Bella Ciao

 

Bella Ciao

Old Tommy Larkin pushed himself up gingerly in his bed when he saw his son and two grandsons approaching. Tommy junior hugged his old man carefully, as if he was a valuable and fragile heirloom. ‘Alright Da, you been in the wars again?’ The old man’s hoarse and noticeably weaker voice rasped at him, ‘Aye, no for the first time son.’ The three visitors sat around the hospital bed to chat to the old man who on days like today looked every one of his 94 years. His once strong frame seemed somehow shrunken and his face had grown thinner as the years advanced. ‘I slipped on that damn laminate flooring, Doc says the arm’s broke but tae be honest I feel fine,’ the old man said. His grandson, Scott, looked at his proud, old face. His blue eyes still gleamed even from behind the bruising which lined them both. ‘Did ye see the game last night, granda? Big Jullien got the winner in the last minute. Ryan and I are heading tae Rome next month for the away match.’ The old man lay back on his pile of pillows. ‘Naw son, I was in an ambulance at the point. I missed the game altogether.’ Scott continued, noticing how now, 24 hours later he still felt buoyed up by Celtic’s win over Italian side Lazio. ‘They were a decent team, even if their fans are tubes. Celtic park was rocking; it was a great night, just like the old days.’ The old man, a veteran of Celtic’s greatest day in Lisbon more than half a century earlier, listened to the two younger men relay their experiences of the match with a gentle smile on his face. It pleased him that he had passed his love of Celtic on to his son and that he had in turn passed it onto his two boys and their sister Ciara. They came from different generations, had different life experiences but a huge affection for Celtic was something they all had in common.

He smiled gently as they finished telling him of their planned trip to the eternal city. ‘Did I ever tell ye aboot the time I was in Rome?’ The two grandsons glanced at each other momentarily as if they felt the old man might he havering a little. ‘You were in Rome, grandad? When was this?’  The old man lay back on his pillows and told them a story that no one in the family had ever heard. They sat in silence as old Tommy’s mind drifted back 75 years…

‘I was 19 and a bit of a wide boy from the Gorbals. Me and my best mate Spud were called up and sent tae the Med. I’d never been further than Blackpool so it all seemed a bit of an adventure tae a couple of young bucks like us. Spud and I were classmates at St Francis and regulars in the old Jungle at Celtic Park and there we were on a big hulking ship and off tae see the world. We had no idea what war was like’ He breathed deeply before continuing. ‘Anyway, we landed in Calabria, right at the toe of Italy. Boiling day it was but thankfully the Jerries were nowhere tae be seen. We got ashore no problem but later that day the serious stuff started. Spud and I were what they called the PBI; the Poor bloody infantry. The Jerries showed up, tanks, artillery, the lot and pounded us. A lot of those young fellas we landed with are still lying in Calabria today’ He paused for a moment as if picturing the scene in his mind before continuing,’ Spud and I were lying in a ditch hoping for the best but thankfully the RAF showed up and saved our arses.’ The two younger men listened in rapt attention. They knew their grandad had been in the war, they had seen an old black and white photo of him and another soldier in uniform standing by a dusty road their arms across each other’s shoulder. He had never spoken of his war time experiences to them before. The old man continued…

‘Spud was a devout Catholic despite being a real tough nut, said his prayers every night. Must have been the nuns at St Francis that got him intae that, holy terrors some of them. Should have parachuted them intae Berlin, Hitler would have given up in a week.  It took us a year of hard fighting and a lot of near escapes to push the Jerries back north of Rome.  The Yanks drove intae Rome after the Jerries had left, claiming the glory as usual but then they lost a lot of men in Italy tae. They organised a big parade and we were ordered tae get our best gear looked oot & polished up. They took us to Rome in trucks for the parade. We wore out kilts and marched behind a pipe band. The streets were lined wi folk, most of them cheering but ye could tell the fascist types, just staring at ye. We marched right past the Colosseum. These days ye can fly tae these places but back then it was an amazing thing for a couple of Glasgow boys tae see things we’d only seen in school books.

Later we had a 24 hour pass and were looking around St Peter’s Square, all the Tims in the Battalion wanted tae see the Vatican of course. A lot of Poles there that day tae, they lost a lot of men in Italy as well, brave lads those Poles. After Mass in St Peter’s we wandered the streets near the Vatican. We heard some laughing and Spud and I realised it was Italian lassies finding our kilts funny. We got chatting tae a couple of them, one had a bit of English, Maria and Helena their names were. Her old man ran a Café and we headed in for a drink and a bit of grub. Her old man made us feel like we were long lost sons. Refused to let us pay for a thing and we had a great night. They brought out instruments and the songs were flowing. Spud was steaming but still sang ‘I belong tae Glasgow’ and then Maria sang a song I’ll never forget.’ Much to the surprise of his three visitors the old man lying in the bed quietly sang in a gravelly voice…

‘Una mattina me son svegliato, bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao.

Una mattina me son svegliato, e ho trovato l’invasor

When he had finished the part of the song he knew he looked at his three visitors. ‘You should learn that song, I used tae know it all but I forgot some of the words, I forget a lot of things these days. Anyway, a week later we were on the move again. We headed up north intae more trouble. The Jerries are nothing if not stubborn. We got intae a shooting match wi some German paratroopers, hard bastards. We cleared them out of a village but Spud was wounded, a bad yin in the chest. He was shipped aff tae a hospital north of Rome and I never saw him again. He died and he’s buried there and one of my great regrets is that I never got to visit his grave. He was a great guy, brave as a lion, saved me more than once.’ The old man stopped talking and looked a little sad. Scott took his hand, ‘Grandad, we’ll visit his grave when we go to Rome, leave some flowers for ye. Tell me his full name and we’ll check it out online. I’m sure they record all the war graves wherever they are.’ The old man looked at his grandson, ‘I’d like that son. If I was ten years younger I’d come with you.’

Scott Larkin, his brother Ryan and a smattering of Celtic supporting friends in Rome for the game with Lazio made their way along the Via Nicola Zabaglia in bright November sunshine. They had little problem finding the cemetery after searching online and tracing their grandfather’s old comrade’s grave. An elderly Italian gardener showed them inside and they were surprised to see that there were hundreds of gravestones standing in serried ranks. They walked up the long rows of perfectly kept gravestones set in manicured lawns, noticing the many nationalities buried there. Poles, British, Canadians, Indians, Africans; all fallen in the same brutal war. It was a sobering sight. After ten minutes or so they found the grave they were looking for. It read; ‘P. Murphy 4^th September 1944. Age 22 years.’ Scott stood for a moment in silence as his younger brother laid a brightly coloured bunch of flowers beside the gravestone. He also placed his grandfather’s old cap badge and a folded Celtic scarf on the grass beside the headstone before saying quietly, ‘Hi Spud, Tommy Larkin sends his regards. He told me you were a brave man and big Celtic fan. Celtic’s playing in Rome tonight so we thought we’d pay our respects. I hope the Celts can make you proud. Sleep well pal.’

As dusk fell on the eternal city the brothers stuck close to the thousands of Celtic supporters who had descended on Rome for the game. Lazio Ultras had threatened violence against Celtic supporters and there was safety in numbers. In a bar near the Stadio Olimpico, Celtic supporters drank and sang as the match drew closer. Scott got into conversation with young Italian called Marco who hailed from Tuscany and had travelled to Rome for the game. He asked him about the song his grandad had sung to them in his hospital bed. ‘It is an anti-fascist song,’ Marco said in excellent English, ‘It was sung by the communist partisans during the war. Today, it is still sung by people who don’t like fascists or racists.’ He turned and shouted in Italian to other members of the Barga CSC who nodded at him and begin to sing Bella Ciao in Italian. The Scots in the bar joined in the part they could easily follow and roared out, ‘bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao, ciao, ciao!’  Scott Smiled at his brother, his grandad would love this.

Post-script

A tense game was tied at 1-1 with time running out as they watched from behind the goal in the Stadio Olimpico. Scott looked at his brother Ryan, ‘a draw here is a good result.’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth when a Lazio defender was short with a pass and Celtic stormed forward. The 7000 Celtic supporters roared in expectation as the ball was played to Olivier N’tcham. The Frenchman’s first touch looked poor and pushed him slightly wide but as the goalkeeper rushed out to meet him he deftly chipped the ball over him and into the net. The huge Celtic support exploded in joy! The two brothers hugged and danced along with thousands of other delirious Celtic supporters.

1500 miles away in Glasgow, an old Celt was watching on TV. Old Tommy smiled broadly as N’tcham scored the decisive goal in Rome. He was happy for his grandsons and all those supporters who had made their way to Rome to back Celtic but he was happier still for another reason. As he watched the celebrating players and fans in far-away Rome, a tear rolled down his cheek and he whispered, ‘That one’s for you Spud, that one’s for you pal.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Just Don’t Know

1931 was a hard year for those living in the industrial cities of the United Kingdom. Wages were falling and the effects of the 1929 stock market collapse in the USA had set in motion a time of deep economic gloom which in time became known as the great depression. Novels of the time reflected the hardship many ordinary people were going through. In the USA John Steinbeck was lamenting the conditions of the poor in novels such as Canary Row and the Grapes of Wrath. Closer to home the TB infested slums of Glasgow were depicted in the novel ‘No Mean city’ and gave Glasgow an unsavoury violent reputation which took decades to shake off. Unemployment stood at 20% and poverty was the norm for a considerable section of the working class.

Football offered a reasonably cheap escape from the pressures of life and although Celtic’s average gate was reduced to under 18,000 in 1931-32 season by the hard conditions of the time, supporters were still fanatical about their team. The death of John Thomson in September 1931 was a huge shock to football fans all over Scotland and no blame attached to Rangers young striker, Sam English who was completely blameless in the accidental collision between two committed players.

I have written before about Sam English and recall his sad comment that he was the ‘second unluckiest player in the world,’ and have much sympathy for a young man caught up in some dreadful circumstances. I was surprised to see a book appear under the rather sensationalist title ‘Tortured; The Sam English Story.’ It was trailed in an article in the Evening Times Newspaper which led with the despicable headline ‘Tortured: How Celtic fans travelled to England to taunt ex-Rangers striker Sam English over the death of John Thomson.’ Where do you even begin to discuss the cheap tactic of using the tragedy of Thomson and English to score cheap points and sell a few books? Of course there is no such thing as bad publicity and some tabloid hacks will cynically batter out headlines they know will lead to a fuss but the rivalry between Celtic and Rangers is poisonous enough with adding unverifiable slander to it.

The article opens with the statement…

When Jeff Holmes started the research for his biography of Rangers legend Davie Meiklejohn, the author had, like so many people over the decades, a preconceived idea about who his team mate Sam English had been. I always thought of him as ‘the guy who killed John Thomson’,” he said. ’’ I didn’t know any better. That was really unfair, really incorrect.”

Such a depth of ignorance didn’t bode well for the book he was looking to write about English as anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of Scottish football knows it was a terrible accident.’

As for Celtic supporters travelling to England to abuse English, does the author seriously expect us to believe that in the midst of an economic depression which hit Glasgow hard and the Glasgow Irish even harder, that football supporters were going to somehow check the fixture list of Hartlepool FC or Liverpool in order to travel hundreds of miles, spending money they didn’t have just to shout at Sam English? It truly strains credulity. This was a time when many Celtic fans walked (yes walked) 50 miles from Glasgow to Fife for John Thomson’s funeral because they couldn’t afford the train fare. To paint them as pantomime villains based on fourth hand accounts from almost 90 years ago is appalling journalism which appeals only to that section of the Rangers support which looks to have their naked hatred of all things Celtic bolstered.

No Celtic player or official of the time blamed English, in fact John Thomson’s family explicitly told the press they accepted it as a dreadful accident and wished Sam nothing but good. Willie Maley is often quoted out of context as saying at the inquest, ‘I hope it was an accident,’ but what the grief stricken Celtic boss actually said in response to the question ‘do you think it was an accident? was ‘I hope it was an accident. I cannot form an opinion as to what happened as I did not actually see the accident.’ Perhaps his opening words in that reply could have been more supportive of poor Sam English but Maley never held that English had acted in a malicious manner. In fact he had great sympathy for English and described the incident in his book ‘The Story of Celtic’ (1938) as a ‘fatal accident.’ His book also contains reference to a memorial card he personally issued for John Thomson which states…

  ‘A Tribute from William Maley in proud and loving memory of John Thomson, Goalkeeper of the Celtic Football Club who died from injuries accidently received in saving his goal in a league match between Celtic and Rangers at Ibrox Park.’

Again Maley uses the term ‘accident,’ hardly the actions of a man who blamed Sam English for anything.

The evening Times article carries a photograph of Thomson diving at the ball as English readies himself to shoot. Beneath the picture are the words, ‘Rangers versus Celtic September 1931. The tackle that resulted in the death of Celtic goalkeeper John Thomson; as he dived at the feet of Sam English the strikers steel toe-capped boot smashed into his head causing a fatal injury.’ This is demonstrable nonsense; there is no suggestion that English kicked John. Thomson’s head collided with the Irishman’s knee causing the injuries. Film and photographs verify this but then this sloppy and unprofessional article lacks even rudimentary fact checking.

There is no doubt that in the aftermath of the accident Sam English received verbal abuse from opposition players and a minority of spectators at games in Scotland. This sort of ‘wind up’ has gone on in most sports since their inception although to do it to Sam English in those circumstances was cruel in the extreme. Sam undoubtedly suffered depression and possibly post-traumatic stress about what had occurred on that fateful day at Ibrox in 1931. For fellow professionals who made their living in the tough and often brutal world of 1930s football to use the accidental death of Thomson to try and put English off his game is despicable.

The article also talks about Irish footballer Jimmy Dunne with the following words….

“Sheffield United had an outstanding Irish striker called Jimmy Dunne at that time. He was a staunch Republican and had once served time in his homeland for being a member of the IRA. He was playing in that game. Was he in the dressing room winding his team mates up before the game? You just don’t know. But the death of Thomson followed English.”

Jimmy Dunne was indeed a Republican and a socialist and there is no shame in either of those things although it is another red rag, dog whistle signal to the bigots who read such things. The implication that being a republican meant he would go out of his way to abuse English is as clear as it is unfair. In a game against Germany in 1939 Dunne told his team mates not to copy England’s players who gave the Nazi salute in a previous match with Germany. He is reported to have shouted ‘Remember 1916!’ as the German national anthem began although Dunne was only ten years old when the rising occurred. The most telling statement in the article says; ‘was he (Dunne) in the dressing room winding his team mates up before the game? You just don’t know.’ Therein lies the crux of this book and this poorly constructed article article; You just don’t know. There is so much that we just don’t know about those days and yet that simple fact didn’t stop the ‘journalist’ leading with a lurid headline about Celtic supporters heading to England simply to abuse Sam English without any qualifying statements or evidence to back up such a claim. The burden of proof is on the accuser and there is none to support that implausible supposition.

The death of John Thomson was a real tragedy as was the affect it had on poor Sam English. I don’t doubt there were morons who abused Sam English in the football grounds of Scotland, among the fans of many clubs including Celtic. I don’t doubt there were players who said despicable things to him to try and put him off his game. What I object to is those who attempt to use the tragedy to sell books using the sort of clickbait sensationalist tactics we saw in that amateurish article. Why lead with lurid and unsubstantiated claims when you could lead with statements about English’s undoubted footballing ability or goal scoring prowess?

French philosopher, Voltaire is credited with saying that, ‘history is a bag of tricks we play on the dead.’  If we don’t provide facts and evidence to support them then our so called history becomes just another opinion. The whole framing of the article in the Evening Times dishonours the memory of Sam English and John Thomson. They were two young men caught up in dreadful events and we should never seek to use them as pawns to score cheap points or worse still to make money from a tragedy.

May they both rest in peace.

 

 

Thanks Jock

 

Thanks Jock

When I was a boy I attended a match at Hampden Park between Celtic and Dundee. I don’t recall much about the game apart from the fact it was a Wednesday night and Jimmy Johnstone scored the only goal of the game. What I do recall though is after the match I waited with a few pals at the entrance to the old rickety main stand for Celtic to come out. I had my programme in hand and wanted to get the autograph of a few of my heroes. Most of the players ignored us and got straight onto the bus. Jock Stein was last out and stopped to sign his name for a few lucky fans. I watched him from a few yards away; I was absolutely in awe of him. He had an aura about him, a presence few men have. I stood shyly and offered my programme to him to sign which he did. There in front of me was a true Celtic legend, the man who led Celtic to their first 9 in a row and the European cup. I could have asked him anything but as a star struck youngster all I could think of to say was ‘Thanks Jock.’ Those two words were the only words I ever said in person to Jock Stein and perhaps given his contribution to Celtic they were the most appropriate.

In early 1965 Jock Stein was the most coveted young Manager in Scotland. The 42 year old had won the cup with Dunfermline in 1961 and then moved on to revive an ailing Hibs side. There was no doubting his astute footballing brain or the natural intelligence he had in spades. His path in life was not to lead him into higher education as that was a distant dream even for bright working class youngsters in those days. The education he received came in the coal mines of Lanarkshire and the lower league football pitches of Scotland where he turned out for Albion Rovers for £1 a week. He never forgot the lessons he learned in the mines about the need to work as a team and to be there for your workmates in that most dangerous of working environments.

There is no doubt that he wanted to return to Celtic, a club he had both played for and coached young players at. Celtic also had the potential and fan base to offer Stein a chance to prove himself at the highest level of the game. Bob Kelly, Celtic’s autocratic Chairman was hesitant as the club’s previous three managers had all been former players and of course they had also all been Catholics. To the modern mind it seems absurd that Stein’s religious background was considered a factor in his potential return to Celtic but Kelly was a traditionalist and wanted Stein to work under Sean Fallon. Celtic had since earliest times played with a mixed team and shunned the petty discrimination of their great city rivals. The Celtic team Stein played in during the mid-1950s had players like Evans, Peacock impressing the fans with their ability and fighting spirit. After one particularly bad defeat at Ibrox though, Charlie Tully made the crass and unfair remark that one of the reasons they lost were that there were too many Protestants in the team. Stein pinned him to the wall and had to be restrained by Sean Fallon lest he damage the mercurial Tully. Fallon recalled the incident years later and said…

‘Charlie wasn’t normally that kind of person but was obviously frustrated that day and came out with a stupid, unfair comment. You shouldn’t forget he had been brought up in Belfast which was very divided back then but there was still no excuse for what he said. At the time he was looking to me to back him up as a fellow Catholic but there was no chance of that. I had nothing but respect for the Protestants in our team and one of the things I admired most about Celtic was that unlike Rangers we signed players from every background.’

Stein clearly didn’t hold a grudge about Charlie’s stupid remark as he travelled to Belfast at the height of the troubles in 1971 to carry Charlie’s coffin. Beside him was his young Captain Billy McNeill who with Stein ignored RUC advice that they couldn’t guarantee their safety to honour a fine Celtic player one last time.

At the AGM of 1957 a fan asked the board if they would consider limiting the number of non-Catholic players the side. Bob Kelly rose to his feet and destroyed this odious opinion with the withering words…

‘It has been the founding Fathers’ doctrine and club policy that Celtic field the best possible team regardless of denomination. Non-Catholic’s had throughout the club’s history played their hearts out for Celtic and the policy of the founding Fathers’ would continue! With the new school of youngsters there is no doubt that Catholic youth will show up well and have every opportunity to show its worth but the principle (of a mixed team) will remain the same as always.’

He sat down to a huge applause as the vast majority of Celtic supporters wanted no truck with the petty prejudice they witnessed at the home of their main rivals at that time. Celtic was an integrated team and it would stay that way.

In early 1965 Jock’s perception told him that he was in a powerful position in his negotiations with Bob Kelly. Other teams were interested in him, most notably the decent Wolverhampton Wanderers of the era and he played hard ball with Kelly. He told the Celtic Chairman he would return, but only as Manager and with full control over team matters. He would not be joint manager or assistant manager it was full control or nothing. Kelly had much to ponder as Stein hinted that Wolves were ready to move him. Celtic hadn’t won the title for 11 long years and had stuttered through the early 1960s like the proverbial sleeping giant. The fans wanted Stein, they wanted success and Kelly knew this.

Back at Hibs Stein spoke to the club Doctor, John Batters, and told him about the possibility of returning to Celtic. The astute doctor said to Stein, ’John you’re a Celtic man, you should go or you’ll regret it.‘  It was a solid piece of advice but Stein and his wife knew the often poisonous rivalry which afflicted Celtic and Rangers and Jean Stein took some convincing that it was the right move. She had seen long-time friends snub Jock over a decade before when he joined Celtic as a player. He said as he reflected on that time,’ I lost some friends when I made the move but if that’s what matters to them then they weren’t really friends at all.’

By March 1965 Kelly had relented and told Stein he could be manager and Fallon would be his deputy. He would also have full control of the team ending the days when Kelly interfered in team matters to the degree of telling Jimmy McGrory who to put in his side and who to drop. Stein would have none of that. He took control of Celtic’s playing side on 8 March 1965. By then ten of the players who would conquer Europe were on Celtic’s books. His first game in charge against a stuffy Airdrie side at the old Broomfield stadium saw Bertie Auld hit 5 goals in a 6-0 win. Celtic were well behind in the league but Jimmy McGrory’s parting gift to Stein was to knock eventual league champions, Kilmarnock,  out of the cup quarter final the week before he relinquished his post.

Stein, in typical style, demanded that all of the players referred to Mr McGrory as ‘boss’ when they interacted with him in and around the stadium. McGrory had been a fine servant to Celtic and Stein’s innate sense of decency shone out in his treatment of his former manager. Unlike McGrory, Stein would be on the training field with the players, organising drills, working with the ball and instilling a sense of tactical awareness into them. His training was geared towards making them the fittest team in the land but also to making them better players. He was a strong character who was never slow in telling players what he expected of them on and off the field. Jimmy Johnstone, perhaps the greatest ball player ever to wear the hoops, recalled enjoying a pint at his local pub the night before a game. The barman signalled to him that he was wanted on the phone. As he put the receiver to his ear the unmistakeably gruff voice of Stein barked at him, ‘You’ve got a game tomorrow, get yer arse up the road.’

As season 1964-65 drew to a close with the traditional showpiece of the Scottish Cup final, Stein’s team of talented young players walked out onto the lush green turf in front of 108,000 fans. Their days of being also rans were over. The green and white army had a new general in control and things would never be the same again. As he took control of the side for his first full season in charge in 1965-66, both fans and players were excited about the journey they were about to embark upon. They could not have dreamed then of the glittering prizes which Stein would guide them to.

Jock Stein was many things to many people; he was the man who stood with pickets during the miners’ strike of 1985 telling ‘scab’ drivers that they were doing good people out of a job. He was the man who stayed behind at Ibrox after the disaster of 1971 to tend to the injured and dying. He was the man who entered the crowded terraces at a Celtic away game to tell fans that there were enough good Celtic songs without adding politics to the repertoire. He was the all-conquering manager of Celtic who made a team born of an impoverished migrant community the best in Europe.

But most of all he was the hero of a young boy who stood in awe of him and could only quietly mutter two words during that briefest of meetings all those years ago.

Let me say them again Mr Stein as we remember your contribution to our club.

Thanks Jock.

 

 

Glittering Prizes

Glittering Prizes

Watching Celtic tumble out of the European Champions League to Ferencvaros was a painful experience and alas in recent years a familiar story. We dominate a game possession wise, create chances and then like a careless boxer are caught with a sucker punch we all feared was coming. Respect to Ferencvaros for hanging in there when Celtic were on top but despite their manager talking up his tactical genius that match was lost by Celtic’s ineptitude in defence and failure to take their chances. I was talking with a work mate in the aftermath of the game and he longed for the days when Martin O’Neill’s Celtic was a team to be feared in Europe.

It’s worth considering O’Neill’s impact at Celtic in terms of European football. His arrival in June 2000 came in the wake of the hugely disappointing John Barnes era. There were good players at Celtic like Larsson, Lambert, Moravcik, Boyd, Petrov and McNamara but the overall quality was still behind a Rangers side which we discovered in time was acquiring players with dubious financial inducements as well as racking up huge debt. O’Neill strengthened the core of that Celtic side in 2000-01 season by bringing in Lennon, Sutton, Valgaeren, Thompson, Agathe, Vega (loan) and Douglas. Around £20m was spent on those players and all of them were involved in the first team almost immediately. There were no ‘projects; among that group, they were all seasoned pros with experience, skill and physicality. Rangers would have a fight on their hands from the off and by August 2000 had been thrashed 6-2 by O’Neill’s side.

O’Neill’s first season saw Celtic win a domestic treble for the first time since 1969. In Europe they played in the UEFA cup and defeated Juenesse Esch and HJK Helsinki before losing 2-1 at home to Bordeaux after a creditable 1-1 draw in France. The team performed well in both games and in truth the fans were more concerned with dethroning Rangers than Europe that year. Winning the title in 2001 saw Celtic have a second crack at the Champions League. The hoops had never played in the group stages and their only attempt to reach them in 1998-99 season had ended in Zagreb when an insipid performance saw them lose 3-0 to a team containing Mark Viduka and the hugely talented Robert Prosinecki. The draw could not have been tougher as Celtic headed to Amsterdam to play Ajax. It was to be one of Celtic’s best away performances in Europe for many years as they swept the home side away with a 3-1 win. A nervous 90 minutes in Glasgow were negotiated and Celtic was in the group stages for the first time.

That First Champions’ League group for Celtic saw them face Juventus, Porto and Rosenborg. They won all 3 home games and lost all 3 away games. Admittedly, they were unfortunate in Turin where a disgraceful last minute penalty decision cost them a point but it was worrying that their sparkling home form wasn’t being replicated away from home. Some suggested the fervour of the Parkhead crowd drove the team on and that the team missed this in away ties but it was more than that. Few teams fancied coming to Celtic Park in those days but mostly because Celtic was a very dangerous side then.

The following season Celtic fans looked forward to another crack at the Champions League but after a 3-1 win over Basel at home in the qualifying round lost 2-0 away to go out on away goals. The huge disappointment of that result began to fade as Celtic cut through the opposition in the UEFA cup to reach their first European final in 33 years. Suduva, Blackburn Rovers, Stuttgart, Celta Vigo, Liverpool and Boavista were all vanquished as Celtic’s European reputation grew. The final in Seville was a bitter sweet affair with the supporters being magnificent while the team fell at the last hurdle against a decent but cynical Porto side. That match still leaves a bitter taste in the mouth as the time wasting and play acting of FC Porto diminished their victory which was in truth deserved. They would go on to win the Champions League the following season and it is a measure of how far Celtic had come under O’Neill that they matched that side for most of the final.

The following season Celtic disposed of Kaunas and MTK Budapest in the prelims before finding themselves drawn in a tough group with Bayern Munich, Anderlecht and Lyon. It was as tough as it gets in Europe but Celtic did well in the home times beating Anderlecht and a fine Lyon side before drawing 0-0 with Bayern. Away from home they really should have done better. A 2-1 loss in Munich saw poor goalkeeping undo much good work. A 1-0 defeat in Brussels against a team reduced to ten men for most of the game was a wasted opportunity and Bobo Balde’s late handball in Lyon gave the home side a penalty which snatched qualification out of Celtic’s hands. It was a good overall performance in the group but individual error undid the good work of the team and they tumbled into the UEFA cup where they reached the quarter finals.

O’Neill’s last crack at the Champions League in 2004-05 season saw Celtic paired with AC Milan, Shakthar Donetsk and Barcelona.  It was a big ask to get out of that group but again Celtic fought valiantly at home losing only to Henrik Larsson’s Barcelona after a titanic struggle. Shakthar were beaten and Milan lucky to escape with a 0-0 draw. The away ties saw Celtic gain a creditable 1-1 draw in the Camp Nou, lose 3-1 to Milan after pressing for a winner at 1-1 and crashing to a deserved 3-0 defeat in Ukraine to Shakthar after another flat away performance.  O’Neill’s side though kept up a high standard in Europe while also battling for supremacy in Scotland against a strong Rangers side.

The higher the demands of the domestic games the higher the standard seems to be in Europe. Celtic need pushed, stretched and challenged domestically as it drives up standards. Celtic’s best days in Europe have come when the domestic game was competitive. It is no accident that Dundee United and Aberdeen reached European finals when the league was very competitive. O’Neill had some fine players at his disposal, possibly the best group since Jock Stein’s time in charge. His record in Champions’ League Group stage games is as follows: Pld 18 W6 D3 L9. Those bald statistics disguise a few truths though; all of those victories were at Celtic Park and only Barcelona won there in the UCL group stages during O’Neill’s time. His side’s heroics in the UEFA cup in 2003 and 2004 cannot be ignored nor can the qualification victory against Ajax or the titanic struggle with an excellent Valencia side.

Celtic was a club transformed under O’Neill and became a side which few teams relished facing. The fans had their confidence and pride back and helped make Celtic Park a real fortress in those years. They had a team of solid, seasoned professionals, proven goal scorers and a decent defence. The difference though between being a good European team and a team pushing on to the later stages in the UCL was to be found in Celtic’s away form. They played well in some of those away matches but just fell short on occasion. Indeed some European commentators thought Celtic’s home crowd was the main reason they did so well against some of the best opposition around. As Jock Stein said many years ago though, ‘I never saw a fan score a goal.’ It’s the players who make the difference but perhaps the belief the crowd gives them at home is increased enough to help them succeed. The margins are fine in European football and any factor that works in your favour helps.

O’Neill’s overall win ratio during his five seasons at Celtic was 75.5% and even Jock Stein couldn’t match that. Many Celtic supporters would argue with some justification that his side was the best since the Stein era. Some might suggest Rodgers’ ‘Invincibles’ or the centenary year side of Billy McNeil could match them but neither of these teams made an impact in Europe. Indeed Rodgers stubborn determination to keep playing his passing game against superior sides like PSG and Barcelona lead to some heavy defeats.

To compare Martin O’Neill’s side with the current Celtic team is a little unfair. I doubt many would argue the current side is better as it doesn’t contain the sort of quality O’Neill had all over the pitch in his team. Players like Larsson, Sutton, Petrov, Thompson or Moravcik would cost huge sums of money today. O’Neill got the best out of them and was tactically astute enough to play to their strengths. His team had pace, power, skill and character in abundance and were well lead and motivated by one of Celtic’s greatest managers. They tangled with some of the best sides in Europe in their time and made sure every one of them knew they were in a game.

O’Neill restored Celtic to where we all hope and believe they should be; successful at home and decent in Europe. In some ways the current side is still a work in progress and there will be more comings and goings before the transfer window closes. They need to start fulfilling their potential in Europe and stop losing to ordinary teams they really should roll over. Martin O’Neill once said, ‘You can’t afford to rely on history-you have to make it.’ His words echo Jock Stein who said in 1967…

‘It’s up to us, everyone at Celtic Park to build up our own legends. We don’t want to live with history, to be compared with legends of the past. We must make new legends.’

The current Celtic side may not yet be good enough to create any European history, but they are within reach of an iconic piece of domestic history. I for one hope they do reach out and grasp the glittering prize before them. They have a chance to be mentioned in Celtic’s history as the team who won the Ten.

The opportunity will not come again so make sure you take it.