I am more the Colon of Football. The problem is not what I absorb of the sport but what I make of it eventually. The Rangers crisis has meant there is such a deficit on the airwaves that people like me are asked for their opinions.
I have have largely demurred as my murring has needed some work. The short answer to inquiries from Al Jazeera to Al Bloggs through Al Anon has been a gentle no.
All the broadcasters have borne their grief at my refusal with some ease and moved on.
My contact with broadcasting is limited to the occasional piece on radio. They only invite me back to apologise. Oh, and I also act as the unpaid chauffeur to the true Voice of Scottish Football. I was once his friend. Now I am his audience.
One of the great mysteries of the world – one that has escaped explanation from geniuses such as Copernicus and Galileo to the contemporary cosmologist – is how the Earth's curvature is arranged so that wherever I am in the world The Voice's house is on my way home.
His sombre tones thus inform most car journeys from fitba' grounds. And his tonsils are also cleared when I am heading on one of my missions to borrow money, suits or food from one of my brothers or sisters.
A click of a switch, a hammer on the dashboard of my Nissan Dorma 2000 (its age, not engine capacity) and the whole mad world of the radio phone-in invades the car. The Voice listens, if only momentarily, as Joe Punter makes another point. Now, I have adumbrated on the radio phone-in at some length and the subsequent case is in the hands of the procurator-fiscal.
However, the recent phone-ins have been of vintage quality, showing a side of the fitba' fan that no one could have quite glimpsed before. The Rangers financial crisis has made everyone an expert. I am not immune from this disease but, in fairness, I gave up on the arithmetic of the takeover when I ran out of fingers.
This has not deterred some of my compatriots whose only extensive experience of school is when the word "card" was placed in front of it.
The radio airwaves have fairly crackled with the likes of Tam from Castlemilk and Ian from Ayr who have posed questions that were formed when picking up the remnants of scattered Scrabble tiles.
"Hullo panel," Tam intones. "Now it is about these EBTs and the HMRC. I know a CVA is in the offing and that Rangers is not a plc but is their secured credit on the ancillary debt arising from a shortfall in immediate funding? And what is the quantum of that debt?"
Ian then chimes in: "Tam makes a good point but were the EBTs post or pre a PAYE strategy?"
This has two effects. The first is that Christine Lagarde, managing director of the International Monetary Fund, refused to appear on the Clyde phone-in after she had made her routine appearance at the Cowdenbeath match.
"The producer accepted my contention that the slump in the world demand for exports from Asia was both a contributor to and an indicator of the depth of the recession. But he was not convinced about my theory about neo-classical endogenous growth and its effects on the possible sale of the Ibrox car park," said a somewhat miffed Lagarde.
The second effect, though, is almost devastating in its possible consequences. It is this: if one applies any problem or issue to a major football club then supporters, of all hues or even Hughs, will make it their specialist subject.
The implications of this are, frankly, profound. If the Rangers debt crisis can produce a nation of financial experts then surely the Old Firm can be used as an educational tool.
Literacy should be promoted by every fan having to write a 1000 dissertation on Dostoevsky before receiving a season ticket. Linguistics should be encouraged by the demand that fans sing their songs in a foreign language. So there would be belting renditions of Suivez, Suivez at Ibrox and Si Vous Connaissez L'Histoire at Parkhead.
The nation would thus become more sophisticated, more cosmopolitan and more learned. But don't bank on it. Or, should I say, do not take one's excess capital and place it in an ISA.
