# The cry was no surrender
# Surrender or you'll die
# Die! Die!
# With heart and hand and sword and shield... #
The primal cry of the indigenous Rangers fan,
one of Glasgow's oldest tribes.
Born blue and with an instinctive hatred of their rivals, Celtic,
these two ancient factions have been
locked in bitter conflict for over 100 years - separated by religion,
brought together by battle.
Or football, as some like to call it.
# Hello! Hello! We are the Billy boys... #
The Billy Boys, a catchy wee ditty originally sang in celebration
of a Protestant street gang,
but now more commonly associated with King William of Orange,
who came over from Holland in 1688 to curb the Catholic uprising.
The mention of being "up to one's knees in Fenian blood"
has long been controversial.
Unsurprisingly, King William's marriage to his 15-year-old cousin
is somewhat less celebrated.
Of course, the rival tribe are never far from controversy themselves.
Dirty Huns!
GLASS SHATTERS
SHOUTING
Fenian scum!
GLASS SHATTERS
GROWLING AND HOOTING
# Championes... #
Of course, we're not all mental.
Most of us just want to watch the football.
# Ole, ole, ole... #
In Glasgow, it's sometimes best to keep your allegiances to yourself.
A vocal minority of troublemakers...
# We are the Billy boys... #
That's what they call them.
Now, I'm not saying I didn't sing the songs myself back in the day,
because I did.
My old man taught them to me, the way his own taught him.
# Hello! Hello!
# We are the Billy boys!
# Hello! Hello!
# You'll know us by our noise! # Ha!
Side-by-side, father and son,
we've shed more tears on the terraces than anywhere else.
I mean, we're Scottish.
We're not supposed to show emotion.
I live in London these days
but I still make it up for as many games with the old man as I can.
It was that distance that helped me to see
just how mental this city really is when it comes to football.
Well...
..distance, and a guy called Johnny from Belfast.
We met in a London boozer.
All we wanted to talk about was football and Glasgow.
A land that time forgot - that's what he calls this place.
Johnny's taken me over the water a few times.
It's a different story over there.
The Troubles aren't forgotten, the history isn't ignored,
but the thing is, most of them are moving on.
So when I told the old man last week that I'd met someone
and he just so happened to be
a Celtic-supporting Catholic from Belfast, well...
..it was like the five stages of grief.
Stage one...
No!
No, he's no'!
Aye. Aye, he is. Stage two...
The next one's my favourite. Stage three.
Maybe it's just a phase.
Only he could call 29 years of Catholicism a phase.
Stage four...
Side-by-side...
..father and son...
"Exactly," I told him, that's the important thing right there,
not all that shite about Fenian blood and no surrender.
We didn't care about any of that sectarian pish
when we stopped Celtic winning the league at Ibrox back in 2012,
or when we scored that penalty against Fiorentina in 2008
to send us to the UEFA Cup final.
THEY CHEER
None of that came from hate or religious division.
It came from love -
for football, for Rangers,
for each other.
Look...
Glasgow's got its problems when it comes to football,
there's no doubt about that,
but there's more passion in this city for the beautiful game
than anywhere else in the world.
I mean, where else would a man find it harder to tell his old man
which team his boyfriend supports
than the fact he's got a bloody boyfriend in the first place?
FANS SING, POLICE SIRENS
I told him I'd be here today.
In the usual spot, with three tickets.
Two for the Rangers end, one for the Celtic.
I said maybe we could all go for a pint after the game.
Hey.
Come on. We're not missing kick-off for that old...
What's this, then? Hey?
Are you lost, son?
Away ye go. What's going on there, eh?
Stage five...
CHEERING
CLAPPING
# Rangers! #
CLAPPING
# Rangers! #
CLAPPING
# Rangers! #