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I've heard the new drugs test for motorists is extremely accurate. One swab of the forehead can detect if you've been using cannabis, crack or cocaine.

But it didn't work for one poor punter. Driving home after a particularly hot curry, they swabbed his napper and charged him with driving under the influence of a chicken bhoona madras.

Somewhere in the depths of Park Gardens is a black hole of an office where the sun never shines.

Potted plants won't grow, draughts go OUT the window and the atmosphere can curdle milk between it leaving the jug and arriving in your tea cup.

It's the lair of a gimlet eyed ogre who wears funereal black, never smiles and eats only the heads of jelly babies.

Of course, none of the above is true. But that's not the problem.

The real problem is that most football supporters THINK it's true.

Jim Farry can homologate, pontificate, prevaricate, obfuscate and litigate until the cows come home.

How he goes about his business is . . . er . . his business.

My concern is that the most exciting, colourful, wonderful, laughterful football supporters in the world have a man at the helm who lives on another planet.

We have fans who paint their faces, wear ill-fitting kilts, stick horns on their heads and happily traipse around the globe looking like refugees from an explosion in Jimmy Shand's wardrobe.

Yet their ultimate leader is a man deemed so dull that if he was drowning and his 43- year life flashed before him he wouldn't even feature in it.

As a radio station caller reckoned last week - if the world was ending in 15 minutes, Jim Farry would start rearranging his sock drawer.

To many - or should I say too many - at the SFA, the World Cup in France is all about football.

But the tens of thousands who'll cross The Channel without even a sniff of a ticket would add an F-word of their own: FUN.

If the World Cup is not about enjoying ourselves, it's not about anything at all.

The laughs officially started this week when four fun-loving bampots released an unofficial World Cup song - a specially re-written version of Chuck Berry's Johnny B. Goode. I've heard it. It's hilarious.

But it tickled Mr Farry so much that he faxed the Daily Record first thing to decree it would NOT be played at tonight's Scotland - Denmark friendly.

Thus denying the people who pay his wages the chance - just a three-minute chance - to experience a little of that magical, mystical F-word.

OF course, the OFFICIAL Scotland World Cup song has still to hit the shops. It's by Del Amitri and you can bet it will be a winner as well.

But what's wrong with two World Cup songs? Or three or four? I've been getting a tape a week in my mail since December.

Some set your pulse racing. A few would scare seagulls from Glasgow Airport. But they all score 10 out of 10 for effort.

No-one is asking Jim Farry to re-invent himself as Coco the Clown.

But I am asking him, on behalf of all fun-loving fans, just sometimes, now and again, even occasionally, to slip the F-word into his SFA phrase book.

To help him on his way, I've even re-written the re-write of Chuck Berry's hit.

Join in if you like Mr Farry . . .

Way down in Park Gardens lives a glum wee bloke,

I'm sure he can laugh, but he'd rather choke,

He makes the big decisions for the SFA,

But I've heard those initials said another way.

I know a lot of punters would admire his style,

If he quit homologating and just gave us a smile

I said hey,

Fun Farry, fun, fun fun,

Fun Farry, fun, fun, fun.

Farry Be Fun!

We're off to France in June to play the great Brazil,

For an army of supporters, it's gonna be a thrill,

Most fans know already they won't even get in,

In fact they're not bothered if we don't even win,

But wouldn't it be nice if McCoist grabbed three

And Farry's smile was bigger than the Champs D'Elysee?

I said hey, Fun Farry . . . (that's enough Chuck Berry - Ed)

Bone up on Sydney

I knew Sydney Devine's line-dancing videos must be good for something... I just never figured it would be osteoporosis!

Syd's cowboy capers, it seems, combat the disease by increasing suppleness and strengthening bones.

More than 100,000 operations and injuries could be prevented every year.

If those figures are true, they should hold Syd's next gold disc and give him the Nobel Prize for Medicine.

But how times change. I remember a wedding where Twist and Shout was followed by The Hippy Hippy Shake - and 16 aunties were carted off in ambulances.
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Copyright 1998 Gale, Cengage Learning. All rights reserved.

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Author:Shields, Bob
Publication:Daily Record (Glasgow, Scotland)
Date:Mar 25, 1998
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