Ibrox: The Uncivil War

A few years ago, Benedict Cumberbatch starred in Brexit: The Uncivil War, a dramatization of Tim Shipman’s book All Out War. In the film, Cumberbatch portrayed Dominic Cummings, the controversial mastermind of the Leave campaign. Having read Shipman’s book, I found the TV drama to be a very good distillation of an incredibly complex campaign.

The title, The Uncivil War, is a double entendre, reflecting both the divisive national debate over Brexit and the infighting within the Leave campaign itself. That campaign was essentially split into two camps, neither of which could stand the other. Remarkably, one faction appeared determined to lose the referendum while the other fought tooth and nail to win it.

The real untold story of Brexit—at least until Shipman’s book and the subsequent TV adaptation—was the animosity between the two faces of the Leave victory: Dominic Cummings and Nigel Farage. Their mutual contempt was staggering. Yet, the campaign succeeded because Cummings was shrewd enough to let Farage do the dirty work the official Leave campaign couldn’t afford to be seen doing.

This dynamic worked because both sides, despite their disdain for one another, recognised that a public feud would doom their shared objective. While tensions flared behind the scenes, neither side went scorched-earth, knowing the potential consequences for their cause.

This doesn’t always happen. Sometimes, internal factions destroy each other so completely that any chance of success is obliterated. This brings us neatly to the unfolding drama at Ibrox, where talk of a “civil war” feels like a gross understatement.

The term “civil war” is an oxymoron. There is nothing civil about it. Historians agree that civil wars are among the most brutal and destructive conflicts. They leave deep scars, and the loser often suffers irreparable damage. (So can the winner.)

Earlier today, I discussed Roger Mitchell’s ludicrous assertion on Graham Spiers’ podcast that Celtic’s Green Brigade is a runaway train poised to overwhelm the club. That’s nonsense. Celtic has dealt with the Green Brigade before and will do so again if necessary.

The Green Brigade, for all its posturing, knows its limits. It understands that an open confrontation with the Celtic board—the entity that could banish it from the stadium—would be catastrophic. Both sides recognise the dangers of escalating disputes into something irretrievable.

The same cannot be said of the Union Brats at Ibrox, whose demands for regime change are an entirely different beast. This group is openly at odds with the board, determined to force their removal by any means necessary.

Unlike Celtic’s situation, there seems to be no line the Union Brats won’t cross.

As I’ve said before, when a fan group uses terms like “force” against its own club, you know a crisis is brewing. The Union Brats public actions are the tip of the iceberg, and the coming months will reveal just how much damage this movement is poised to inflict on the club it claims to love.

The phrase “I will destroy this village in order to save it” comes readily to mind.

The seeds of this conflict are clear: their fans see the erosion of the Survival Lie; once we overtake the trophy count it might as well not matter. Everything is slipping away. They see Celtic pulling further ahead in trophies and stature. They see their alleged dominance over Scottish football not just ending but being reversed. And they cannot accept it.

This isn’t about isolated boycotts or fleeting protests. The Union Brats are escalating their efforts, and it’s hard to see how the board cools the anger. The Union Brats are opening up a major offensive against the leaders of their own club, and the amazing thing is that they don’t even have a clear endgame in sight. Even if they succeed in ousting the current them, what happens next? Who replaces them? Dave King? Spare me.

The likelihood of a smooth transition is laughable. Once this conflict escalates, the damage will be profound. If the Union Brats and the Ibrox board clash head-on, one side will be left in ruins. The real question is how much collateral damage Ibrox suffers before the dust settles.

The parallels with the Leave campaign’s infighting are striking but with one key difference: the absence of restraint. During the Brexit battle, both sides of the Leave campaign knew when to step back, understanding that public displays of division would jeopardise their goal.

At Ibrox, there is no such pragmatism.

The Union Brats believe the board has already lost the larger war, and they seem willing to burn everything down. This kind of internal conflict rarely ends well. As history shows, when factions go to war within their own camp, the damage is all consuming. The Ibrox fanbase, obsessed with their club’s “exalted” past, is tearing itself apart over an unattainable future.

They’re consumed by their failure to compete with Celtic, and their solution is to eat their own.

So as the infighting intensifies, the ultimate beneficiaries are clear: that’s us.

While the Ibrox civil war rages on, Celtic will continue to dominate, unimpeded by the self-destructive chaos engulfing our rivals, and believe me when I say this; it will be a very uncivil war.