He came out of the North, sporting a batter caked moustache, and they called him the foot-warrior, for the immense damage he did with his professionally pedicured feet. He ate nought but pearl barley until Saturday came and then, strongly reminiscent of a torpedo leaving the tube of a submarine, he would shoot up the tunnel and make red minced meat of Celtic Football Club.
They called him Wullie, and with almost no adjectives at all, he would one day take control of the Scottish airwaves .... but back then .... he was a flash of red, the flame gun of the north as he trotted down Tommy McLean's balls and knocked them off for a throw in, bursting forth a gob of spit in the process, uttering hissing sounds, and establishing the status quo ante of what was then, the professional game.
They called him Wullie, and soon he was to open a pub, and a chipper, and with this wondrous empire, people feared he had captured the entire leisure market, but the substance of his business deals were as transparent as his game .... and with the weight gain of Harper threatening to crush him, Wullie made straight for Glasgow, causing a wedge shaped furrow to form through Scotland in his wake.
It was in Glasgow where Wullie was noticed by the sacred cow eyes of Craigie Brown, and it was also here that, due to his phlegmatic and unexcitable nature, he became the Big Man's next choice as the Leader of Scotland .... and so the foot-warrior, exempt from all obligations to BBC Scotland, contrived his way forward, and lead the boys on from interview to interview, until the people as a whole were all sick to death of the game, and turned instead to basketball, which at least had cheer-leaders after all ....