THE Weir weans – all of them – were at the Hydro the other evening to see WWE Live feature their favourites, such as AJ Styles, Randy Orton and Kevin Owens.

I wasn’t in attendance. I’m not really in to these prancers and dancers, with their theatrics and choreography, make-up and outfits. Give me Adrian Street and Kendo Nagasaki any day.

However, I did get to interview one of the box office wrestling stars during my first incarnation at the Evening Times, when I was despatched to meet (the now deceased) Roddy Piper, who went by the nickname ‘Rowdy,’ although I had the misfortune of mishearing the-then sports editor, and arrived at the venue looking for someone in Speedos answering to the name Randy.

The hook was Roddy was a Scot. The fact was he was born in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada. But I wanted to know exactly where his Scottish roots lay.

“I think it might be Castledawson?”

“That’s in Northern Ireland.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe Castle Douglas?” I offered.

“I think it might be Castle Douglas,” he agreed, without batting an eye at his seamless geographical switch. What a pro, although with hindsight, I should have said Castlemilk.

MENTIONING Canadian-Scots, or Scots-Canadians, the name Colin Miller cropped up in conversation on social media the other day.

Colin, unlike Mr Piper, could easily trace his roots, being born here but growing up in Canada. He signed for Rangers in the early 80’s, moving to Doncaster before playing for Hamilton – that’s Steelers and Accies – making over 200 appearances for the latter.

He also appeared 61 times for Canada, helping him accumulate one of the best collections of international football shirts I’ve seen, given the Canada was a go-to place for international teams ahead of major tournaments.

Whilst not the biggest, Colin played sweeper for many years in the national side, finding himself up against some of the best strikers around, so duly swapped jerseys with them at full-time, collecting souvenirs from Klinsmann, Riedle, Bergkamp, Michael Laudrup, Romario, Charlie Nicholas, McCoist, Ceulemans, some Mexicans, other Brazilians and oh, Dean Saunders and Iain Dowie, although they don’t get much of an airing.

“Why don’t you have them framed and on the walls?” I once asked him.

“I don’t have enough walls.” Fair point.

TALKING of Ally McCoist, this weekend marks 20 years since Rangers clinched nine-in-a-row at Tannadice. Later that week, I was sitting in the foyer at Ibrox with the Gers striker, as usual, teasing and testing him with some devilish football trivia and quiz questions, when in walked a delegation from Strathclyde Police, including match and divisional commanders.

“Morning Mr McCoist,” came the greeting from one of the polis, adding “a complaint was received the other evening about you and your cohorts Mr McCoist.”

“A complaint? Would that be from a Mrs ***** of Hinshelwood Drive, by chance?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment,” he replied, “though it’s the first complaint we’ve had about the noise coming from the roof of the team bus, and not inside it, Mr McCoist?”

“The roof of the bus Sir? I couldn’t possibly comment.”

“Maybe best you don’t. You’d hardly want to incriminate anyone now, would you?”

“Especially not Gazza,” said Ally, quick as a flash.