Forget Trumpian. King’s Ibrox “prescription” is right out of The Simpsons.

Yesterday, I talked about the gross misuse of the word “investment” in the context of the club across the city.

Now I want to talk about the man himself, Dave King, and what he is allegedly promising to do.

It might seem pointless with the Ibrox board closing the door … for now. But he’s not done yet, not by a long way.

This story has a long way to run, and this guy will not give up, and although he’s offered exactly nothing concrete he has part of what he wants; fans ready to turn on the board which is standing in the way of his comeback and his “investments.”

In fact, when you look closely at what he’s saying, it’s just a bunch of useless babble. There’s no actual plan—just talk about putting one in place.

And that’s it. There’s nothing else there.

Last week, as everyone knows, Kamala Harris soundly thrashed Donald Trump in the latest presidential debate. She won with such ease because he was so spectacularly ill-prepared for the confrontation. Amidst all the inane—sometimes insane—stuff that came out of his mouth, there was one particular answer the Democrats are going to play over and over again.

It was when he was asked about his plan to repeal Obamacare, a plan he had four years in office to enact but didn’t, and three more years since leaving office to firm up into something with substance.

So, if he really intends to repeal Obamacare, what exactly is he going to replace it with? That question was put to him, and his answer was stunningly dumb. He didn’t even claim to have a plan. Seven years on, and all he could say was that he had “the concept of a plan.”

The concept of a plan? That’s a misuse of English that Keith Jackson would be proud of.

Listening to King’s bluster the other day, that’s all he offered too—the concept of a plan.

He talked in vague terms about American and Saudi Arabian investment, which, as I explained earlier, will never happen. He mentioned a two-year plan to save the club, but didn’t offer it up for any kind of examination. And if you asked him to add any substance, I know exactly what he would say. He’d respond with something similar to his TalkSport appearance this morning: “I don’t know what’s going on inside the club, so I can’t tell you how big the job would be, and a detailed prescription isn’t possible at this time.”

In short, he’s making promises he doesn’t even know how to begin to keep.

Earlier, I mentioned two examples promises of this kind made in the past. I’m not going to talk about Trump, Craig Whyte, Charles Green, or any of the other loudmouths. Nor will I talk about David Murray, the ultimate braggart who was excellent at spending other people’s money and had no plan for when the funds dried up.

Instead, I’m going to highlight two episodes of The Simpsons, because they’re classic examples of what we’re seeing unfold here.

Let’s start with the 22nd episode of season nine: “Trash of the Titans.” So many elements of that episode tie in perfectly with the themes of bombast, con-men like King, and how people get duped.

The episode opens with a corporation discussing their falling profits and brainstorming ways to make more money. They come up with a ridiculous scheme called Love Day, churning out all sorts of hokey trinkets and useless merchandise. The Simpson family, of course, buys into it wholeheartedly, and a few days later, they’re throwing all that junk in the bin. That’s when the real story begins.

Let’s pause here and think about Love Day—a corporation dreaming up a fake holiday to sell merchandise. This is exactly the kind of thing the Ibrox club does all the time. Armed Forces Day, Britishness celebrations—whatever gloss they put on it—they sell a load of merchandise and rake in money while their fans lap it up. Don’t be surprised if we see a “Dave King Day” at some point to celebrate his first glorious revolution and to help finance the second.

(They could always go with the obvious one; Hate Day. That would suit them fine.)

Does that sound like I’m joking? I’m only half-joking. When I wrote about the Gary Keown piece the other day, I was reminded of just how much they’ve squeezed out of their fans over the years with schemes like this. So honestly, rule nothing out.

In the episode, Homer gets into an argument with the trash collectors, and they refuse to collect his rubbish. He refuses to back down or apologise, and soon the trash is piling up outside the house. His wife, Marge, eventually forges his signature on an apology letter, restoring their garbage collection service.

When Homer finds out, he’s furious and decides to run for Springfield Sanitation Commissioner. While trying to come up with a campaign slogan, he drunkenly stumbles onto “Can’t someone else do it?” whilst sitting in Moe’s one night. And so, Homer runs on a promise that not only will the garbage men collect your trash, but they’ll take it out for you, clean up after themselves, and do all sorts of extra jobs beyond their duties.

In a madcap debate, Homer, who has no clue what he’s talking about, resorts to belittling and ridiculing his opponent, Trump-style, and wins in a landslide. Of course, his lack of a plan and overpromising results in chaos and bankruptcy for the town in a matter of weeks.

It’s a perfect example of how unscrupulous people can make grandiose promises without thinking them through, and the enormous consequences that follow for those who naively expect results, no matter how wildly unrealistic.

King is using every one of those methods. He says he can complete a rebuilding job in two years, which is impossible without a massive amount of money. He claims he can raise that money through Saudi and American investment—an idea we’ve already established is ludicrous. He also claims that no one is currently running the club, that the executives aren’t showing up daily, and things are just drifting along—an absurd notion.

I’m not going to tell you the club is well-run, because clearly it isn’t. But clubs can operate without a chairman and a chief executive if necessary. There are always people handling various jobs. John Gilligan has stepped up as temporary chairman, so he is, in fact, running things. Yes, some key positions are vacant, but the same is true at Celtic Park, and we seem to be running like a Swiss watch right now, despite the transfer window shenanigans.

Homer was perfectly happy to slander his opponents with lies and smears. He made promises he knew were unrealizable. King is doing the same—spending money he doesn’t have, making empty promises to the manager, and assuring the fans that major investment is on its way. And he’s happily throwing under a bus the very directors he needs to back him if he’s ever to enact this mad plan.

The worst thing that could happen to that club is for anyone to take King seriously.

And the worst thing that could happen to King is for someone to say, “Alright, go ahead, come back and run it for a while.”

One reason myself and others have longed for King’s return is that he is a walking disaster. He is an embarrassment. If he were allowed back into Scottish football after the City of London Takeover Panel blacklisted him, it would be humiliating for the SFA. It would also be a disaster for the club, which would be stepping backwards instead of moving forward. Their solution would be to spend more money—getting into debt again—and returning to the same failed strategy.

If “Trash of the Titans” is a summation of what happens when someone with an overblown sense of self and no strategic ability assumes a position of power through undeliverable promises and outright lies, then there’s another Simpsons episode that illustrates how these things become possible in the first place. That episode is “Marge vs. the Monorail,” one of the finest episodes of television ever made.

In it, Springfield receives a $3 million government grant, thanks to a fine levied against Mr. Burns for regulatory failures at his nuclear power plant. The town holds a meeting to decide how to spend the money, and Marge Simpson initially wins the argument—she wants to repair Main Street, which is falling to pieces.

But her plan is thwarted when a slick con-man named Lyle Lanley steps up and proposes building a monorail. He paints a grandiose picture of the future, convincing the town to spend all the money on his useless, impractical product. Marge eventually investigates and discovers the scam, learning that Lanley has conned other towns into buying his monorail with disastrous results.

It would shock no one if King won an overwhelming mandate for his “non-plan” from a support that now faces two choices: either run their club responsibly and sustainably or take one last insane, desperate splurge on a madman’s undeliverable scheme.

Because, just like fixing potholes in the road, running a sustainable football club isn’t sexy. It doesn’t grab headlines or promise shiny new things to drool over. It’s a steady, slow process. To do it right, you have to forgo many of the things that might make you feel good in the short term.

The fans over there can’t help themselves. They want the shiny things. They crave something to hope for, something to dream about, no matter how unrealistic it might be. They want to believe in Sugar Daddy owners, in saviours with pockets full of cash. And they’re not interested in hearing about the risks that come with such bizarre schemes.

King knows this. He knows that if he promises to splash the cash, many of them will flock to support him, whether he delivers or not. He knows that if he promises stability and leadership, he’ll win their backing—even though he’s never brought stability to any venture he’s undertaken, and his version of leadership is to bulldoze over everyone with no thought of consequences. Of course, there always are consequences, which is why he was never out of a courtroom.

Lyle Lanley wasn’t proposing a monorail for the benefit of Springfield. He wanted to pocket the $3 million—or most of it, anyway. Whatever King’s up to here, it’s certainly not for the benefit of Ibrox fans, because all he’s selling them is a fantasy. And he has to know it’s a fantasy.

I listened to his comments carefully, and I read through his statements to the media earlier in the week. Almost everything he says is rubbish and contradicted by facts. He claims he took over the club when it was in crisis and got them out of it. Did he really? King was gone before Gerrard won the COVID title, so what was his record while on the Ibrox board?

Those were the years Celtic won four trebles in a row.

That was King’s legacy. That’s what he left behind: a club posting record levels of debt, existing through debt-for-equity switcheroos. Now he’s talking about American and Saudi investors, with a plan to have them come in at the investor level and buy shares, using that money to fund a rebuild. It’s the same plan that delivered 12 trophies out of 12 for Celtic.

“(Sevco) are a far more attractive opportunity than, say, Sunderland or Brighton,” he said about potential investment. One look at that statement and you realise how far from reality he is.

The potential for turning an investment into real, serious money is vastly greater at a Sunderland or Brighton than it is for a Scottish club. I’m not even sure we could attract investors of the type he’s talking about, given the league we play in. I know it’s far easier to get that kind of money for a club in England’s top two flights.

So, his entire plan is garbage. Just as Homer’s sanitation commissioner plan started with garbage and turned into pure garbage, King doesn’t even know the basics. He hasn’t grasped the fundamentals, and the next part of his statement is just as revealing.

“We’re going to be in Europe, and with the right amount of money, we really should be able to march on and actually dominate in Scotland,” he said.

That claim is preposterous. With the right amount of money, sure, they could march on. But what he’s talking about is spending far more than the club brings in, swelling the wage bill to gargantuan heights all over again.

That’s exactly why they’re in trouble in the first place—12 years of overspending—and he wants to keep doing it. He wants people to put up their own money to enable this stupidity. He ignores the fact that we are the club sitting on a surplus, capable of matching any plan he comes up with, making it redundant. And he pays no heed to UEFA regulations, which he seems to believe he can simply circumvent or ignore.

“My thoughts have always been not to return as chairman because I felt I’d done my crisis. Quite frankly, I didn’t expect a crisis to happen again in my lifetime,” he said. I find that statement hilarious. He’s done his crisis and didn’t expect to see another?

Anyone looking at this properly recognises that the current crisis is King’s crisis. Far from solving problems, King created them while he was there.

As I said, Celtic’s years of phenomenal success happened under King’s watch. He sowed the ground, and the club is now reaping the results—not green shoots of recovery, but poisonous weeds strangling the place. His solution? Do it all over again.

It’s as if you went to the doctor for a minor ailment, felt worse, went to the hospital, and they told you the doctor’s treatment had inadvertently poisoned you. Then you go straight back for a repeat prescription!

I read King’s statements, and it seems even he isn’t serious about this. He’s already said he doesn’t intend to spend his own money. He’s acknowledged investor fatigue on the current board, so the money won’t come from them. Everything he’s doing is about outside investors, but he never says who they are or what they’ll want in return. It will almost certainly impact the shareholdings of everyone currently at the club, including Club 1872, the supporters group whose shareholdings have already been looted to fund King’s previous failed operation.

I suspect this is just an attempt to get payback against the Parks and put them on the wrong side of public opinion. I genuinely don’t see how this is a serious proposition. If it is, I hope he’s successful in retaking control, because we need a man like King over there. We need that club in perpetual crisis—for the entertainment value alone, it would be worth it.

I look forward to the inevitable confrontation over kit deals, sponsors, the SFA, the SPFL, and with UEFA over FFP violations. Who knows what other chaos he’ll bring to a club already mired in it?

Let me repeat: for the first time in a long time, that club is trying to run itself properly.

What King is talking about isn’t a cure; it’s a poison pill. That’s obvious to us, but if you look at the media reaction and the Ibrox fan sites, you see people getting on their knees, mouths wide open, telling him to pop one in.

The cure is worse than the disease. All the current board is trying to do is right a ship that’s been heading in the wrong direction for 12 years, operating outside the boundaries, and trying to plot a steady course.

King wants to go backwards—to a time, he thinks, when his club dominated all it surveyed, except that it never did. The last time he was chairman, Celtic dominated everything, just as we’re doing now. So even his dream of returning to a glorious past is based on a lie.

Either he believes his own nonsense, like Donald Trump or Homer Simpson, or he’s just lying, like Lyle Lanley, pursuing his own agenda.

Either way, I hope he succeeds, and so should the rest of us.

He guarantees at least two years of fun and games—two years of banter and hilarity, and probably much longer, because the damage he could do this time might be even worse than last time. It’ll be fun watching him fumble and stumble through the minefield.