The Ego has landed

 

The Ego has landed

Celtic don’t do crisis mode that often these days, but the current shambles at the club certainly meets the criteria. Not since the shabby treatment of Jock Stein by the old board in 1978 have we seen such a poorly handled exit. Brendan Rodgers’ decision to resign took many of us by surprise, though his increasingly barbed comments at press conferences would have signalled that not all was well behind the scenes. It comes at a time when sections of the support are at war with the board, and the team is stuttering like a second-hand Honda. Key players are injured or struggling for form and the club is in need of renewal from top to bottom. The biggest shareholder, Dermot Desmond, released a statement that was as scathing as it was ill judged. In it he accused Rodgers, among other things, of contributing to a toxic atmosphere around the club…

‘Regrettably, his words and actions since then have been divisive, misleading, and self-serving. They have contributed to a toxic atmosphere around the club and fuelled hostility towards members of the executive team and the Board. Some of the abuse directed at them, and at their families, has been entirely unwarranted and unacceptable. Every member of the Board and executive team is deeply passionate about Celtic and acts at all times with professionalism, integrity, and a shared desire for success. What has failed recently was not due to our structure or model, but to one individual’s desire for self-preservation at the expense of others.’

I’m sure Brendan Rodgers has been unwise in some of his utterances over the past few weeks, but to pin recent failings on ‘one individual’s desire for self-preservation’ is to tell half the story. We mere mortals who buy our season tickets and stump up for merchandise will never be privy to the goings on behind the scenes at Celtic Park, but it is clear to us that there needs to be a collective responsibility for the club’s poor start to the season. It’s only 8 months since we watched Celtic draw away to Bayern Munich in the Champions league after a 94^th minute equaliser from the Germans. At that point we were hoping to build on a position of strength for the 2025-26 campaign, but Celtic being Celtic, we failed to capitalise on an excellent season. Kuhn, Idah and Taylor moved on. Kyogo was allowed to go earlier without adequate replacement. The club failed to bring in the quality that was required despite sitting on a pile money and the team has regressed. This situation has been compounded by serious injuries to key players as the current campaign began and Celtic now find themselves 8 points behind in the league.

The personal and fairly vindictive tone of Dermot Desmond’s statement on the departure of Brendan Rodgers is unbecoming a senior figure at a club like Celtic. It may be that he was keen to get his version of events out there, but it was worded in an unnecessarily harsh manner and implied that Rodgers was both dishonest and selfish. There has obviously been a major falling out between two big egos, but whatever the truth behind the departure of Brendan Rodgers, a little dignity and reflection should be in order from all at the club. We win together, we lose together and we shouldn’t wash our dirty linen in public.

A million words will now be written about Rodgers’ departure, endless hours of chatting on podcasts, radio phone-in shows and social media will try to decipher what the hell went on. The bottom line though, is that Celtic now need to appoint a manager to salvage a season that is damaged, though not yet beyond repair. He needs to be a manager the fans will respect, who has a proven track record and he needs to be given adequate funds to reinvigorate a squad that many feel, has reached the end of its cycle.

Football supporters need to have confidence that those running the club are pulling in the same direction as they are. We thank Brendan Rodgers for his undoubted contribution to the club, but football waits for no one. To stand still is to go backwards. We all want the best for Celtic, so come on Celtic, spare us any more of this tabloid, soap-opera nonsense and move on. Bring in a manager who will excite us and once more give us dreams and songs to sing.

The King is gone. Long live the King.

Never Better

 

Never Better

Glasgow 2016

Tommy Anderson felt every one of his 90 years as he pushed himself up in his hospital bed to welcome his visitors. Getting old was no fun, even his bones seemed to ache. His grandson, Aiden, had brought his 8-year-old son up to cheer Tommy up and it had the desired effect. ‘Alright, granda?’ Aiden smiled, ‘guess where Junior and I are off to the morra?’ Old Tommy shrugged, ‘no idea, son.’ As Junior picked at Tommy’s grapes, Aiden grinned, ‘he’s coming wi me tae his first derby match.’ Old Tommy smiled, ‘that’s great, but just make sure you look after him. That lot can take defeat badly. Brendan’s got the team playing well, so hopefully the wee guy sees a good result.’ Aiden nodded, ‘aye, we’ll be oan the supporters’ bus so it’ll be cool.’

A nurse appeared at this point and checked the chart on a clipboard at the end of his bed. ‘Morning, Mr Anderson. How are we today?’ Tommy smiled, ‘aye, no bad, hen. Might need tae give the marathon a miss this year though.’ She smiled at his joke, ‘and who is this young man?’ Tommy looked at Junior, ‘that’s my great-grandson. He’s off to the big game with his da tomorrow.’  ‘Good,’ she smiled. ‘I hope he enjoys it.’ Her time in casualty had taught her that these particular games were not events that the staff there enjoyed as their caseload more than doubled.

After she left, Tommy and his grandson chatted quietly about life, football and his illness. ‘What was the doc saying?’ Aiden asked, his face a little more serious. Tommy Anderson looked at his great grandson before replying to Aiden, ‘let’s just say I’m in injury time and leave it at that, son.’ Aiden nodded, appreciating his grandfather hadn’t spoken too bluntly in front of Junior. He remembered when Tommy was a younger man and they’d attend games together. He loved Celtic and had passed that love on to his son and grandson. ‘What was your first Rangers game?’ Junior suddenly asked. Tommy smiled at the fresh-faced youngster. ‘It was a long time ago, son. 1938 if I recall. Celtic beat Rangers 6-2.’ The boy’s eyes widened, ‘six two! That must have been brilliant.’ Old Tommy smiled, ‘oh it was, Malky McDonald and Johnny Crum ripped them apart. What a forward line we had then; Delaney, McDonald, Crum, Divers, Murphy.’

Tommy sipped at his water and his great-grandson asked another question. ‘What was my grandad’s first Rangers game?’ Old Tommy settled back onto his pillow, his face wearing a faraway look. ‘Ah, Junior, that was a day I’ll never forget. His mind drifted back almost 60 years…

 

Glasgow, October 1957

‘Whit?’ Davie said, a look of incredulity on his face. ‘It’s a cup final man, ye have tae come!’ Tommy Anderson shrugged, ‘I want tae go Davie, but she’s goin’ tae see her maw in Ayr. I need tae watch the wee guy.’ ‘Noo haud oan a minute,’ Davie said glancing at Thomas Junior, sitting happily playing with his toy car, ‘if my Carol started that pish, she’d be o’er my knee and her arse well skelped. Can ye no get somebody tae watch the wean?’  Tommy shrugged, ‘naw, I’ve asked around. Everybody is busy or has this flu that’s doing the rounds. Besides, I promised her I’d watch him.’ Davie exhaled loudly, ‘I’d ask Carol but she’s still in Blackpool wi her sisters.’ There was a moment’s silence as the two friends thought about their predicament. ‘How old is wee Thomas noo?’ Davie asked. ‘He’s two and hauf.’ Tommy looked at him sensing where this was going. ‘He’s too wee, Davie. We cannae take him tae a Celtic Rangers game at that age.’ Davie looked at him, ‘aye we can. I can swap tickets wi Paddy oan the bus. He always goes tae the wee enclosure in front of the stand. It’ll be ok in there.’ Tommy Anderson mulled the idea over in his mind for a moment before looking at Davie. ‘Ye really think he’ll be ok?’ Davie smiled, ‘is the Pope a Catholic?’

Tommy wrapped his young son up well despite the fact that the sun was slanting in the window. He stuffed some food and a bottle of Irn Bru into a duffle bag and set off. The supporters’ bus was rocking as the fans sang all the way to Hampden. Tommy held his son close and kept an eye out for any opposition fans as stoning buses was a regular occurrence in Glasgow. Young Thomas snuggled against his chest seemingly unfazed by the racket going on around him. Most of the men on board were swigging from beer bottles and clapping along as they sang…

‘Hail, glorious St. Patrick, dear Saint of our Isle, on us thy poor children bestow a sweet smile; and now thou art high in thy mansions above, on Erin’s green valleys look down in thy love. On Erin’s green valleys, on Erin’s green valleys…’

They reached Hampden Park which was already buzzing with anticipation. Cup finals were always exciting; Celtic v Rangers cup finals were even more so. Davie had arranged the ticket swap and they headed for the enclosure in front of the main stand. A burly policeman looked at 2-year-old Thomas being carried in by his father. ‘He not a bit young for all of this?’ Tommy smiled, ‘you want tae babysit him? I can pick him up after the game.’ The cop smiled, ‘naw, I’ll be watching the big weans today. I’m sure I’ll be babysitting a few of them later at the station.’ Tommy clicked through the turnstile and found a spot right at the front wall close to the Celtic end. Hampden was filling up and the noise increasing as the kick off approached. Tommy Anderson swung his son’s small legs over the wall and stood behind him, one arm looped around his waist. The day was set fair for the wee guy’s first look at the boys in the hooped shirts.

On that sunny day in October 1957, Celtic didn’t just defeat Rangers; they tore them to shreds. With the Celtic midfield in total control, it was the wingers Fernie and Tully who terrorised the Rangers full backs, while McPhail and Mochan dominated the Rangers centre backs. Tommy Anderson watched in disbelief as Celtic scored goal after goal against the much vaunted ‘Iron curtain’ defence of Rangers. In the dying moments of the game, with the score at 6-1, Willie Fernie placed the ball on the penalty spot. Tommy placed his son on the cinder track momentarily as Fernie began his run up. As the ball flashed into the net to make the final score 7-1, he roared in delight before looking at his son and shouting, ‘ye see that, wee man? That’s just magic!’ It had been some day and some first game for wee Thomas.

 

Glasgow 2016

Old Tommy Anderson slipped in his ear plugs and tuned his small radio into Radio Scotland in time for kick off in the match with Rangers. He smiled at the thought that wee Junior would be at his first derby. His own was in 1938, his son Thomas had little memory of the 7-1 game but that was his. His grandson Aiden had gone to his in 1998 when Paul Lambert had almost burst the net. It seemed as if the Anderson family had a habit of seeing Celtic victories on those days. He settled back on the hospital pillows as the game began. How many of these matches had he seen in his 80 years of life? A hundred? Two hundred? More? He always knew which one was the most important- the next one.

After a half hour of football in which Celtic totally dominated, the score was still 0-0. The BBC commentator was sounding quite optimistic about Rangers chances if they could reach half time without conceding a goal. As Tommy listened, the commentator’s nasal tones said, ‘a corner to Celtic on the left, in front of their ultras section. Sinclair to take it. He fires it in to the back post area and Dembeleeeeee heads it home! Goalllll! Celtic have the lead!’ A few miles from Celtic Park, an old Celt was smiling. ‘Go on bhoys!’ A passing nurse looked quizzically at old Tommy, ‘You alright, Mr Anderson?’ He smiled at her and nodded, ‘never better, hen. Never better.’