Ibrox

Ibrox Stadium is situated in the Ibrox area of Glasgow, it's on the South Side of the Clyde, close to Govan and the Clyde. The area is a mixture of run down properties, closed businesses, local authority housing and in some parts general depravation - and this isn't the poor part of the city by a long way.

Exiting Ibrox Underground Station it's only a short walk past half a dozen shops, a pub and a bookies before turning right into the hinterland of the stadium. It's half past one and yet there are thousands of people walking around, in addition to the crowd there are programme sellers, fanzine sellers, the usual souvenir outlets, the club shop, fast food fans selling the obligatory death burgers. There's one fanzine seller close to the John Greig memorial who has a voice that frightens the life out of me the first time I hear it, that's because I'm standing about five feet away when he shouts out the name of the fanzine he is selling and adds 'Half time, tea time, anytime,' it may not be one of the most original cries of Glasgow but it does it for me.

Any preconceptions I had of Ibrox Stadium were shattered within about five minutes of passing through the turnstiles - entrance was by a smart card which contained my Rangers membership number, name and seat details, the last would be useful if you couldn't remember your seat number from when you booked your ticket online. I was seated in the Club Deck area and the entrance I used is in the bottom left corner on the picture above, up endless flights of steps inside a glass tower.

Inside the stadium are covered walkways off of which lead steps to the seating areas, toilets and dozens of food outlets - Ibrox is after all one of U.E.F.A's Elite Stadia.

Once seated another pre-visit idea is gone, despite seating just over 50,000 it feels as if I could reach out and touch the other three sides. I know that television makes things look bigger but Ibrox feels both big and small - the pitch and the fronts of the stands close together, the way Upton Park was until the revamp, the way grounds should be in my opinion - and yet the tiers on either side seem to rise almost vertically.

Another surprise is the make-up of the crowd. No Rab C Nesbitt's in this part of Govan (or Ibrox strictly speaking) the crowd consists of mainly families, Dads with sons, Dads with sons and daughters, wives and husbands, lovers, single blokes like me and a few old blokes talking in Glaswegian accents so thick that if they talk to you it's polite to nod and smile rather than say 'Pardon?'

There are some situations where you forget any previous attitudes because at that moment you are in 'the zone' - a sunny, warm, April Saturday in Glasgow is such a time and place, AC/DC actually sound good over the P.A System and some of the crowd catch the mood and sing along to Highway to Hell. The singing is so loud and so fervent that you imagine for a minute that the highway in question is the one that leads to Celtic Park. The two teams come out for their warm-up half an hour before kick-off and acknowledge the crowd.

At about ten to three the crowd begin their repoitoire of songs, these are lead by a band situated in the Broomloan Front (no I have no idea what it means either). There are no sectarian chants, no abusive language and as I have since discovered Rangers has something of a reputation as being a good place to take the family - providing they aren't playing Celtic!

Rangers win the match 3-1, I finally get to see Kris Boyd score, his first goal is simply stunning. For all the excitement there's still something nagging at the back of my mind. For all the passion, the singing of 'Follow, Follow', the win that moves the Light Blues to within a point of the Hoops and the hearty rendition of 'God Save The Queen' at the end by one section of the crowd there's no escaping the fact that the quality of the SPL is poor. There's been a lot of talk over the years as to where the two big clubs in the SPL would fit into an English Premiership - I have to say that on this evidence they wouldn't. The first touch of most players, with the notable exception of my old mate Perdo Mendez, Christian Dailly and Mo Edu is poor, some players first touch is so poor that they need two more just to get the ball under control before passing it. Fitness level of almost all involved is truly dreadful, the Scottish footballers love of a pint and a curry is legendary but there are times when the play is so pedestrian you have to rub your eyes to confirm that the players aren't actually enjoying a pint and an Indian out there on the pitch. It's a shame on one level but actually it's an insult - an insult to the 50,008 who have turned up and paid good money to see this.

By the final whistle the ground is half empty - the queue I encounter at Ibrox Station five minutes after leaving the ground explains why. I decide to walk back to Euro Hostel, I've no idea where I am going but my old trackers intuition tells me that I have to keep the sun behind me and the river must be on my left until I find a river crossing. Despite all my reservations about the quality of the play and the fitness I've loved every minute of it and that's probably why the other 50,007 turn up most weeks, for an hour and a half all those frustrations of the previous week have an outlet.