CELTIC RUGBY PLAYERS SMASH THE RACIST BLM RITUAL

Scotland and Wales fought out a close rugby game last Saturday. It's a fixture I enjoy with a foot in each camp -born in Scotland, I live in Wales- but this renewal reminded me what pride is. It seems like a long time since I felt proud to be Scottish, but it's probably only since the repulsive Nicola Sturgeon became King of the land north of Hadrian's Wall. You see, last week's game featured a magnificent display of anti-Woke that was all the more glorious for being exclusively Celtic and decisively male. And a long time overdue it was.   

GLOBAL GLASGOW SUCKS

In several visits (this century) to my home town of Glasgow, I'd been horrified at the Londonification of a city that -for all its many shortcomings- had a unique character and a social culture rooted in common sense and rich humour. In 2010, 2012, 2015 and 2018 I was treated to the New Glasgow experience -  all slack Starbuckery and nuggets in the gutter, Wetherspoon meal-deals and cheese sarnies from the Tesco Metro. Anonymous streets, chainstore-cafes and branded-bars swarming with grinning foreign students, scowling, aggressive migrants and the kind of monied  English loafers who lie around in their Byres Road flats writing blogs about diversity, equity and white privilege. My hometown visits were necessarily short, as I can only stomach so much plasticine culture, wherever it lives.

LOCKDOWN LIVES MATTER

Then in a ghastly twist of fate, the Coronapanto began and -because my small business depended entirely on the free movement of the public- I was forced out of my Welsh hideaway into Lockdown back in the city I left over 40 years ago. Three months of incarceration later I couldn't wait to escape the limp, passive herd of compliant sheep occupying New Glasgow. In the (now middle-class) flats a few blocks from the slum streets where I grew up, signs were appearing in windows (during the Lockdown) declaring the real pandemic is racism and similar drivel. Ye gods!

Yet hope springs eternal in the human breast, and just when I least expected it, a group of my countrymen threw off the woke-yoke and stood up for sanity. Before their game of rugby - a game invented in Britain and gifted to the world by the way- both the Scots and Welsh teams decided to ditch the infantile, humiliating, and utterly loathsome ritual of 'taking the knee' -and yes, all over Britain I can guarantee you, hundreds of thousands roared in delighted  support. 

BAD LUCK MOBSTERS

The disgraceful racist horde of BLM were -in that instant- exposed for the cancel-culture cretins they always were-by men too big to cancel. Quite well aware of the degrading, uncivilised agenda behind the money-grubbing Marxists who created BLM, thirty high-profile Scotsmen and Welshmen -of various  shades and origins- refused to kneel in fake 'solidarity'  with a sordid, selfish, divisive cult that enjoys the slavish backing of the MIG (media / internet / government) class. 

The reactions from the  knee-jerks, sorry, 'journalists' who fill 21st century 'newspapers' with their semi-literate scribbling were priceless. What a joy to read their feeble squeaks of distaste, the pretzel-logic of their jiggery-wokery! Squirming as they were on the fork of harsh reality -that sportsmen are just men, with the freedom to choose that is the least real men demand. Reality matters a lot more to those who put their neck on the line - as opposed to putting their lines on the net.  

BIG LIES MATTER     

By this weekend the deadly, killer virus of reality had spread to the Irish, who also decided they'd had enough of the cult of Unholy George, whose unfortunate but predictable demise launched the 2020 summer of Hate in which BLM specialise. It remains an irony beyond measure that the multi-culti-mobs of righteous justice-seekers chose for their 'diversity icon' a career-criminal thug who got himself roughed up by police while resisting (yet another) arrest. 

The fact is that Saint Floyd of the Fentanyl was smashed out of his tree on a cocktail of drugs that would have felled an ox when he met his end.We are, however, expected to swallow the idea that LETHAL-DOSE LEVEL intoxication played no part in his struggle to breathe while fighting with multiple cops, and that all white people on earth are collectively to blame, because we're so priviliged and racist, yada yada...Well, guess what? Big Lies Matter, boys and girls.

It took the hard men of Celtic rugby to deliver this much-needed reality-check to celebrity sporting lunkheads everywhere, but it was worth the wait. The kiddiwokes may howl and the Linakers and Sterlings turn somersaults of twattery on the Twitter trapeze, but the grown-ups have left the play-room: #NotMe.We've had enough of Bolshevik Lapdog Millionaires, got it?

IAN ANDREW-PATRICK