game for a laugh

So stuff your Pope and stuff your Queen,

la-de-dah-de-dah.

(repeat)

A small huddle of Partick Thistle fans are belting out this little ditty, with smiling middle-of-the-roadism, while remaining slightly wary about singing from such a bilious hymn sheet. In the current political climate they are the Liberal Democrats of Scottish football. Mildly inoffensive fence-sitters; pseudo-aggressive bed-wetters with as much punch as a drunk juggling a hot kebab. Thistle have just beaten Forfar - by way of a dubious penalty kick - in front of 2500 restless natives. And me. It was a fruitless afternoon, bar the dodgy goal, but mildly amusing all the same. A certain stoicism is essential.

I stood beside one distinguished-looking fan, the nearest thing to football royalty without the red and yellow haemoglobin, who told me he had inherited two things from his father: ''Premature baldness and a love of Partick Thistle.'' Another, slightly less regal, informed me he had thrown his season ticket on to the pitch the previous week, only to receive it back through the post three days later with a short note: ''We are returning your season ticket because if we have to watch this rubbish so do you.''

There is rarely an impulse for invention when writing stories about the Jags, because the truth is based, invariably, on a mish-mash of stupefying misfortune, brilliant ineptitude and pure magic.

After the match, John Lambie, who has returned to the club for his third spell as manager, was utterly deflated, an avalanche of stress hanging around him like a voodoo spell. ''I am absolutely drained,'' he sighed. ''That game was the biggest load of crap I have ever watched in my life.'' His job is only starting.

Thirteen years ago I was on trial with the mythical Partick Thistle, forever the heroic red and yellow Glasgow football club. I arrived at Firhill - home of the sloppy pass- back, the squandered header, sclaffed volley and occasional swordfight - and trained with the sheepskin-coated players for about a week. It didn't go well. I played rubbish. My feet were like two pan loaves, squeezed into size four wellies, while my head resembled a ten-bob cabbage (they wanted to sign me immediately). In actual fact, looking back, I couldn't really be bothered. So my football dreams ended there, amid some of the finest hackers in the game. Thinking about it now, it may have been a blessing.

Yet a few seasons earlier, it was all going so well. I had been on trial with Greenock Morton, and had been asked to sign an

S-form; a curious form of indentured labour where I could expect to work through the football ranks for pea and ham soup and some train fares. I declined. Previously, I had trained with Manchester City, Newcastle, Middlesbrough, St Johnstone and Dundee, where they told me if I worked hard enough I could be the new Tosh McKinlay. I stormed out of the ground in a huff.

But it was at Thistle where my footballing life disintegrated. From the patchy grass that we trained on, to the rickety stairs we ran up, professional football looked as sexy as a fortnight in Falkirk with a girl called Agnes. The Jags' place as the cavalier maestros of the game began to disappear before my eyes. I was about 17, and somehow it became all too real. No more ''keepie-uppie'' outside on warm summer nights (I think I still hold the St Matthew's primary school record of over 1200 without letting the ball touch the ground). No more gravel-skint knees after a Saturday spent on the local red blaize pitch. No more plastic Player of the Year trophies.

In those moments, youthful enthusiasm gave way to the dawning of adulthood. If I could barely compete with a bunch of not particularly good footballers, then why was I bothering? At this rate I would be lucky to get a game for Maryhill Stank-lifters. I left the ground, miserable. It was time to get real. I sought the sporting life from a damp university flat. And so, in a way, Partick Thistle saved my life.

Partick Thistle - or Partick Thistle Oxo (laughing stock) as they are sometimes known: the name conjours up the most potent football images. Endearing mediocrity being one of them. Alan Rough's dodgy haircuts, another. John Lambie, of course, the current manager, and his pigeons. And the mighty Chic Charnley. The only player to become involved in a defensive sword-fight during training in Ruchill Park. They suffer the worst footballing malaise - a chronic case of underachievement. Yet still the fans love them.

For years the Jags have been the butt of everyone's jokes (thieves broke into the trophy room at Firhill - the police are on the lookout for two men trying to flog a beige carpet). Even the chairman, Brown McMaster, is a target. Apparently he stopped an old lady in the street, who was carrying bag-loads of shopping, and asked her: ''Can you manage?'' She paused for a minute, then replied: ''Only if you'll gie me mair money for transfers.'' Partick Thistle are the mince in the worst pies in the Second Division; the sleeping midgets of Scottish football. Yet, Partick Thistle's history can be summarised in just over 130 words. In 1876 they lost to Darwen, among the founders of the Football Association; won the Scottish Cup in 1921; struggled for a bit; guest player Bill Shankly; relegated in season 1969-70, for the first time in over 50 years; Scottish League Cup winners on October 23, 1971

- on the way to that memorable day Thistle had scored 18 goals in six unbeaten matches; foray into Europe via the UEFA Cup in 1972; Bertie Auld; relegation in season 1981-82; Maurice Johnston sold on the cheap to Watford; John Lambie and pigeons; Tennents Sixes; gubbed by Croatia Zagreb in Intertoto Cup; play-off - the 40-second nightmare; John McVeigh, survival of the fattest; the very worst of times; Thistle were seven days away from going down the same road as Third Lanark; Save The Jags; Tommy Bryce; John Lambie and pigeons (again); high hopes.

What Partick Thistle need is a result. But what they have is no money and duffish players in a set-up which mixes full-timers and part-timers. If the truth be told, it is difficult to live as a Glasgow football club, forever in the shadow of Celtic and Rangers. But the rot has to stop. Unfortunately, however, this season is already over.

While their moments of glory have been few, they are a joy all the same. October 23, 1971, at Hampden Park. Half-time and Thistle are leading 4-0 against Celtic, who had reached the final of the European Cup the previous year. The final whistle blows. Dumbfounded Thistle fans can hardly believe what they have seen. They have won the cup 4-1. Their first trophy since 1921. From then there was the, let me think, Tennents Sixes (a five-a-side indoor competition with an extra player, hence the name), which they won in June 1993. Their hero, Paul Mclaughlin, captivated the sell-out 7500 crowd of weans, grandmothers and day-release hospital patients with an amazing display of shooting. He hit a hat-trick as they beat Airdrie in the final at the Scottish Exhibition Centre.

Thistle continued their successful week by earning two important Premier Division points at Firhill a few days later. The Maryhill side carried on the good work by notching their first outdoor win in 11 games.

The manager, John Lambie, watched the action from the terracings behind one of the goals at Firhill. This novel approach seemed to work until the next time - when it didn't. But that was then (their brightest days usually arrive every half century), when they strolled and strutted around the Premier League. Relegation to the First Division in season 1996/97 was quickly followed by relegation to the Second Division a year later.

The situation got so difficult that at one point Thistle nearly dropped out of business altogether. The club, which was founded in 1876, went through a day of judgment at a creditors' meeting in December 1997, followed by a shareholders' gathering. It was crucial because if only one of its creditors called in its marker, the chances were the battle to restructure the finances and entice new investment could have fallen by the wayside. Chairman Brown McMaster, who had been supervising the club's attempts to prove itself worthy of new money and end the crisis, which saw them in debt to the tune of #1.5m and losing #10,000 per week, sweated it out and saw all the efforts, not least by

the Save The Jags Campaign, bear fruit.

The Save The Jags campaign managed to delay the worst by raising as much as #100,000 to pay the players' wages in the interim. The money raised by the campaign also helped placate the more pressing creditors. Money was raised by all means necessary including raffles, fund-raisers, Christmas cards, phone-cards, and, quite literally, cake 'n' candy stalls. In a football climate dominated by multi-million-pound sponsorship deals and cash injections by TV companies, it was no mean feat to save Thistle with pound notes and brown pennies. It's one thing that can be said about Thistle - they've got great fans. A wee bit misguided and a wee bit hopeful, but great fans all the same.

The fans who are addicted to this particular soap are a fantastic breed. None more so than Robert Reid, a man consumed by his love of the old club. Reid, who has had a torrid time over the last few seasons, is now honorary vice-president of the club, was one of four founder members of the Save The Jags campaign, and is the club's dedicated historian. He has been a devoted follower of the club for all his adult life. And a rare beast - a Thistle fan who hails from the local Maryhill area. So what is it that makes

Partick Thistle, this Scottish soap opera of McPavarotti proportions, so special?

''We don't follow the herd,'' says Reid, author of Red and Yellow Fever: A lifetime with Partick Thistle, ''and we're very thick skinned. Many supporters are turned off with the agenda of bigotry elsewhere. We also get a lot of students from the Latin Quarter, as I call it, Byres Road and the surrounding area, which is great. I think this is because a lot of these fans are away from home and are looking for a club to follow who have no baggage. People say that Thistle is everybody's second team. Unfortunately, the trouble with that is that everybody who says they would like Thistle to do well make no contribution, either financial or otherwise, to the team, which is a bit of a problem. The fact that the Thistle fans are very long-suffering means we attract fans whose expectations are not of overnight success. We usually win a trophy every 50 years,'' he adds, smiling, ''so we expect a trophy

in 2021. It's an old cliche, but it's a new dawn for the Jags. We are wiping the slate clean and starting over.''

So who else follows the Jags? Everyone, it seems, from the wee woman and her daughter I see every Saturday morning on Dumbarton Road, bedecked in yellow and red, to a small coterie of celebrities: Justin Currie of rock band Del Amitri, comedian Craig Ferguson, entertainer Johnny Beattie, Maryhill MP Maria Fyfe, former Turner Prize winner Douglas Gordon, television presenter Alison Douglas and actor Robert Carlyle, who sprang to the defence of the beleagured Jags when they were in crisis. At the time, the Maryhill-born actor said: ''Look at clubs like Rangers and Celtic and all the money they have. Paul Gascoigne's wages for a week could pay the entire staff at Thistle for a year. It's a disgrace. I think the Big Two could help them out.'' When he is home from filming, the actor promises to ''queue to watch the only Scottish football team that matters, Partick Thistle''.

They've even got God on their side. Mark Fleming, 35, minister of the Kilsyth Congregational Church, was appointed Partick Thistle's club chaplain last year. His role is to provide support and encouragement to all players and staff. It's a pastoral safety net, where staff and Thistle fans are converts to the Church of the Perpetual Optimist. He also trains with the players twice a week during the season, and does the announcing and DJ-ing at the games. ''One in three people in Glasgow claim to support Thistle but they never come to the games,'' says Rev Fleming, ''We are called the Great Glasgow Alternative, the alternative to bigotry really, but it's more like an alternative to scoring, the alternative to trophies. You really have to have a good sense of humour to support them. We're all just hopeful that we're going to go all the way next season. I pray for intercession.''

Televison presenter Alison Douglas, whose flat overlooks Firhill Park, attends as often as her hectic schedule will allow, although she does confess that she tries to see the game on the cheap by watching from her window. ''The events of the Old Firm a few weeks ago highlight the reasons to support an alternative team in Glasgow. Partick Thistle is a good family atmosphere, where nobody expects anything great from the team. On average we lose, so anytime we do get a result it's all the more reason for a celebration.''

Fresh from giving 12 players free transfers including coaches Willie Jamieson and Sammy Johnston, coach John Lambie is determined to turn Thistle's fortunes around and bring the ''gala days'' back to the club. ''We're just trying to rebuild the foundations, starting from the bricks and mortar. We want anyone and everyone along here. I can mind going back to the old days and there were 10,000 fans turning up, right out the graveyards. It used to be like a gala day, absolutely superb. I would be delighted if we could get that back.'' At the moment, he says, he only has three or four players who would play in his first team. But he's up for the challenge. ''I've got a wee bit spirit about myself, so it's a matter of getting the right kind of players with the same enthusiasm as I've got. The more fans we get the better chance we have of getting out this league. One step at a time. It's all about

giving them a winning side again.''

Thistle's chief executive Alan Dick, who joined the club in October last year from Motherwell, looks weary - too many long hours trying to turn a shoestring into a bankvault - but remains upbeat about the future. From the window in his spacious office you can see the hallowed turf, which is surprisingly well kept, and the ground and main stand, which are a match for any in the First Division. At this rate, it's as good as it's going to get. With a capacity for around 10,000 seated fans, dads, mums, grannies and students can spread themselves across a few seats and bask in the sun or snow. It's no place to hold an agoraphobia convention.

With Scottish football changing so dramatically over the last few years, especially financially, there are now three major divides in the game. At the top end there is Celtic and Rangers; secondly, the other eight Premier teams, who constitute a fairly financially secure group in themselves; and, lastly, there are the 30 other clubs in the lower divisions. The wealth that's generated in the Premier League means that Motherwell, for example, can now afford to pay players three or four or five thousand pounds per week - unheard of a few seasons ago. Kilmarnock and Hearts are doing the same. So the gap between these clubs and clubs like Partick Thistle, Falkirk and St Mirren is absolutely enormous, which means it is very hard to break out of that into the top 10.

''The problems over finances,'' says Dick, ''made Thistle fall as far as they have. Too few fans attending games, not enough sponsorships, maybe players earning a little more than they should have earned at that time, all these have been factors in the decline of the club. The building of the new stand was also a tremendous drain on the resources. We are in debt to the tune of #1.5m, but we have stabilised. It is totally secure. We will not go out of business.''

He cites two factors that will restore the former glory to Firhill. First (and fairly obviously) they need to get back into the First Division. Once they get back to the First Division it then becomes a much harder job because the money that they require to stay ahead they don't have. So secondly, they require higher gates. The average just now is 2200 and Dick believes they need to add at least 800 people to that total.

The masses of the surrounding areas around Maryhill were never likely to fill the stadium, the fans preferring, instead, to embrace the sectarian divide across the rest of the city. Partick Thistle also lost a lot of their fanbase through the redevelopment of Glasgow - many prospective followers moved to Cumbernauld, Irvine and East Kilbride. Now the fans come from the north-west part of the city, from Milngavie, Bishopbriggs and Bearsden. The student population - ''the Thistleistas'' - who swell the University of Glasgow are also keen supporters of the Jags.

''It's increasingly difficult convincing people that Partick Thistle is a club with a future after what it has gone through in the last year,'' says Dick. ''But what it has got going for it is that it is a city club, more than a provincial club. We have to try to use that aspect of the market for our benefit. That's what we preach to sponsors and commercial people.'' He adds, with a smile. ''What we can't offer is top-level football between 3pm and quarter to five. We are open about that. But we would like to attract new fans. The message is 'give us a try'.''

Partick Thistle have a long journey ahead if the Premier Division heyday is to be recaptured. The Jags are as much a part of Glasgow as Loon Fung's takeaway in Sauchiehall Street, whisky with a whisky chaser and an incautious remark in the urinals. You couldn't imagine Glasgow without them. In football terms, in the battle to survive, prosper and eventually gain a place in the Premier League, the Jags are two down with eight minutes to go . . . but I reckon Robert Dunn will get a hat-trick. With Partick Thistle the usual laws of football do not apply.