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Where have all the real men gone? A call for a Rino.

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Where have all the real men gone?

Hard working men that don’t care what they look like when they’re working at their job. They return home smelling of blood, sweat, dirt and sometimes with a nip of whisky on their breath. Men who toil, scrape and work their hands to the bone, fighting for their very lives every time they set off to earn a crust – no matter what it is that they do.

A certain brand of man. Cast from the sturdy mould of the hard working and dogged men of days gone by. Men that used to spend more time beneath the ground in dark, damp mines. Men that worked in the smokey ship yards of Govan and men who risked life and particularly limb to work in the industrial age factories across the West coast of Scotland and up and down this fine country of ours.

This same mindset was filtered into the men-only world of football stadiums, smokers nights and secret handshakes.

The football stadiums across Britian were places of sanctuary from hard working British men for an hour and a half every second Saturday. The pictures of thousands of men filtering patiently into the great stadiums across this land with their flat caps and trenchcoats on was a sight to behold. Spotting a woman in their midst would be like studying a Where’s Wally for that red and white striped jumpered moron. Whatever paltry wage they may have been earning was at least in part taken up for their ticket, pie and bovril at their stadium of choice.

On the pitch, the football when compared to today was agricultural in the large part – a large exponent of the ploughed field surfaces that the British climate brings. The men playing the beautiful game were much more robust; athleticism was not a the correct vernacular to describe the majority of players. These men were troopers on the football field. Each and every one of them proud to be representing the club crest that was emblazoned across their chest. It meant a different life than most.

These committed and determined men that would fight tooth and nail with their chest puffed out proudly, more often than not trudging on through the pain barrier, seem to have left modern football in the large part. They most certainly have at Rangers Football Club.

Taking a cursory look through the first team squad at Rangers as we reach the teenage years of the twenty first century, we see a bunch of primadonnas and players that put simply, just don’t look like they care.

Ask yourself, how many of our first team would sweat blood for our club crest?

They may say all the right things when it is time to give vox pops to their pals in the media. Yet when it comes time to step onto the plush grass that has been lapped with whitewash, they seem to wilt under pressure like Chris Burke in the Aberdeen sunlight. There’s no leader in the midst. Not one man will grab the players around them by the scruff of their collar, dust them down and carry them back into battle. These kind of men were last seen gracing the pitch at Ibrox in the times of the band of brothers in the 1990’s – but that is too long ago.

There’s no cutting edge at Rangers. There’s no one willing to be the bad guy for the good of the cause. The fact that the only player there is in our squad that stirs the green and grey hatred from across the city is a 30 year old substitute and impact player in Nacho Novo speaks for itself.

We need players that will get in the faces of our opponents and be willing to die for the men that are around them.

There is one man that I’d love to see back in a Rangers shirt who could stir the hatred in our enemies and the pride in all of us. A real man on the pitch that would fight till the death or at least until the jersey he had on his back had to be torn from his body – and he now lives in Milan.

Rattling around the San Siro on a weekly basis these days is the worlds smallest ton on bricks, Gennaro Ivan “Rino” Gattuso.

Gattuso is the man that crashes through the wry, self-seductive confidence that is apparent in the Gucci wearing, cologne dripped and tailored trousers of the AC Milan squad. The best description I’ve read of the man is that he “looks like a gardener and plays like a gardener’s shovel”.

Off the pitch, Gattuso looks like the epitomy of a modern cosmopolitan man. He dons the sheer cut and expensive suits, poses in the finest magazines and moves with the calm assurance that he is a man in possetion of a World Cup winners medal. Even his ragged beard is kept that way with much preening.

On the pitch, he is a completely different animal. He adopts the gait and defiance of a rabid, snarling pitbull that has been backed into a corner. He always leaves an early impression on the shinguards of whatever opponest he plays against, regardless of reputation, to let them know that the next ninety minutes are not going to be easy.

There’s a manic elegance to his football. He smiles like a cheshire cat as he involves himself in battles across the pitch – like someone that gains energy from confrontation and a test of wits and strength of character – a footballing succubus. Football purists might say that his best days are behind him and that the brand of football he plays is hard to love, but there is no doubt that he commands respect and can be a man to inspire and exactly the kind of man you would want by your side in a footballing war that simply had to be won.

Sometimes we are asked whilst in our locals with our aquaintances, that if we were Chairman of the club we love and given a blank cheque, who would we sign to rid the club from its current ails. Well I’d weigh in with a hefty support for the cultured man that has grown from the wide-eyed boy I remember being introduced onto the pitch in front of the fans with a compatriot when we won nine in a row.

It is a much debated thought and one that is more ‘pie in the sky’ than ‘aye’, but Rino Gattuso would be the perfect kick of paprika in our Pasta Piccante. Gattuso is not being played at Milan under Leonardo, perhaps as he is returning from injury, but it may also be that the distinguished Brazillian football gentleman just doesn’t see a battle hardened, Wolverine faced warrior as part of his plans.

Let me be straight. I am not suggesting for one second that I think Rino Gattuso will play for Rangers Football Club again. However, some of the veins that pump through his Roman arteries, servicing his adrenelane craving heart will forever be tied to the city of Glasgow and our club. We as supporters are forever tied to him too as he has once worn the royal blue of the mighty Rangers.

In a time where modern footballers are far too often concerned with Bentleys, broads, bank accounts, buffed up egos and bumper contracts, Rino Gattuso is a real man. I for one woul’d love it if he would once again become our man.

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Written by therabbitt

December 1, 2009 at 4:16 pm