The Traffic Lights
An Irish member of Celtic's far-flung travelling support had saved up enough
money to make the trip to Glasgow for an Old Firm clash. This was a youth from
an isolated country farm who had never been in a large city at all, never mind
the metropolis of the west, and he walked the streets for hours before the match,
staring all around. A Rangers supporter spotted the youth in his green-and-white
scarf, watching the traffic lights at a busy crossing in Argyle Street, and thought
he would wind him up.
'Do you know,' he asked the Irishman, 'that these are very special lights?'
'Is that so now?'
'Aye. See when the light's at red? That mean all the communists can go. See when
it's at green? That when all the Irishmen can go.'
The young stranger was delighted.
Tis wonderful lights they are, so. They hardly give the Orange bastards a chance