Once upon a time, football was considered to represent a form of escapism. When the working man, wearied following a week’s toil, could take himself along to a game of a Saturday afternoon, and allow himself some well-earned time-out from what could be described as the harsh realities of life.
That rather misty-eyed notion, of course, dates back to an era long since passed, when the terraces were packed to the gunnels, pitches were like mud baths, and players sported long shorts and wore their hair parted in the middle. Referees were in charge back then, which speaks volumes for the historic nature of such nostalgic reflections.
That sense of escapism, however, could once more be detected over the past few seasons, as the economic recession bit deep, and suddenly the days of wine and roses drifted away into the horizon, with no prospect of a return any time soon. Suddenly the beautiful game bore the responsibility of filling a sizeable void, if not quite transporting us to a place where our worries could be parked out of reach for a while.
However, given the travails at Ibrox since the turn of the year, fiscal issues and such like have anything but been left behind at the welcome click of a turnstile. Like it or not, the talk of the terraces – north of the border at least – has become dominated by CVAs (Company Voluntary Arrangement), incubator companies and so-called newcos. The simple things in life, such as tactics and yellow cards and managerial spats, have by and large been relegated to the ‘and finally’ bulletins.
We all fully appreciate that, at the highest levels, football is big business. Even those who possess the most romantic notions of the beautiful game and its rich history would acknowledge that much, given we’ve had restructurings (of leagues and tournaments) ever since Sky TV rolled into town with great wads of cash to entice the great and the good.
Now, it seems, rather than offer relief from the dark economic clouds which have long since gathered, football has become quite consumed by it. Not that precarious finances are a particularly new concept to football, including Scotland.
Not so long ago, clubs such as Motherwell, Livingston, Dundee and, come to think of it, Celtic, were drawn into the financial mire. But those situations somehow fade into relative insignificance as far as those who are entangled in the sorry mess at Rangers are concerned.
We are constantly reminded of Rangers the ‘institution’, Rangers the club that’s ‘woven into the very fabric of Scottish society’. And now, a layman’s appreciation that the club, following years of disastrous mis-management of its finances is in dire trouble, is insufficient. No, we’re invited to get our heads around the intricate detail of off-shore tax accounts, and the legal complexities surrounding players’ contracts when faced with CVAs.
A period of relative respite was then ambushed with last week’s confirmation of US-based businessman Bill Miller’s preferred bidder status. The ‘Tennessee tow-truck tycoon’ (as he became dubbed by scribes) had promised a shaft of light at the end of a tunnel those of a Rangers persuasion (and, perhaps, the rest of us too) had long given up hope of seeing before the season’s end.
But, of course, there remain many questions to be answered before the beginner’s guide to economics books can be tucked safely away to the back of the shelves . Indeed, this afternoon’s decision by Miller to withdraw from the bidding will assuredly lead to yet further cerebral-challenging scrutiny and no little brow-furrowing.
Ally McCoist, who used to be a football man, now carries the look of a EU finance minister surrounded by red tape and buffoonery in Brussels, making his way to yet another unproductive summit squabble. In McCoist’s defence, he’s coped remarkably well for the most part, though how he must yearn for the comfort of a training session in the rain, and the tedium of another easy press conference prior to the next inevitable win against one of the many hapless opponents the SPL has to offer.
And the day that his biggest problem concerns an errant player who has supped one lager too many in a city nightspot is one, you suspect, that can’t come quickly enough for McCoist.
In the meantime we’ll all have to endure the shenanigans at Rangers for just a while yet. Thank goodness for the English Premiership race. What a blessed relief to tune into Lionel Messi’s astonishing goalscoring exploits. Praise be to the Champions League final, and yes, even the all-Edinburgh Scottish Cup final.
If that isn’t enough, dig out the old videos and match programmes to enjoy too, just as a gentle reminder that the football – not the fiscal complexities - was once the only show in town.