rangers 1
motherwell0
IT was a weekend for holding hands up at Ibrox. David
Murray, Rangers' honorary chairman, did so in accepting responsibility for the fragile financial state which has
paralysed the club's progress. And in an eyesore of a match, apologies were all the rage. Not all were forgiven by the frustrated following.
Shota Arveladze, who seemed to spend much of
an industrious afternoon signalling his sorrow after a series of misplaced passes and
misguided shots, left the field with his hands in the air as the saviour of the spoils.
Robert Malcolm, having scrawled his signature on
a long-standing contract renewal only this week, was substituted to loud cheers and approving applause. From both sets of fans.
He held his hands up - he had a stinker. ''Malcolm in the middle is comedy indeed,'' as one unforgiving fan observed.
Nuno Capucho had his hands up in appeal, apology, and acute satisfaction at various stages of his performance. From the insipid to the
inspirational, the Portuguese forward showed the best and worst of his mercurial talents.
Mikel Arteta held his hand up after an hour. ''A kick,'' according to his manager, put paid to his contribution. Bless.
As Rangers grew increasingly desperate in their attempts to find a chink in Motherwell's seemingly impenetrable armour, McLeish urged his players to abandon their build-up play for the battering-ram approach. A point to the opponents' penalty box left no-one in doubt of the tactical tinkering.
As tension mounted, voices were raised, and it was feared arms would be, too. As the Motherwell dugout screamed ''sportsmanship'', or some other S-word, when Peter Loven-krands failed to kick the ball out of play while an opponent lay prostrate, Jan Wouters took Terry Butcher to task for his protestations. ''Lost in translation,'' said Butcher, having been on the receiving end of some double-Dutch. ''I shook hands and apologised to him after.''
Hands up? Scott Leitch should be so lucky. If he were to attempt that, his shoulder would probably dislocate. He will this week have an operation that will end his season, and possibly even his career. He is out of contract in the summer, is 34 years of age, and his body has taken a battering as a result of his bombastic style. ''Sometimes when he is at home, it pops out and he has to put it back in place,'' said Butcher.
Rangers fans could be excused for popping out when their team returned home for the first time in a month. This was sterile stuff - not the response McLeish would have hoped for after Murray's bullish return to the public eye, accepting blame for the off-field mess which has contributed to the unsightly play on it. ''We are
on the right road,'' Murray claimed. Try telling that to
the people watching Rangers scurry about to little effect.
Motherwell's unashamedly defensive approach - ''two banks of four,'' explained Butcher - worked a treat until, ironically, they were undone by their own sense of adventure with eight minutes remaining.
The return of Craig Moore from suspension was a mixed blessing. He was his usual authoritative self, but Zurab Khizanishvili's shunting to right-back was an uncomfortable one. With Arteta lasting less than an hour, and Malcolm's misery ending shortly after, Rangers had an irregular heartbeat. Ditto their palpitating supporters by this point.
Motherwell, on the other hand, grew in confidence
with every Rangers mistake. By the time Khizanishvili was penalised for a foul throw, this was anyone's game.
''Get Capucho aff, McLeish,'' said one dissenting voice. For Allan McGregor? Michael Ball? Maurice Ross? In truth, this was not Capucho's worst display. He is not a striker - and on this season's evidence, he's not much of a threat from wide either - but with his team staring at a stalemate, he produced the goods. Motherwell's over-elaborate passing backfired spectacularly when Leitch lost possession near his own penalty area.
Capucho, faced with a claret and amber wall, bided his time - much to the consternation of the clock-watchers. But while some in the stands lost their composure, Capucho kept his, and slipped a swanky diagonal ball into the path of Arveladze. The Georgian, as laidback as they come, calmly lofted the ball over Gordon Marshall and into the opposite corner of the net.
''That was the worst game at Ibrox since Copenhagen,'' said the striker, shivering and stone-cold in his assessment. ''It was a hard day for us. The important thing was to get the win, and I am happy to score.''
Arveladze has shelved plans to sign the new contract on offer to concentrate on improving his and his club's form.
His selflessness is without
comparison at Ibrox. Others have to hold their hands up.
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