 119 days?”

Wallace realised early – and that document summed it up – what Allen will in due course; it’s alright having grand goals and lofty ambitions, but these need to be backed with resources and cold hard cash. There’s no chance of being realised at Ibrox.

He worked at a club that could afford to throw nearly unlimited funds at his department … at Ibrox he will be lucky if he gets crumbs from the breakfast table.

This club is the gift that keeps on giving.

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