House of Cards

House of Cards

Celtic FC call a press conference to unveil the biggest kit sponsorship deal in the history of Scottish football and the mental midgets of our parochial and often pathetic media waste no time in hijacking it and turning it into cheap headlines about Irish Republicanism and flares at football matches. Among the questions put to Mr Lawwell on the day of some seriously good financial news for the club were…

‘Is it a concern that an Irish Republican identity could be criminalised in Scotland, this being something connected to Celtic’s history. Is that a concern?’

‘Does Irish Republicanism have a future in Celtic’s history?’

‘Do you welcome people who want to champion an Irish Republican Identity?’

This is how the Scottish media turn a good news day for Celtic into a day of controversy and one can only wonder what our new sponsors thought of it all. The club was recently ranked third among the top clubs in Europe in terms of credit worthiness and financial well-being. Given that Celtic operate in the low income market of Scottish football, to run such a tight ship and still be able to make it to the Champions’ League group stages on a good few occasions over the past 15 years is commendable. The club has also made it to the last 16 on three occasions which is a considerable achievement given the current financial disparity between the big leagues and the SPFL. The club’s failure to make the Champions’ League group stages this season will undoubtedly hit the bottom line but their six monthly Report in December 2014 stated that the club made over £6m profit and have over £5m in the bank. Peter Lawwell knows Celtic may not make the group stages every year and plans for this. Whatever your thoughts on his comments about Republicanism and Celtic FC you cannot deny the solid job he has done with regards to Celtic’s finances. Despite all of this good news, our media chooses to focuss on what are in effect minor issues on the periphery of the club. You have to wonder why this is?

I have yet to see any Rangers Officials being grilled about the continuing and disgraceful bigoted chanting coming from a large section of their support. As Peter Lawwell pointed out to the hapless Reporter, ‘We had 3100 fans in Milan and two flares.’ Rangers had over 20,000 at the recent Semi Final with Celtic and literally thousands of them chanted about paedophilia, Jimmy Saville, the Pope, Fenian blood, etc. I remain mystified at the continued search for negatives in our media when it comes to Celtic. All of my life I’ve noticed the negative headlines even when Celtic are successful. From our best players ‘Wanting away’ to others players being ‘Thugs and Thieves’ we have lived with a tabloid press which is often bereft of any shred of integrity.

So why the negative spin on Celtic stories? There was some enlightening information about the Scottish media’s culture in recent years from Alex Thomson of Chanel 4 News. He began investigating the financial chicanery at Rangers in 2012 and noted that the local media were often far from helpful…

‘What I didn’t expect were the insults (and in at least one case a direct physical threat) not from fans but from Scottish journalists. Sarajevo, Mogadishu, Kabul, Islamabad, Tripoli, Baghdad…I could bore you with more – in none of these places have I ever got this interesting reaction from local journalists, only in Glasgow. So something’s up. Something’s different. Something about asking questions about RFC clearly angers some in the Glasgow media in a way I’ve never seen in 25 years of global reporting.’

Of course there were many decent Journalists who warned him what to expect and his colleague Graham Spiers gave a hint about why the local sports media culture was like this when he said…

“Succulent lamb journalism means a culture – and I hold my hand up here too – a culture of sycophantic, unquestioning, puff journalism that went on around Rangers generally and Sir David Murray particularly. Of course you’ll see it to some degree across sport, across football. But it was, many Glasgow journalists say, more damaging here. Look, you are making a pact with the devil if you like. You get thrown the best scraps. You get something for the back page or whatever. But there’s a tacit deal. You don’t dig too deep. You don’t cause any trouble.”

Of course we who favour the green side of Glasgow have always known that Rangers have had an easy ride historically. We’ve seen it over the sectarianism at the club which broke every sporting and moral code and yet was barely mentioned by the media or indeed SFA for many decades. We saw it during the Murray era when few questioned the huge debt the club was building up until the house of cards collapsed. We saw it when the ‘Billionaire with off the wealth radar’ took over. Such nonsense could have been dispelled by a quick search on google about Craig Whyte’s chequered business past but nobody in the press could be bothered carrying out such rudimentary research. We are now seeing it again with the embarrassing u-turn on the death of Rangers perhaps spurred by the downturn in sales when Bears stopped buying their papers.   

Peter Lawwell was being his usual polite and accommodating self to the media during the press conference on the new sponsorship deal. A few of us no doubt watched the footage online and were willing him to say something like...

 

 ‘Look pal we’re here to talk about good news for Celtic Football Club and indeed Scottish football, if you’re looking for cheap negative headlines why not head over to Ibrox where a convicted tax evader is all set to take over a club. Address your questions to the issue we’re here to discuss or I’ll have a Steward show you the door.’

 

Of course a man in his position has to be careful what he says to the media. We wouldn’t want them falling out with Celtic and putting a negative spin on their stories about the club would we?

 

Oh wait….

 

 

 

 

 

The Visitor

 

The Visitor

Paul McGuire pushed through the heavy glazed door of the surgical block and scanned the walls for a sign which would direct him to Ward 21. The Royal Infirmary was a real rabbit warren and took some navigating especially if you were new to it as he was. A white sign stated that Ward 21 was on the second floor and he headed up the worn, grey stairs. As he climbed the stairs he tried hard to keep the feeling of panic he had felt since the phone call subdued but it wasn’t easy. He reached the second floor and followed the signs to Ward 21. He pushed through a set of double doors and found himself at a small reception desk behind which sat a young nurse who looked at him with a smile, ‘Can I help you?’ Paul stopped, his eyes scanning the beds he could see from the top of the Ward. ‘Aye, I’m looking for Patrick McGuire. I’m his dad.’ Her expression changed almost imperceptibly. ‘Follow me.’ She said standing and walking between the rows of beds until she reached the opposite end of the Ward. She opened a door to a small room in which Paul could see his nine year old son Patrick. ‘The Doctor will be doing his rounds soon and you can talk to him then. His notes suggest the operation went well.’ Paul looked at his son, his precious Patrick now hooked up to drips and a variety of other machines.’  His head seemed swathed in bandages and only his eyes and part of his chin could be seen. They were bruised and discoloured. Paul sat by the bed and took his son’s hand. The nurse gently patted his shoulder, ‘I’ll be back in a while. You stay as long as you want.’ Paul didn’t respond, he merely stared at his son, his frail child’s body seemingly broken like a fragile china doll which had been dropped. ‘Oh Patrick, what’s happened to you son? I can’t lose you too.’

As he gently held his son’s hand listening to his uneven breathing the door opened and a tall man dressed in the white coat of a Doctor entered. ‘Mr McGuire? I’m Doctor Coulter, Consultant neurologist. Can I speak to you?’ Paul looked into the clear blue eyes of the Doctor who regarded him as a kindly Head Master might regard a pupil. ‘What’s the prognosis Doc?’ Paul said quietly. ‘Your son’s brain has swollen since the accident and our initial work to ease the pressure has taken some effect. The next few days will be crucial. His broken bones and cuts will heal in time but you can never be certain with brain injuries.’ Paul held back his emotion, ‘So we just wait and see?’ The elderly Doctor nodded stoically, ‘He’s young, strong. We’ll simply have to be patient. We have state of the art facilities here, Rest assured that all that can be done will be done.’ The Doctor rested his hand on Paul’s shoulder momentarily, ’He’ll get the best care here whatever the outcome.’ As the Doctor left, Paul returned to his son and his thoughts. Nothing to do now but wait, wait and pray.

The following day Paul returned to the hospital and noticed a Celtic shirt draped across the chair by the bed. It seemed to have been signed by most of the team. He wondered who had left it. He had taken Patrick to Celtic Park for the first time when he was three years old and sat him on a crush barrier. Despite a rousing match with Aberdeen, Patrick had fallen soundly asleep. That game seemed like yesterday but was in fact six years earlier. Patrick had accompanied him to the football regularly since then and had grown in his love of Celtic. His favourite player was Paul McStay and it was dream to meet him. Paul and Patrick had waited for an hour outside the stadium one cold, winter’s day for the players to emerge. To his and Patrick’s delight, McStay had signed his shirt and took a few minutes to talk to Patrick. The young boy was star struck, his eyes gleaming as he listened to his hero speak. Paul smiled at his son as he said to the Celtic skipper, ‘Mr McStay, you’re the best. You’re my favourite player.’ The Maestro had smiled at him and ruffled his hair, ‘I’m only the best till you start playing for Celtic, wee man.’

That meeting with Paul McStay on a dark December night in 1987 came in the midst of Celtic’s centenary year. Paul and Patrick had followed the team all over the country hoping to see them make it a season to remember. Just 4 months later, as Celtic fought their way to the top of the league, a speeding driver had pushed all thoughts of football from Paul’s mind.

The days passed slowly and Paul spent every free hour by his son’s bed. Various relatives came and went and offered their support but it was on a bright Saturday morning in April when Paul had hung his jacket over the back of the chair in the small room that Patrick opened his eyes. ‘Da,’ he said weakly. Paul raced to him and took his hand, ‘I’m here Patrick, rest son. rest.’ Paul’s heart was racing as he pushed the button to summon the duty nurse. She entered almost immediately, ‘Everything all right?’ Paul looked at her, ‘He spoke he’s awake.’ She nodded and swiftly exited, ‘I’ll get Doctor Coultar.’ Paul turned to regard his son who blinked at him as if to say ‘Hi Dad,’ Paul took his hand, holding back the tears, and smiled at him, ‘Welcome back Son.’

The week which followed saw a continuation of Patrick’s recovery. The following Saturday Paul arrived at the hospital with a small radio. Patrick smiled weakly as his father tuned it in and sat on the bed beside him. The tinny sound of the radio filled the little room… ‘There must be over 70,000 inside Celtic Park for this match with Dundee. Can Celtic win and clinch an amazing championship in their centenary year?’ Father and son sat on the bed listening in silence to the singing coming from Celtic Park. Within a few minutes Chris Morris had slammed home Celtic’s first goal and Paul McGuire punched the air. ‘Yes! We’re gonnae do it Patrick!’ His son gripped his hand gently, a smile on his face. A few miles away Celtic Park was rocking to its foundations as that huge support roared their team on. Nothing was going to stop them.

Paul was a much happier man as he climbed the stairs to Ward 21 the following Wednesday. As he entered the Ward the nurse smiled, ‘Hi Mr McGuire. You’re son has a visitor.’ Paul entered the little room expecting to see his brother, Eddie or perhaps his even his mum. Instead a smartly dressed young man was standing by the bed telling Patrick some football related story. Paul caught the end of it, ‘So Paul played it up the wing to Chris Morris and he cut it back for Macca, it was some goal.’ The man turned when he realised Paul was there and smiled. ‘All right Mr McGuire, quite a lad you have there. Brave as they come. Just a pity his favourite player is McStay. I mean I’m better than him.’ Paul was amazed to see the unmistakable figure of Tommy Burns. ‘Tommy! What are you doing here?’ The red haired midfielder smiled, ‘Word gets around the Celtic family when one of our own is in need of a wee cheer up. Let’s just say a certain nurse has a brother in the first team.’ Paul nodded, ‘And the Celtic shirt, that was you?’ ‘Naw Mr McGuire, that was Paul McStay. He remembered the wee man saying he was the best. He got us all to sign it.’ Paul McGuire spent a happy hour with his son and the great Tommy Burns. They talked of football, of Celtic and the team’s chances of adding the cup to the league title. As Burns left he hugged both McGuires, ‘Good luck to you both. The Celtic family sticks by its own. Let me know when young Patrick is well enough to come to a game and I’ll organise things for him.’ With that he quietly left the room.

Paul turned to his son who lay on the bed with a smile as wide as the Clyde. ‘I might make Tommy and Paul my joint favourite players. What do you think Da?’ Paul nodded, ‘Good idea son. They’re both great.’

 

The Soul of Celtic

 

The Soul of Celtic

We were standing outside the old Celtic end at Celtic Park in the 1990s as a slow drizzle fell. A roar announced that Celtic and Rangers were entering the field and kick off was just moments away. The trouble was we were a ticket short and hollering the popular ‘Any spare tickets’ into the air was not having much success. As the game began and the racket inside the stadium increased, a tall chap with an English accent and a Celtic shirt on stopped beside us and looked at his watch, ‘I’ll give my mate 2 more minutes, then you can have his ticket.’ We waited quietly hoping his mate was stuck on the M8 or still in the pub. ‘Nah, he’s not coming,’ the chap said and handed over the ticket. I offered him a fiver and he shook his head, ‘Keep it mate, a Celts gain is no loss to me.’ That snippet from 20 years back shows the spirit I’ve seen so often from Celtic fans and exemplifies just why Celtic will always be my team.

Of course my family had a role in handing their affection for the club on to me like their most treasured possession. Uncles, brothers, Grandfather’s and my old man filled my head at an early age with tales of great players, goals, incidents and legends of Celtic’s unique story. They also spoke of the comradeship they found travelling all over the country watching the Hoops play. Win, lose or draw there were songs on the supporters’ bus and laughter to raise the spirits. As a young lad taking my first steps in supporting the hoops, I recall well gripping my Da’s hand as we struggled through the crowds at the turnstiles. I recall too waiting outside Pubs from Parkhead Cross to Pittodrie waiting for the adults to emerge and take us kids to the game. Occasionally the doors would open and we’d sneak a glimpse into the mysterious world of men, the noisy, smoky bar with its raucous laughter and echoing songs. When the men had their fill they’d spill out onto the street and head for the stadium. The beer had loosened the tongues and the songs filled the air and the stream of fans joined the river around the ground….

‘We don’t need your Colin Stein, Eusebio or Alan Gilzean,

We’ve got someone twice as good, we’ve got Harry Hood

Oh Harry, Harry, Lou Macari, Kevin Barry , oh Harry Hood’

The chants echoes around the streets and backs were patted, hands shook as old friends met up again. We boys were lifted over the turnstile and headed to the usual spot near the front a few yards from the adults. Looking around the stadium was awe inspiring to a young mind. All of those faces, young and old had gathered with a common purpose; to cheer the Celts on to another victory. For many, life was hard but for those magical 90 minutes we could be transported into another world as the Hoops swept forward looking for a goal. Sometimes I’d gaze around me at the thousands of faces so mesmerised, so involved in what was happening on the field. It was as if they were using their collective will to drive the ball into the opposition net. Then when it happened, when the net rippled, the joy on those same faces was unrestrained. Strangers hugged and cheered like men possessed, except they weren’t strangers, they were all Celts sharing a small part of the club’s incredible story.

So many incidents fill my head when I think of those formative years following the Hoops. Like the time John Doyle accidently hit the Ref with the ball at Somerset Park and was cruelly sent off. Then there was the time I attempted to open a bottle of cheap ‘Pomagne’ after Celtic Scored against Rangers. Rangers equalised in a minute and I put the bottle back into my jacket pocket not realising the cork was ready to blow. Much to the amusement of those around me it exploded all over me and the cork nearly took my ear off! On another occasion a Police horse trod on my foot at Motherwell and the crowd swept me away from my shoe! I spend 90 minutes watching the game with one foot wrapped in plastic bags! I never did find the shoe and got back to Glasgow with just the one.  Then there were those big European nights under the lights. I recall being in the Jungle as we beat Real Madrid one magical night and the place was just swaying and singing for the whole game. To see the support so at one with the team, so committed to the cause was just incredible. You arrived home from such games as tired as the players. All of these experiences and hundreds more make up my own little ‘Celtic story.’  

All of you will be able to relate similar anecdotes from days gone by, from times shared with family and friends. Like me you’ll no doubt see pictures of older relatives, some perhaps passed on now, and smile when you recall some incident involving them and their beloved Celtic. You may even have the pleasure of taking younger family members to their first big game and smile at the wonder in their eyes. The same wonder you had a long time ago when you looked around the stadium and thought, ‘Yep, this is for me. This is my team.’ After the recent Inter Milan at Celtic Park, I exited the stadium behind two excited boys of 8 or 9, their arms draped around each other’s shoulders. To listen to their chatter just gladdened the heart, ‘Did ye see Guidetti’s goal, man I thought he was gonnae miss it,’ one said, high as a kite, his young eyes shining. His friend laughed, ‘I know, my Da nearly fell, he wiz screaming his head off!’  I remember smiling and thinking; ‘That was me once upon a time.’

Even when the old Brigade said their farewells, their last journey would usually include a slow drive past Celtic Park as if they needed a chance to bid it one last adieu. Celtic had been with them from their earliest days and they had gifted Celtic their support, their hard earned money and often their love. Their lives were brightened by Celtic victories and of course they endured the hard days too with stoic determination. Faithful through and through was their mantra and not just an empty phrase. I like to think their spirit still lives on at Celtic Park and that they’d be happy to see us still following in their footsteps, still supporting the Bhoys. I can still hear their voices, their laughter, their songs. The thousand arguments they had about players, referees, incidents now long forgotten. In some ways their lives were intertwined with Celtic to such a degree that it’s not wrong to say that they were and indeed remain, the soul of Celtic.

 

 

 

None so blind

 

None so blind

I really must stop listening to Radio Clyde’s football phone in as the show often leaves me perplexed. The quality of callers is usually pretty dire and the so called ‘Pundits’ have no more in depth knowledge about Scottish football than the average fan. This weekend a caller raised the issue of the fairly obvious sectarian singing from supporters of the new club at Kirkcaldy. The knee jerk reaction of the panel kicked in right away and Celtic were duly dragged into a debate about the racist and sectarian songs aired by the knuckle dragging element at Starks Park. Mr Keevins’ informed the listening public that ‘The Soldier’s Song has no place at Celtic Park.’  He failed to correct a caller who phoned in to complain that Hibs fans had showed up at Ibrox with ‘an IRA flag’ which was in fact an Irish tricolour. The panel then informed us with a straight face and quivering tone that Celtic were the ‘Catholic club’ of Glasgow.  I’m sure that’s news to the thousands of non-Catholic Celtic fans, many of whom I know personally. I’m sure the many non-Catholic players and officials who have served Celtic with such distinction from 1888 to the present day would raise their eyebrows at such patent nonsense. No one can deny Celtic’s Irish and Catholic roots and they are a source of pride not shame. The Club was basically founded by the teaching arm of the church to provide material aid for hungry and impoverished children in Glasgow’s east end but as Willie Maley was quick to point out in his book ‘The story of Celtic’ (1938)…

"Much has been made in certain quarters about our religion, but for forty-eight years we have played a mixed team, and some of the greatest Celts we have had did not agree with us in our religious beliefs, although we have never at any time hidden what these are. Men of the type of McNair, Hay, Lyon, Buchan, Cringan, the Thomspons, or Paterson soon found out that broadmindedness which is the real stamp of the good Christian existed to its fullest at Celtic Park, where a man was judged by his football alone."

This clear signal that the club was open to all has been reiterated down the decades by Celtic time and time again. In 1894 a motion to set a quota on the number of non-Catholic players in the Celtic side was thrown out with considerable scorn by the club. In the early days more strident men took the huff at Celtic’s openness and formed the short lived ‘Glasgow Hibernians’ which aped the Irish and Catholic ethos of the Edinburgh’s Hibs side of the time. Glasgow Hibernians folded due to lack of support and Celtic rose to greatness with a mixed team and, as the years advanced, an increasingly mixed support. To claim that Celtic is a ‘Catholic club’ is simply wrong. They are an inclusive organisation rightly proud of their heritage and no amount of sanctimonious drivel from radio pundits should or could change that. To try and seek moral equivalence between the racist ‘Famine song,’ the fascist ‘Billy Boys,’ bigoted trash like ‘No Pope of Rome’ and a song such as the Irish national anthem is not only insulting, it is repugnant.

I wish to God Scotland had moved on from this tedious and embarrassing situation. It seems somehow to suits elements in the media to promote the narrative of the bad ‘Old Firm’ to portray the two clubs and their supporters as two sides of the same coin, or as one Aberdeen fan put it ‘two cheeks of the same arse’ but closer scrutiny shows this not to be the case. Yes, a minority of Celtic supporters have a fondness for singing the odd Rebel song at matches, a practice which I personally find outdated and counter-productive but such songs are not, as they are often portrayed in the Scottish media, ‘songs of hate.’ I have stated before that it would be fairly straightforward for Celtic’s support to simply leave the ‘Rebs’ at home and sing the many great Celtic songs we have in our repertoire.  For fans of the Govan club this is more problematic as it seems the majority of their songs have little to do with their club or football. There is also a worrying silence from their board over events at Raith Rovers perhaps they feel they are unpopular enough without adding to it.

When we see the ugly incident on the Paris Metro involving Chelsea fans turning into a media feeding frenzy, one has to wonder why very little is said nationally about the songs heard with regularity at Rangers games this season. Perhaps it is the target group being abused which holds them back. If they were singing about being ‘up to their knees’ in Muslim or Jewish blood, things might be different? This is where the Scottish media fails so badly. By portraying it as an ‘Old firm’ problem where both sides are locked in some mythical historical feud, it deflects and dilutes the impact of what is in reality old fashioned racism.  The lumpen group of racist bigots which attaches itself to Rangers FC has no equivalent at Celtic Park no matter how the tawdry and dishonourable hacks try to spin it.  

There are none so blind as those who refuse to see.

 

 

 

Smells like Team spirit...

 

Smells like Team Spirit

Usually the aftermath of a European home game where Celtic have lost 3 cheap goals in the first 45 minutes is frosty to say the least but there was a strange air of defiance about Celtic Park last night as the fans exited the stadium after a pulsating encounter with Inter Milan. Yes, Celtic’s young side gave away goals of the softest variety you’ll find at this level but there was no disguising the spirit Deila’s team showed in adversity. This developing young team refused to buckle when we all feared the worst after 13 minutes and two eminently preventable goals. I believe the rudderless team which started against Legia Warsaw in August at Murrayfield would not have fought back in the manner Celtic did last night. This Celtic team has certainly improved since then and while there is a long way to go before they are again Champions League quality, there are clear signs that they are on the right road.

Deila’s training methods and demands that players be fit enough to play the high tempo modern game are paying dividends. Possession of the ball is improving and most reports suggested it was around 50-50 last night. This was against a useful if not brilliant Serie A side who demonstrated instant control, accurate passing and a refreshing attacking approach to the game. Celtic had impressive displays from Brown and the maturing Biton in midfield but the whole side was full of running and energy. Gary MacKay-Steven and Stuart Armstrong ran to the point of being out on their feet and must be wondering about the changes that have occurred in their careers this last month. Just four weeks ago they appeared for Dundee United away to St Mirren in front of 2511 fans. Last night they ran out to a wall of noise from 60,000 inside Celtic Park. They did not look out of place and it may be that the signing of these two talented young Scots will be an excellent piece of business for Celtic.

Celtic fans know that Europe in the harshest testing ground and we don’t fool ourselves that our team is as yet the finished article. We expect effort and spirit from all who wear the green and white shirts and we got it last night. That’s why the fans were buoyant leaving the stadium, they know this tie is not yet settled and Deila will motivate the team to try and get at Inter again. It is no exaggeration to say that Celtic had the Italians on the ropes at times last night and only poor finishing and suicidal defending stopped the team claiming a famous victory. If the team can eliminate these self-inflicted wounds they will take a fair bit of stopping. Roberto Mancini was polite and measured as always with his remarks about the game stating that Inter now had ‘just a small advantage’ and it’s clear he knows there is work to be done in the San Siro. Deila on the other hand recognises the task facing Celtic but also has some hope:

“It’s going to be very tough. We have to be a little bit lucky and we have to put together the best team performance we have done so far under my command but it is possible and we are looking forward to the game. I believe we can score in the San Siro but we can’t concede as many as we did tonight. We will have chances to score but defensively we have to be much better than we were here.’

Whatever happens in Italy next week, Celtic Park was again shown all over Europe as a venue which matches the best around for atmosphere, passion and drama. The noise from the Celtic supporters was incredible last night and they didn’t desert the team when things started so bleakly. From that magnificent display by the Bhoys of Section 111 to that rousing chorus of ‘You’ll never walk alone;’ from the chanting of Craig Gordon’s name at his moment of despair to that thunderous ovation for the team at the end of the game, the Celtic supporters were once again magnificent. That bonding with the team is helping the players on the park progress and the pattern of play we are seeing is now more effective and sustained than was the case. I have some optimism for the game in Italy but I’m realistic to know that it remains a country in which Celtic have never won a competitive game despite playing there 10 times in our history. Of course records are made to be broken and we’re overdue some luck there but it will be a big ask. That said the thousands of Celtic fans heading to Milan do so with some hope but equally Inter will feel that 3-3 away from home was a good result and will be confident of completing the job at home.

Ronny Deila is correct to state that Celtic need luck and a complete absence of the horrendous defending we saw at times last night to stand a chance of progressing. Red Bull, Zagreb, Maribor and Astra have all benefitted from poor Celtic defending in a season which must surely be a record for European goals conceded? (I make it 22) Mancini’s Inter side are not the best Italian side we’ve faced in recent years but they created a few good chances at Celtic Park and are a capable team on their day. They do however look brittle in defence and one wonders how they’d react to Celtic scoring first. The Inter supporters are known for getting on their own team’s back when things are not going well.  Celtic should to go to the San Siro with no fear and play their game. We remain big underdogs but if they can eliminate the unforced errors from their game they will have a fighting chance. 

Meanwhile, the feeling that Ronny Deila is creating something good at Celtic Park is growing.  There were some who wanted him out back in the dog days of Summer but all managers deserve a year at least to create their own team and pattern of play. Ronny is winning over the doubters and developing a feeling for Celtic which we see in his post victory ‘roars.’ Didier Agathe was once asked about some Celtic fans shouting at him to get forward more in certain games. He responded much to the surprise of the reporter who asked the question by saying, ‘Sometimes it is because they care too much about their club.’ Deila understands more now about what Celtic means to so many and perhaps it’s rubbing off on him.

All good teams are imbued with the sort of spirit we saw last night and it’s an encouraging sign that the team refused to give up despite that appalling start. When we lose 3 dreadful goals at home and the fans go home singing, something must be going right.

Smells like team spirit.

 

The Black Beast

 

The Black Beast

Inter Milan arrive in Glasgow this week bringing with them the whiff of glamour and history lacking at times in the bread and butter games of the SPFL. The draw which paired two of Europe’s best known sides was greeted with cautious optimism at the San Siro. Inter CEO Marco Farssone said of the tie with Celtic…

 ‘It is certainly a Classic, all Inter fans remember the European cup final and the glorious team of the 60s. It’s a fantastic tie there are great emotions about playing at Celtic Park, it will be fantastic. Both clubs have a strong history and are well known not just domestically but internationally.’

Indeed the spectre of Lisbon in 1967 is one which still haunts Inter Milan. Celtic’s great side were of course named the Lisbon Lions after their great feat but one popular Italian football website calls Stein’s side the ‘Bestia Nera’ (the black beast- or nightmare) which brought to an end the golden era of Herrera and his fine Inter side. They recall the salient fact that while Celtic may not be the most difficult tie that Inter could have been landed with in the Europa League, historically the Hoops remain a tough nut for them to crack…

‘Celtic is definitely not the most tricky team to face that it was a few years ago but it is historically indigestible to Inter. The Nerazurri in the previous three meetings have never been able to beat the Scots.’

Indeed the victory Inter secured on penalties in the 1972 European Cup Semi Final was only partial revenge for Inter’s destruction and humiliation in Lisbon. Gazetta Della Sport stated recently…

La parziale rivincita col Celtic arrivò pochi anni dopo nella Coppa dei Campioni 1971/72 quando Inter e Celtic si ritrovarono in semifinale e fu l'Inter a spuntarla, imponendosi ai rigori nel ritorno in Scozia dopo un doppio 0-0, conquistando così il biglietto per la finale di Rotterdam persa contro l'Ajax del calcio totale.The partial rematch with Celtic came a few years later in the 1971/72 European Cup when Inter and Celtic found themselves in the semi-finals. Inter was dull but won on penalties in the return to Scotland after a double 0-0, thus winning the ticket for the final in Rotterdam where they lost against Ajax. Fu una parziale rivincita, ma quella finale di Lisbona fa ancora male dopo tanti anni: la storia non si può cambiare, ma Roberto Mancini ei suoi ragazzi possono dare un piccolo contributo a renderla meno amara. It was a partial revenge, but the final in Lisbon still hurts even after all these years: that story cannot be changed, but Roberto Mancini and his boys can make a small contribution to making it less bitter. Ci vediamo in primavera, Celtic. See you soon Celtic!’

Inter arrive in Glasgow sitting in mid table after a poor start to the season. They have however won their last 2 games well and confidence is higher than it was. Celtic fans will know to expect a tactically aware, street wise team who will use every trick in the book to get a result and it has not gone unnoticed that the Hoops have failed to beat Italian opposition on the last 7 occasions they have met. (D2 L5) Mancini, like Ronny Deila, is in the middle of reforming the team and with tight finances is relying on loans, free transfers and developing what he has to achieve this. He knows the British game well after his years at Manchester City and is a sharp coach who will examine Celtic with forensic scrutiny looking for weaknesses. Make no mistake about it despite Inter’s average form in Serie A, this is a huge task for Celtic. Inter can field players of genuine quality such as Argentinian striker Mauro Icardi and Italian midfielder Dani Osvaldo. They also have our old adversary Nenanja Vidic, who played at Celtic Park with Manchester United, and others such as Palacio, Mauro, Guarin and Kovacic who have much experience at international level.

After Inter’s impressive 4-1 victory away to Atalanta, one scorer, Rodrigo Palacio said:

“Ini selalu menjadi pertandingan yang sangat sulit bagi kami. "It has always been a very difficult match for us. Ini pertandingan yang berat, namun tim bermain sangat baik hari ini. It's a tough game, but the team played very well today. Kami bermain baik pada dua pertandingan terakhir. We played well in the last two games. Icardi absen? Icardi absent? Mauro sangat penting bagi tim karena dia yang mencetak banyak gol di tim kami, tapi hari ini semua pemain bermain luar biasa.” Mauro is very important for the team because he scored a lot of goals, but today all the players played unbelievable. "

Palacio lalu berbicara tentang pertandingan berikutnya menghadapi Celtic diajang Europa League: Palacio then talked about the next game when Inter face Celtic in the Europa League:

“Meraih kemenangan tandang selalu penting. "Winning away is always important. Sekarang kami masih punya tiga hari untuk persiapan.Now we still have three days to prepare. Kami akan pergi kesana untuk meraih kemenangan.” We will go there to win. "

That being said, Celtic are on a good run of form and have nothing to lose as few expect this team in transition to knock an outfit such as Inter out of Europe. That is how Celtic like it and it is often when they are at their dangerous best. If Deila comes up with a game plan which subdues Inter and that fantastic home support raises the roof then one never knows what might happen. Celtic Park on European nights has a quality which is often hard to define. The fans drive the team to unexpected feats and Inter will have to fight for every ball on Thursday. This match is a real test of how far Celtic has come since the shambolic exit from the Champions League in the summer. It will take a performance of great courage and concentration to get a result in this game. The fast, fluid play Celtic are showing in phases of games at the moment will need to be present throughout and there can be no silly errors at the back. The few chances that will come along must also be taken with a ruthlessness we don’t see enough of in the SPFL.

Inter have come to lay the ghost of Lisbon but if they fail to play to their best and Celtic have one of their inspired evenings, they may find the ‘Black Beast’ haunting their dreams again

We are Celtic supporters and we always have hope in our hearts.

Bring it on.

 

With hope in your heart

 

 

With hope in your heart

Paul Bradley stepped from the car, the November chill hitting him like a slap in the face. He entered St Peter’s cemetery by the gate on the London Road and zipping his jacket against the chill headed down among the rows of grey tombstones which stood like forgotten memories in the gathering gloom. Kindly stone Angels regarded him as he passed and a Madonna who had lost her praying hands to thoughtless vandalism looked down from her plinth a little forlornly at the modern world and all its Godless ways. ‘What possesses these idiots who vandalise graveyards?’ Paul mused to himself as he walked a couple of hundred yards along the rutted track to the spot the gravestone he was looking for. He exhaled nervously, still feeling the pang of loss.  It read: ‘John Bradley 1952-2005 Loving Husband and father.’ He tidied the flowers and small plastic containers around the headstone which had been scattered by the careless Glasgow wind.  ‘Hi Da,’ he began, not feeling at all uncomfortable about conversing with those beyond hearing in any conventional sense of the word. This was his old man, his friend, his ally throughout his life and the teacher of a thousand lessons large and small that made Paul the man he was today. He spoke to him as if he was standing in front of him ready to dispense his wisdom and advice as he had so often in the past. ‘Hardly seems a year since you’ve been gone. My Ma’s still missing you. I sometimes hear her crying at night; it’s hard for her not having you around. Tam started work in the Post Office, he always wanted to be a postie eh?’ He smiled, ‘I blame you buying him that Postman Pat van when he was six.’ Paul tilted his head slightly as he struggled with his emotions, ‘Celts are going well, Strachan is a good motivator. We play Man United this week. You’d have loved going tae that gem eh?’ A slight movement to Paul’s left caused him to turn his head in time to see a rabbit scurry off into the long grass unconcerned by the human world. He refocused on his father’s grave, ‘I miss you Da, why did you have to go so soon?’ Far away on the London Road a car tooted as if calling Paul back into that other world. ‘Right, I’ll head now Da, I’ll be back next week. Hopefully we can get a result against Man United. Won’t be easy wi Ronaldo and Giggs, no tae mention Rooney but ye never know wi the Celts. See ye soon. Hail Hail big man.’ He turned and headed back towards the London Road. On his way up the rutted path he noticed a woman of about 60 sorting flowers by a grave and muttering quietly. She glanced up as he passed and they exchanged an almost imperceptible smile. No need for words, they both understood the toll loss could exact on people. He reached the exit and jumped into his car glad of the respite from the cold. 

The Bradley brothers and their long-time friend Terry McCabe took their usual seats in the throbbing North Stand at Celtic Park as the Champions League anthem boomed around the stadium. A great roar split the dark November sky as 60,000 fans growled out their defiance. If Manchester United and their superstars were going to win here, they were going to have to damn well earn it.  As the teams shook hand the great light filled bowl in Glasgow’s dark east end transformed itself into a sea of green and white as a familiar song was screamed from thousands of lungs… ‘

Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown, walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone!’

Terry, Tam and Peter belted it out with all the rest. On nights like this it was a religious experience being a Celtic fan. It was as if the collective will of tens of thousands of supporters could imbue the Celtic players with extra drive, pace and energy. It was when the hopes and dreams of these people didn’t weigh the players down but gave them wings to fly.  As the song ended there was another almighty roar as the game commenced. Peter roared through the din, ‘Right Celtic, let’s do this!’ The noise cascading from the stands onto the pitch in those opening minutes was incredible and Celtic, rushed and harried their more fancied opponents.  Ronaldo was finding Balde and surprisingly Lee Naylor utterly relentless in their defending. For all the slick passing in midfield the much vaunted English side appear toothless up front. Celtic contained United in a frantic first half but the home fans knew if they were to snatch anything from the game then they’d need to cut loose in attack at some point. As they applauded Celtic off at half time Paul looked at his brother, ‘It’s wan thing stopping them scoring but we need to work Van der Sar.’ Tam nodded, ‘I’m realistic Paul, we have the likes Telfer, Naylor, Sno and Gravesen playing Ronaldo, Rooney, Ferdinand and Giggs. If it stays 0-0 and we sneak a wee deflected last minute winner I’d be delighted.’  Hope was growing in more than a few Celtic hearts that the easy victory the English press predicted for United might not materialise after all.

The second half saw both teams look more dangerous and only some last gasp defending saw the score remain goalless.  Tony looked at his watch, ‘Ten minutes, might sneak a wee draw here.’ No sooner had he spoken when Jarosik went down under a challenge from Vidic. ‘Soft wan that,’ said Terry ‘but I’ll take it.’  Paul Bradley watched as Shunsuke Nakamura carefully placed the ball on the lush, green turf and glanced up at the wall of red defenders United had set facing him. He was almost 30 yards from goal and even if he got it past the wall the formidable figure of 6 feet 4 Edwin Van der Sar was waiting: it was a big ask. The three friends watched spellbound, their concentration total as around them swirled an incessant and growing roar… ‘Celtic, Celtic, Celtic….’. The Japanese midfielder strode forward a curled a beautifully flighted left footed shot over the wall. Paul followed the white blur as it sped towards goal. Van der Sar flew across to his left but was clutching at air as the ball exploded behind him in the United net! Celtic Park roared as only Celtic Park can on such occasions. ‘Yaaasssss!’ shouted Paul Bradley with every fibre of his being as he hugged his brother Tam. In that moment his father’s face flashed into his mind, he was smiling, nodding, happy. ‘That’s for you Da! That’s for you!’ The noise around them was incredible as the game thundered on. Could Celtic hold out? United as expected committed more men forward and pushed the Hooped Heroes back. Scholes drove towards the box and dived over Lennon’s outstretched leg to win a free kick 22 yards from goal. Giggs, often so deadly in such situations placed the ball as Celtic Park watched mesmerised by the unfolding drama. Giggs struck the ball well but the wall blocked it. The cheers of Celtic supporters stuck in their throats as the Spanish referee booked Maloney and pointed to the spot. It was a penalty. Paul couldn’t take it. He turned away from the play, his hand on his brothers shoulder, and closed his eyes. Surely victory wasn’t going to be snatched away from Celtic in such cruel fashion?  Deafening jeers and whistles assaulted his ears as he awaited the inevitable roar from the small band of Manchester United fans. Instead, Celtic Park erupted again as his brother and friend Terry hugged him screaming in his ears, ‘He’s saved it! He’s saved it! He’s only fuckin saved it!’

The game ended amid ecstatic scenes and another Celtic legend was born. The team few thought could match the silky skills of Fergie’s Manchester United had triumphed. It had been a gutsy, determined display from Celtic and the whole stadium stood to cheer the team from the field. Far to Paul’s right the green clad fans took up their old anthem again and ‘You’ll never walk alone’ echoed around Celtic Park, screaming into the dark winter sky that money wasn’t everything. That sometimes, just sometimes when you believe, when you fight and when you have that fantastic support behind you, incredible things can happen. The three friends left the stadium with tens of thousands of other Celtic supporters utterly elated.  The songs of victory followed the joyous green army as it dispersed all over Glasgow, Scotland and beyond. It was another one of those magical Celtic nights under the lights and few who witnessed it would ever forget it.

Postscript

A few days later Paul Bradley stood over his father’s grave as a gentle drizzled drifted through the cold air. ‘You’d have loved it Da, The fighting spirit, the atmosphere. It was pure Celtic.’ He knelt on the damp grass and touched his father’s stone, tracing his name with his index finger. ‘God, how I wish you were beside me the other night, wish you could have felt it again, that emotion that feeling only Celtic can bring. It’s hard tae put it into words.‘ He stood, a lazy tear rolling down his cheek, ‘Right, I’m off big man, working in an hour. I’ll be back in a few days.’ As he turned and walked towards the exit he noticed the older woman he had seen the week before. She walked a little of the way with him and smiled, ‘Your Father?’ Paul nodded, ‘Aye, miss his loads.’ She tilted her head a little, wistful look on her face, ‘You’ll always miss him but it does get easier as time passes.’  Paul nodded, ‘I hope so.’ As they reached the gates of the cemetery she turned towards him, ‘You know they never really leave us son, they’re always with us.’ Paul nodded, not sure if he really believed that but it was a nice thought.