What Haunts Them The Most

The death of Terry Munro is the ultimate downer for them.
The silence will last more than a minute and they will certainly not be applauding their failure.
Hopefully Moonlighter will be able to track down the final resting place and I will be able to place an orange lily, as a mark of respect, on the twelfth day of July.
 
In status quo style. And I liked it I liked liked it...... Fucking their 10 in a row :)

They have been singing it since forever. Tattoos, flags, t-shirts... This is ripping them apart.

But their pain doesn't compete with my joy for 55
 
One thing we need to keep in mind is pain diminishes the less you think about something

It’s in our power to make sure this doesn’t happen.

unleash the campaign - ‘taunt a mentally challenged’.

many where you find one. Never let them forget
 
The scenes at the piggery will stay with me for ever, the scum chanting Lenny, Lenny GTF. After all, they are all NFL.
Music to my ears.
The internet clips will be available to taunt them for all time.
WATP
NS
 
Easily 'the 10'

Helicopter sunday was a short jab knockout to the jaw.

But this

This has been 10 years where from day 1 they have thought they had it in the bag. The closer it got the more they believed it the more they planned their celebrations and despite being hollow they thought they would lord it over us. The only way it will hurt more for them is seeing Alfie ragdoll their defence in 2 weeks time bag a couple of goals before being subbed off to save him for a more important game soon the Thursday.
 
MoJo.
although there didn’t expect it, there was always a chance of the helicopter, and they‘ve had weeks, nay months, to get used to Terry Munro, but no one saw MoJo happening, not only their saviour & hero rejecting them after being photographed in the strip, that was bad enough, but then signing for their most bitter enemies. I remember seeing a kid on the telly crying cos his dog was called Mo and he’d have to rename him.
 
Losing 10 in a row. They had considered it a formality. They had been looking forward to their party for years. They had it all worked out.
 
The 2 I'm haunting the most at the moment weren't even born when Johnston signed!!


I'm 50 now and behaving worse than I did in 87 when we won the League B-)B-D
 
This season.

Had it been close it might have been easier, but it's been a slow lingering death.

They might have tried to front it with some false bravado but the reality is, they've been done since about october/november.
On the other hand, we've been utterly ruthless and simply haven't given them a sniff.
 
WAAP said:
The death of Terry Munro is the ultimate downer for them.
The silence will last more than a minute and they will certainly not be applauding their failure.
Hopefully Moonlighter will be able to track down the final resting place and I will be able to place an orange lily, as a mark of respect, on the twelfth day of July.
Click to expand...
I suppose Aiden Munro didny waste his tattoo money but its still a reminder of ultimate failure:))
 
Robert Marshall said:
Maurice Johnston Signing
Helicopter Sunday
or
Losing 10 in a Row
Click to expand...

Every one they had in the bag. I love their pain

Us on the other hand......the most pessimistic support in the world. If we win tomorrow it is fucking done....no way we lose from an 18 point lead and 23 goal advantage with 6 games left. Forget about Sunday, just win tomorrow Rangers!
 
Its a "generational" question and the traumas of the past are foreign to the average Scum teenage fan. The older ones will have suffered 2 failures at 10 in a row and seen our 9. Their tears bring me joy and I hope to be joyful for years to come.
 
10 has been their holy grail there quest for superiority to lord it over us for eternity and it’s all came crashing down due to a magnificent rangers team.
Make no mistake they never gifted it to us we have won it by being magnificent and relentless we have won in the face of adversity won it while being subjected to some horrendous decisions from governing bodies cheated by refs and mocked and abused by MSM
 
Failure to get the 'Ten' will haunt them for a long time I think, not least because in the modern world all their despair is published online, twitter rants and delusions, podcasts, video blogs etc etc, it's a glorious archive that will be dipped into for years to come. In the end I was surprised at how arrogant they had become and that's just the 'pundits', our arses collapsed last season true but we were already a good team and europe showed that.
 
Mmmm, they do hold a grudge, so MoJo would have to be up there, but that's a primeval urge so it probably doesn't count as much.

Helicopter Sunday is an awful memory for them which they'll never forget, but it wasn't part of a concerted obsession, so will only be a recurring bad dream for them.

Which brings us to what is surely the most traumatic event that's ever befallen them, collectively and individually.

It is one thing to suffer a sporting setback, to feel the intense disappointment of the day, which naturally lessens with the passing of time and occasionally rankles when it comes to mind. But "The Ten", well that's on an entirely different stratosphere.

The GFITW have been dreaming of nothing else for ten years. It wasn't a challenge for them, it was a given, no effort at all. Of course this was predicted largely on the absence of their only realistic challenger, exiled leagues below, who if they ever got back (the plan of course was that they wouldn't), would be so crippled as never to be a threat again.

So it was a ten year nonstop singalong, accompanied by regular demonstrations of "the Poznan", a fun packed frolic up and down the highways and byways of Scotland, as one title after another was collected for the fireplace display. This was easy, not a diversion in sight, foot down, doing the ton, destination Teninarow.

Think of the investment in this manifest destiny, not financially, but emotionally? This was the stuff of legends, and where Hercules may have completed twelve labours, in reaching "The Ten" they'd go on to surpass even that herculean effort. It was just the relentless passage of time, preordained, fulfilment, glorious attainment.

And then, like an astronomer spotting the faintest of planetary anomalies, a curious phenomenon was spotted, not enough to hinder the relentless trajectory, but curious enough to merit the merest of a backwards glance. But on they rolled without concern, the songs of destiny growing increasingly louder as "The Ten" on the horizon got closer, much closer.

That far behind curiosity was getting larger too and it's features becoming more distinct. Some may have wondered aloud if this was a threat, if so they were quickly assured not to worry as it was surely deid. But it had life and was in pursuit. It almost caught up too but veered off course, leaving the "ninth" to be decreed after only 8.75 of the standard distance.

So we come to the denouement of our tale. The eyes on the prize, the laurel wreath of victory awaiting placement on a rightful head, ten happy years culminating in a hallowed stall amongst the heavenly football firmament, this was IT!

But then the gods played their joke and it was a good one. For what was that, still there, raring to go and looking them straight in the eye? It hadn't gone away, it was back. Some said it wasn't the same, others laughed and called it by a different name, only a few were concerned, but they too shook off their apprehension.

At first all seemed well, the incessant proclamation of their destiny in just a few short months, only a matter of seeing through the course. But then the vibrations started, the machine was playing up, surely just a glitch, nah "The Ten" was theirs, nothing could go wrong, could it? But they'd been neglecting things, believing they could just tick along, a wee bit of oil here, a wee rub with a dirty rag there. And as for that shadow increasingly looming over them that they'd ignored and dismissed as of no consequence, it was now faster, sturdier, fully crewed and better led. Soon it was ahead of them, then a bit more. Panic in the ranks, the GFITW and especially the Brigade de Merde were mutinying, demanding the ejection of Captain Neil F Lennon and his boss, the sinister Liewell, still failing to understand that the threat was external, in the guise of a bloody big thundering Express called The Stevie-G on a relentless 3 year mission, carefully assembled, drilled and fully functioning.

With the shark circling the beleaguered, misfiring and decrepit hulk, the awful realisation of the of the self delusion, arrogance and colossal hubris, finally has registered. Imagine the terror of falling from a twenty storey building? Well try again, this time think of the Burj Khalifa and the feeling in the pit of their stomachs as gravity kicks in and the inevitable fall begins.

Think of music, think Wagner (not the one that's just sprung to mind!), Richard and his Gotterdammerung, the Twilight of the Gods, the panic in Hitler's bunker, the recriminations, the blame shaming, none of this was ever envisaged. The Ark of the Covenant was found, it was named Rangers and it has wrought havoc.

Make no mistake, this is the biggest catastrophe they've ever encountered, a ten year onanist fest that got more frantic the closer they got to the magic number.

Just a pity for them that it turned out not to be 10, but.... 55.
 
This season will haunt them most.
Rangerista said:
Mmmm, they do hold a grudge, so MoJo would have to be up there, but that's a primeval urge so it probably doesn't count as much.

Helicopter Sunday is an awful memory for them which they'll never forget, but it wasn't part of a concerted obsession, so will only be a recurring bad dream for them.

Which brings us to what is surely the most traumatic event that's ever befallen them, collectively and individually.

It is one thing to suffer a sporting setback, to feel the intense disappointment of the day, which naturally lessens with the passing of time and occasionally rankles when it comes to mind. But "The Ten", well that's on an entirely different stratosphere.

The GFITW have been dreaming of nothing else for ten years. It wasn't a challenge for them, it was a given, no effort at all. Of course this was predicted largely on the absence of their only realistic challenger, exiled leagues below, who if they ever got back (the plan of course was that they wouldn't), would be so crippled as never to be a threat again.

So it was a ten year nonstop singalong, accompanied by regular demonstrations of "the Poznan", a fun packed frolic up and down the highways and byways of Scotland, as one title after another was collected for the fireplace display. This was easy, not a diversion in sight, foot down, doing the ton, destination Teninarow.

Think of the investment in this manifest destiny, not financially, but emotionally? This was the stuff of legends, and where Hercules may have completed twelve labours, in reaching "The Ten" they'd go on to surpass even that herculean effort. It was just the relentless passage of time, preordained, fulfilment, glorious attainment.

And then, like an astronomer spotting the faintest of planetary anomalies, a curious phenomenon was spotted, not enough to hinder the relentless trajectory, but curious enough to merit the merest of a backwards glance. But on they rolled without concern, the songs of destiny growing increasingly louder as "The Ten" on the horizon got closer, much closer.

That far behind curiosity was getting larger too and it's features becoming more distinct. Some may have wondered aloud if this was a threat, if so they were quickly assured not to worry as it was surely deid. But it had life and was in pursuit. It almost caught up too but veered off course, leaving the "ninth" to be decreed after only 8.75 of the standard distance.

So we come to the denouement of our tale. The eyes on the prize, the laurel wreath of victory awaiting placement on a rightful head, ten happy years culminating in a hallowed stall amongst the heavenly football firmament, this was IT!

But then the gods played their joke and it was a good one. For what was that, still there, raring to go and looking them straight in the eye? It hadn't gone away, it was back. Some said it wasn't the same, others laughed and called it by a different name, only a few were concerned, but they too shook off their apprehension.

At first all seemed well, the incessant proclamation of their destiny in just a few short months, only a matter of seeing through the course. But then the vibrations started, the machine was playing up, surely just a glitch, nah "The Ten" was theirs, nothing could go wrong, could it? But they'd been neglecting things, believing they could just tick along, a wee bit of oil here, a wee rub with a dirty rag there. And as for that shadow increasingly looming over them that they'd ignored and dismissed as of no consequence, it was now faster, sturdier, fully crewed and better led. Soon it was ahead of them, then a bit more. Panic in the ranks, the GFITW and especially the Brigade de Merde were mutinying, demanding the ejection of Captain Neil F Lennon and his boss, the sinister Liewell, still failing to understand that the threat was external, in the guise of a bloody big thundering Express called The Stevie-G on a relentless 3 year mission, carefully assembled, drilled and fully functioning.

With the shark circling the beleaguered, misfiring and decrepit hulk, the awful realisation of the of the self delusion, arrogance and colossal hubris, finally has registered. Imagine the terror of falling from a twenty storey building? Well try again, this time think of the Burj Khalifa and the feeling in the pit of their stomachs as gravity kicks in and the inevitable fall begins.

Think of music, think Wagner (not the one that's just sprung to mind!), Richard and his Gotterdammerung, the Twilight of the Gods, the panic in Hitler's bunker, the recriminations, the blame shaming, none of this was ever envisaged. The Ark of the Covenant was found, it was named Rangers and it has wrought havoc.

Make no mistake, this is the biggest catastrophe they've ever encountered, a ten year onanist fest that got more frantic the closer they got to the magic number.

Just a pity for them that it turned out not to be 10, but.... 55.
Click to expand...
Spot on.

This season alone has seen how they turn on their ‘own’ so much as MoJo would hurt it was surmountable.
Past heroes become at best nonentities or fall into the hated status.

Helicopter Sunday was a dagger through the heart and a pain that will never diminish.
Season of expectancy and anticipation extinguished in five minutes .
The fact that their manager and ex players view this as worst experience in their careers is quite glorious.
Essentially it was a one off game shoot out with advantage massively them, they lost.

Without doubt losing the ‘ten’ must come first on the list.
From the moment we were vanquished to the lower leagues an opportunity arose to create a record never to be beaten.
Thankfully it never happened.
Their lose of entitlement is the thing that will hurt forever.
 
Last edited:
Their 10 in a row nightmare was for this generation, and probably 7 other generations past given their breeding pattern. Now is the real pain.
 
They've never got over the Mo Jo effect.

Here they had a traditional catholic who was a CERT to sign for their beloved only to say naw,f uck it i'll sign for yer rivals and earn a few bucks more.

1989 i think it was that Johnston signed for us,that's over 30yrs ago and it still eats away at them.
 
Rangerista said:
Mmmm, they do hold a grudge, so MoJo would have to be up there, but that's a primeval urge so it probably doesn't count as much.

Helicopter Sunday is an awful memory for them which they'll never forget, but it wasn't part of a concerted obsession, so will only be a recurring bad dream for them.

Which brings us to what is surely the most traumatic event that's ever befallen them, collectively and individually.

It is one thing to suffer a sporting setback, to feel the intense disappointment of the day, which naturally lessens with the passing of time and occasionally rankles when it comes to mind. But "The Ten", well that's on an entirely different stratosphere.

The GFITW have been dreaming of nothing else for ten years. It wasn't a challenge for them, it was a given, no effort at all. Of course this was predicted largely on the absence of their only realistic challenger, exiled leagues below, who if they ever got back (the plan of course was that they wouldn't), would be so crippled as never to be a threat again.

So it was a ten year nonstop singalong, accompanied by regular demonstrations of "the Poznan", a fun packed frolic up and down the highways and byways of Scotland, as one title after another was collected for the fireplace display. This was easy, not a diversion in sight, foot down, doing the ton, destination Teninarow.

Think of the investment in this manifest destiny, not financially, but emotionally? This was the stuff of legends, and where Hercules may have completed twelve labours, in reaching "The Ten" they'd go on to surpass even that herculean effort. It was just the relentless passage of time, preordained, fulfilment, glorious attainment.

And then, like an astronomer spotting the faintest of planetary anomalies, a curious phenomenon was spotted, not enough to hinder the relentless trajectory, but curious enough to merit the merest of a backwards glance. But on they rolled without concern, the songs of destiny growing increasingly louder as "The Ten" on the horizon got closer, much closer.

That far behind curiosity was getting larger too and it's features becoming more distinct. Some may have wondered aloud if this was a threat, if so they were quickly assured not to worry as it was surely deid. But it had life and was in pursuit. It almost caught up too but veered off course, leaving the "ninth" to be decreed after only 8.75 of the standard distance.

So we come to the denouement of our tale. The eyes on the prize, the laurel wreath of victory awaiting placement on a rightful head, ten happy years culminating in a hallowed stall amongst the heavenly football firmament, this was IT!

But then the gods played their joke and it was a good one. For what was that, still there, raring to go and looking them straight in the eye? It hadn't gone away, it was back. Some said it wasn't the same, others laughed and called it by a different name, only a few were concerned, but they too shook off their apprehension.

At first all seemed well, the incessant proclamation of their destiny in just a few short months, only a matter of seeing through the course. But then the vibrations started, the machine was playing up, surely just a glitch, nah "The Ten" was theirs, nothing could go wrong, could it? But they'd been neglecting things, believing they could just tick along, a wee bit of oil here, a wee rub with a dirty rag there. And as for that shadow increasingly looming over them that they'd ignored and dismissed as of no consequence, it was now faster, sturdier, fully crewed and better led. Soon it was ahead of them, then a bit more. Panic in the ranks, the GFITW and especially the Brigade de Merde were mutinying, demanding the ejection of Captain Neil F Lennon and his boss, the sinister Liewell, still failing to understand that the threat was external, in the guise of a bloody big thundering Express called The Stevie-G on a relentless 3 year mission, carefully assembled, drilled and fully functioning.

With the shark circling the beleaguered, misfiring and decrepit hulk, the awful realisation of the of the self delusion, arrogance and colossal hubris, finally has registered. Imagine the terror of falling from a twenty storey building? Well try again, this time think of the Burj Khalifa and the feeling in the pit of their stomachs as gravity kicks in and the inevitable fall begins.

Think of music, think Wagner (not the one that's just sprung to mind!), Richard and his Gotterdammerung, the Twilight of the Gods, the panic in Hitler's bunker, the recriminations, the blame shaming, none of this was ever envisaged. The Ark of the Covenant was found, it was named Rangers and it has wrought havoc.

Make no mistake, this is the biggest catastrophe they've ever encountered, a ten year onanist fest that got more frantic the closer they got to the magic number.

Just a pity for them that it turned out not to be 10, but.... 55.
Click to expand...
I was just going to post this exact quote lol
 
All of them but at the moment i would say its every media outlet stating this is our 55th title. Which of course it is. But a cursory glance at the hordes on any twitter story that mentions the dreaded digits 55 proves without question that this above anything else just now is absolutely killing them. You can almost picture them spitting foam as they reply. The sevco rhetoric has exploded past the Mars rover into the next galaxy. All of this is way beyond what i ever hoped for,they are in absolute torture. And it is glorious.
 
Ten in a row was going to be the story they told the grand weans, the bed time tale they had all been wishing for. A mouse took a stroll through a deep dark wood, a bear saw the mouse and the mouse looked like it was flinging sharks at the stadium.
 
Helicopter Sunday or winning 55 for me.

Them losing 'the' 10 is only even registered with me because they have been singing about it for 5 years and its become a parody.
 
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