BILLY BREMNER MEMORIAL JOIN OUR CAMPAIGN
Date: 26th January 2025
Mr. Wilson graduates…
“For your eyes only…”
“Top Secret…”
“Not to be disclosed…”
The warnings across the top of the brown file were clear for Inspector Clemente left alone in a room somewhere in deep darkest Govan with a single bulb for company dimly above him to illuminate proceedings.
He opened gingerly the file and the name at the top struck fear and terror into everybody in the Goven area apart from Inspector Clemente.
The reason?
He didn’t know who he was.
Picture the scene
It is the day after the storm has battered everywhere around the area in which Inspector Clemente plies his trade.
This morning in Govan people have been chasing trampolines and trying to find where their bins have gone for the last few hours but on this Saturday morning in January 2025, Inspector Clemente worries not about the weather. Inspector Clemente is reading through the latest possible threat to his safety and security.
A man revered in the East End who was driven out of town has now the audacity to return…
Mr. Jota, fam damn on the wing is on his way back if intelligence reports are to be believed.
Prior to Inspector Clemente’s appointment in deepest darkest Govan Jota was the terror of most of Givan and wider parts of the country. In 2023 he moved abroad, most people believed to Saudi where he was going to live it up with other clans of Irish descent.
Mr. Jota had found the Middle East, apparently, less to his liking than he had expected.
The file suggested he ended up in the south of France.
At least that’s where most people believe Rennes happens to be. (It’s not, it’s in Brittany, which is in the Northwest…)
Now he appears to be ready to get back on a plane and come back across into the centre of Glasgow to make his wingman moves once more.
Inspector Clemente closes the file, stands up and walks to the wall hoping that there was a window out of which he could look and look mean and moody, perhaps smoking a gauloise cigarette but in a windowless room, that was a pointless exercise.
He turned back to the coffee that had sat there in a Styrofoam cup getting colder and colder and went to sit back down to sample it. Once in his seat he realised it was cold and wondered how long he had been in this room.
The threat of Mr Jota was one he had heard about, but he had never experienced.
Now, having read the file he realised just exactly how important this man was to the syndicates that he fought in the east end of Glasgow.
Of course they didn’t see themselves like that.
They saw themselves as a modern-day Robin Hood, where taking on the establishment and running riot over challenging the subjugation of the poor, intemperate working class.
But for Inspector Clemente of the Sureté in Deepest Darkest Govan, that was not something he could contemplate without getting out his badge and arresting the whole damn lot of them.
The one thing that kept Inspector Clemente from deepest, darkest despair was the fact that he realised that Mr Kyogo, another one of the terrors of his time, looked likely to depart, having been chased out of town by the new regime amongst the Celtic Warriors on the north-east of Glasgow.
There were other departures that had been suggested, but, Inspector Clemente, as he sat and contemplated his future, wondered if there was something he could do to save himself.
Recently, even his trip down to Manchester, a scene of battles past, where the valiant nature of his team was admired and talked about in hushed tones once again, had not managed to provide him with the victory he needed to cement his place in the Sureté and govern. It was time now to perhaps contemplate what some thought was the inevitable, that there needed to be an exit strategy.
Just then, looking down at the table, he realised that he had missed another brown file folder that was lying peeking out from underneath, the one at the top. He moved the Jota file to one side and picked up a second one, opening it gingerly, filled with trepidation, to see at the top that the Celtic Warriors had now decided to add to their arsenal by not just bringing back Mr Jota, but there was another defender of their faith who was likely to now make the trip up north, from London, to join again.
Inspector Clemente closes the file, puts it back down, looks for a window to look out of, and recognises that the bleak concrete walls he faces are as drab as his future.
Standing up, he goes to the door, chaps it, waits for the fifteen locks to be turned, and opened as he walks out, not into the sunlight, but to the debris of a storm, recognising that the biggest one in his next few months was still to come.
Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an original piece of work there is no evidence, unless you know differently that Phillipe Clement has ever been alone in a darkened room in Govan, so this is clearly a work of fiction.
The fact is that Jota and Tierney are names being put in the frame for a return to Celtic whilst Clemente is holding onto his job by a thread – but does coming back make a difference or is it just folly driven by memories? Looks like we are about to find out, after Jota stuck a picture of himself in a Celtic strip up on his “socials”…
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Tags: Rangers, Scottish football