Today, unless you were on a mobile network called Three, you probably got your Doomsday Text.
A few weeks ago I lamented that it would not come at half-time in the match at Hampden, being just a week early for that. By full-time Ibrox fans phones were vibrating with yet more messages of doom, this time exchanged between each other.
But there was no need to wait for them.
They saw their future out on the pitch today, in the players who the manager told them earlier this week would still be there next season. Everyone but McGregor and Morelos. The rebuild will have a very familiar took to it then, and as long as James Tavernier is playing at right back we should all be fairly pleased.
The “myth” of Ibrox invincibility – which we have already directly challenged and routed – has today been utterly destroyed by an Aberdeen team led by the unlikeliest of heroes, our own Barry Robson who got the job on a temp basis but has instilled in this team the kind of fearlessness and aggression they have been woefully lacking a long time.
He has five games left in the hot-seat as the “temporary” figure, but seven straight wins including this one today has launched him to the top of the shortlist. If he has a good split then it’s going to be awfully, awfully difficult for the board to overlook him.
But today belonged to Liam Scales, who gave a superb man of the man performance and scored a blindingly wonderful goal which he says in the after-match interview that he meant and who are we to argue with that? It looked to me like he spotted McGregor dawdling on the edge of the box and thought “right, I’m having this.”
That’s not all he had.
He dominated Morelos so completely today that he should have been wearing the full leather outfit with the whips and chains on it. He made the Ibrox front-man his bitch, and Morelos scowled his way off the field at full time with the tripping face to prove it.
It was, all in all, a disastrous day for The Mooch’s team but particularly for the hard-core of it which their fans know will be there next season.
When The Mooch said that during the week Bayern Munich officials must have been pinching themselves to make sure they weren’t dreaming. “Is his club really going to pay us the guts of their transfer budget for Tillman?”
If they aren’t delirious with the prospect, then maybe we should be.
He, Cantwell and Raskin … this is the midfield trio who have been tasked with restoring their fortunes?
Cantwell might do a very good impersonation of Courtney Gains’ terrifying character Malachai from Children of The Corn but he doesn’t strike fear into the Celtic heart that much.
For a midfield iron man, Raskin looks as weak as watery piss. He was subbed today. The manager said he was carrying an injury. Well that would certainly account for his ineffectiveness … but so too would the alternative explanation; that he’s just not that good.
The Mooch gave such a deranged interview afterwards that I felt sure I might burst into tears laughing at him.
He doesn’t think there’s anything to learn from that today because next week will be a different game. Eah?
And there was a foul on Sakala before the goal? How long before? Ten minutes? Five? Sky found one minor incident where he was just outmuscled that was so lacking in anything to moan about even The Village Idiot dismissed the idea.
The petted lip was so far out on display he could have used that thing on the side of his face for a dummy.
His assistant manager was mouthing off in the papers this morning to such an extent that Tom English of the BBC was astounded and made the point that it does the guy no favours.
But let’s face it, he does himself no favours either.
Their fans were enraged with what they watched today.
They bring the loathing as usual, a loathing that now rips through this whole team, the one that the manager has already pledged to build next season’s side around. But the fans feel the fear as well, the fear that maybe The Mooch isn’t part of the solution anymore but that he’s increasingly a symptom of the problem itself.
The record he has spent the last few months boasting about is now in ruins.
They’ve dropped points in three massive games, and they’ve lost a cup final.
Next Sunday, at Hampden, the phones will buzz with a different set of doomsday messages but as with today they’ll already have watched Armageddon unfold out on the football pitch.
And from that into the charred landscape of the summer.
The shops better have enough ice cream and jelly, that’s all I’m gonna say.