BILLY BREMNER MEMORIAL JOIN OUR CAMPAIGN
Date: 23rd February 2025
Mr Imrie won’t pack too much in…
Mr Imrie stood at the window overlooking the assembly line.
As the Chief Executive Officer of Morton’s Millions, Mr Imrie was responsible for making sure that the safety of all of his employees was looked after, but also that targets were met. Set at the beginning of the year by the greedy Championship Corporation was always looking to ensure that they got the maximum bang for their buck.
Mr Imrie, not a local, but somebody who came to love Greenock more than most, was standing looking at the knackered people trying their best to keep up with the assembly line.
He turned to those in the room and said quite clearly, “where’s the recovery? I think our employees are picking up needless injuries and long-term injuries because they’re not getting any time to recover.”
Within the room, people began to shuffle their feet and look at the floor, embarrassed by the fact that they had done their absolute best to meet the targets set by the Championship Corporation who were demanding that the Morton’s Millions make their quotas.
Picture the Scene
It is a genteel February morning.
Mr Imrie was looking out upon a bay in the Firth of Clyde that was becalmed, but menacing, threatening yet again to batter the shores of their town.
Inside the factory in Morton’s Millions at the Cappielow Estate, people were scratching their heads and wondering what Mr Imrie was going to do next.
The fact was, he knew there wasn’t much he could do about the relentless pressure. Having addressed the startled management staff, he turned again to the people below, tutting as he did.
Saying to nobody in particular and addressing everybody in the room at the same time, he said, “the thing is, the opportunity is there for them this particular season if they can keep going to achieve great things, but I just don’t know how much we can push them to keep going.
Down below, the uniform of blue and white that had been their Morton’s Millions uniform for decades that had signalled pride to the people in the town that these hardy workers were the bearers of the Morton’s Millions brand and were giving their best for confectionery across the world, made the whole town proud.
But in the recent weeks, there were bags under eyes and stooped stances as people struggled to shuffle their way around the town, spending their wages in the local shops.
Why?
Because the shift pattern had suddenly become increased. Rather than spending money on bringing in more people, cash strapped Morton’s Millions had shelved some of their more elderly talent, like Mr. Broadfoot, who had given such sterling service in the Govan area years before and came to the Morton’s Millions with a very strong reputation for being a bit of a tough cookie.
Even he struggled with the pace and eventually it became clear that he needed to move on.
As he contemplated the possibilities of losing some of his staff and at the rate, they were going every two and a half days, there seemed to be yet another sick note being handed in. Mr Imrie realised that the visit the previous evening by the Falkirk folk, who were here to have a look at the development of this Championship Corporation and perhaps test out their CEO, Mr. Arfield and Mr. McGlynn made a distinct impression locally – and not a positive one when they left.
Mr Imrie was on the brink, not of breaking down, but of absolute anger. He was aware that if he didn’t, pull up his socks and get better at this whole malarkey, he may follow the example of Mr. Doolan, who just last week was let go by the Sweetie Giant MacB’s Jags in Maryhill, who found his successes less impressive than many of his employees did.
Mr Imrie picked up his oat milk latte with sprinkles and took the last draining gulp from the Fisherman’s Dock restaurant latest foray into coffee. Mr Imrie had a very strong relationship with them and the owner had decided to amend his coffee menu to help Mr Imrie out with his very real stress.
Mr Imrie sighed, he turned, and he looked at the middle management.
“There’s nothing we can do, is there? This is just ridiculous, isn’t it?” he said, “every few days somebody comes up those stairs and hands me yet another sick line. What will we do when we start to get to the bare bones if we haven’t already got there and we cannot fulfil what this championship mob want us to do?”
Nobody in the room could answer.
Nobody in the room had an answer.
Everybody knew that Morton’s Millions were doing spectacular things but were struggling financially. Punching above their weight every single year was down to luck rather than anything else.
Mr Imrie looked like the CEO who was going to do great things here. And there were a number of other larger factories who were sniffing around wondering if the success he was having with Morton’s Millions was something that was going to help pluck him from the obscurity of Greenock to a more centrally based platform where others would see his managerial prowess more positively.
As Mr Imrie dismissed the middle management staff and returned to sit behind his desk, little did he realise that in the shadow in the corner, a large lanky streak of ambition, was looking on thinking if I can’t get back into the premiership of factory management perhaps, I could manage to get in somewhere like here.
Slinking slowly out of the factory gates, the Big Levien was then seen managing to fold himself into a little mini and then having to fold himself back out as he had two flat tyres.
In another corner a smirking Mr. Doolan walked away to get his train, aware that his record would be the more likely to succeed at Greenock than the Big Man… But for the moment he would need to be satisfied with sabotage… For the moment…
Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an original piece of work there is no evidence, unless you know differently that Kris Doolan has ever let down anyone’s tyres, so this is clearly a work of fiction.
The fact is that Morton boss, prior to the arrival of Falkirk with Scott Arfield and John McGlynn who secured all 3 points, bemoaned the schedule for Championship sides in the media. He claimed it was not sustainable and was reported in the Daily Record as follows, “”You’re playing a game every two and a half days. Where’s the player recovery? That’s why, at times, I think players are picking up needless injuries and long-term injuries because they are not getting any time to recover. There has to be a better way to plan the games out. Surely they can find another period where they can make it a bit easier on players?” prior to the Falkirk game, Morton were on an 11 game unbeaten run and sneaking up the league table – many have suggested that Imrie could be a shoo in for a job further up the SPFL – but who would replace him at Cappielow if he went…
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