Smells like team spirit

 

Smells like Team Spirit 

‘This is gonnae be another long season, Paddy,’ Scott said as he filed out of Celtic Park on a cold, dark St Andrew’s day in 1991. ‘Yon Marshall couldnae catch flu in an epidemic and that Cascarino couldnae score in the proverbial barrel, I’d play Gerry Creaney every time.’ Paddy nodded, ‘Aye, mate. Tommy Coyne saved the bacon there, but fuck me, we really struggled tae beat Dunfermline at home. That says it all.’ As they reached the end of Janefield Street, the two friends stopped for a final word before parting company. Scott looked at his friend, ‘mind we’re heading up the west end tae see this band tonight. Jacqueline bought the tickets and she’ll not be pleased if we hit the Don Revie and miss it.’ Paddy grinned, ‘aye, we need cheering up after that game. I hope they’re no shite. I’ll get ye at Buchanan Steet underground at 7 and we’ll jump the subway.’ The two friends headed off into the gathering darkness of a Scottish winter’s night.

Scott McArdle looked at himself in the mirror, making sure he hadn’t missed any part of his chin when shaving. ‘Where are you aff tae the night?’ his old man enquired as he passed the bathroom. ‘Up the west-end da, seeing a band in wan of they student joints.’ His old man, the pink sports Times in his hand, his black glasses with one leg taped on with white tape grinned, ‘did I tell ye I saw the Beatles in the Odeon in 1963? They were back up band tae tae yon Yank with the dark specs.’ Scott looked at his father, ‘you saw the Beatles?’ ‘Aye, no bad at aw. That Lennon was a gallus guy.’ As Scott watched, his old man bizarrely started to shuffle about in his slippers and sing, ‘shake it on baby noo, twist and shout.’ Scott laughed out loud as did his father. ‘Anyhow, ye can use my Old Spice, it’s in the bathroom cabinet,’ his old man said as he shuffled off towards the kitchen. Scott shook his head, ‘yer aw right, da. I’ve got some of my ain stuff here.’ He heard his old man mutter, ‘aye, fuckin Linx Africa. Cat’s pish if ye ask me.’

Scott met Paddy by Buchanan Street underground as planned and they jumped the train to Byres Road. The train was quiet and they sat in quiet conversation. ‘Has this place got a bar or should we smuggle in a hauf bottle?’ Paddy enquired. ‘Student unions have always got a bar and they’re usually cheap. Jacqueline and her pal, Clare are meeting us and we’ll head up for a pint before the band comes oan.’ Paddy looked at him, ‘this Clare a student like yer burd?’ Scott nodded, ‘aye, another daftie that wants tae teach bammy weans.’ Paddy nodded, thinking the night might have some unforeseen opportunities.

They met the two young women outside the subway station and headed through the back lanes towards Queen Margaret’s Union. Paddy gawped at an odd shaped sculpture they passed on the way. ‘What’s that meant to be?’ Clare, a short, blonde girl with a keen mind replied, ‘it’s part of the geology display the university have dotted about the place. The stone is a grey granodiorite from Ballachulish and contains xenoliths of dark Ballachulish Slate. It used to be part of a culvert on the railway.’ Paddy looked at her blankly before replying, ‘granodiorite? I think I drank a bottle of that in Benidorm.’ Clare had the grace to smile. As they continued on in the darkness, Paddy muttered to Scott, ‘looks mer like a stone vag, tae me, mate.’ Scott laughed. ‘Never change, Paddy.’

 

They passed a couple of skinny looking students who were manning the door and headed into the Union. The girls excused themselves and headed off to the toilets as Scott and Paddy headed for the bar. The main band won’t be on for an hour, I say we listen tae the first lot fae here & have a few drinks?’ Paddy ventured. Scott nodded and joined him in the queue at the bar. Paddy looked at the guy in front of him, who stood at least 6 feet 6. ‘Fuckin hell, wit dae they feed these students oan?’ The tall man took his drinks and sat with his two friends nearby. Scott bought drinks for himself and his company and turned to see an empty table by the big guy. ‘Anybody sitting here, big man?’ he enquired. ‘No, help yourself the tall man said in an American drawl.’ They sat and sipped their pints. ‘This band better be good. I’m knackered after that fitbaw the day,’ he said to the American who looked at him as if he was talking Chinese. ‘I’m sorry, your accent is a little heavy.’ Paddy cut in, like a half cut UN interpreter, ‘he’s just saying we were watching Celtic today and his daft burd suggested we come watch some band she’s intae.’ ‘Oh, right, I got you now,’ the big American said. ‘So, you were watching, like a sports team today?’ Paddy nodded, ‘aye, Celtic. They’re a bit Lillian Gish these days but we live in hope they’ll get better.’ The tall man laughed, gesturing for Paddy to translate. ‘Lillian Gish?’ Paddy obliged, ‘aye, pish, rubbish, ye know?’ The blond man on the big guy’s right, wearing dark sunglasses, cut in, laughing, ‘sounds like the Seattle Sounders.’ The big guy nodded, ‘I gotcha now.’

Before the conversation could continue the girls returned from the toilet. Jacqueline’s eyes widened, ‘Krist! Oh, my God. Why did I not bring a camera!’ She glanced at the other two Americans, her face reddening. Scott looked at her, ‘is this the band?’ She nodded, ‘aye it bloody is!’ Paddy looked on none the wiser, ‘I thought it wiz just mer students- no bad c*nts by the way.’ A voice called, ‘sound check guys,’ and the three Americans drained their glasses and stood. Krist Novoselic towered over Jacqueline and smiled, ‘gotta go. Enjoy the show.’ When they had left, Jacqueline and Clare looked at the two confused young men sitting drinking their beer. ‘You were talking to them? I want to know every single word they said!’

An hour and a few drinks later they were in the midst of a heaving mass of sweaty bodies as the American band filled the hall with their raging guitar sound. Paddy and Scott bounced around like everyone else, fuelled by drink and the exuberance of youth. As the band finished ‘Floyd the barber,’ to a huge cheer, the lead singer, whom Clare had informed Scott and Paddy, was called Kurt, said with the hint of a smile, ‘this one’s for all of you whose sports team is Lillian Gish.’ Paddy grinned as the guitars and drums filled the air again. The singer began to sing above the clashing instruments as the room danced as one…

‘Load up on guns, bring your friends
It's fun to lose and to pretend
She's over-bored and self-assured
Oh no, I know a dirty word

Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello, how low
Hello, hello, hello

With the lights out, it's less dangerous
Here we are now, entertain us
I feel stupid and contagious
Here we are now, entertain us
A mulatto, an albino, a mosquito, my libido
Yeah, hey, yay…’

The following morning, Scott awoke, his head still pounding like the big American’s drums. ‘Aw man, I need tae chuck the drink.’ He walked to the bathroom in the pale, Sunday morning light, trying to remember the night before. The band were great. He recalled Paddy and Clare snogging like a pair of hungry bulldogs eating their dinners. He looked in the mirror and a pair of bloodshot eyes looked back. ‘Did that band mention the Celts being Lillian Gish?’  He splashed cold water on his face. ‘Back tae bed, it’ll come back tae ye later.’ He stumbled into the bedroom and folded like a deckchair onto the bed. ‘No a bad band, that lot. No bad at aw. No a patch on Celtic though.’ No matter how bad your team got- they were always your team. Sleep overtook him as he heard strains of ‘teen spirit’ echoing in his head.

Remembering Nirvana at Queen Margaret's Union. St Andrew's day 1991.

 

 

The Bet

 

 

The Bet

 The Celtic fans crammed into the Beach end of Aberdeen’s Pittodrie Stadium roared as Celtic cranked up the pressure on the Aberdeen defence. It had been a tight game, full of snarling challenges and no quarter given by either side. The first half had ended goalless and the Celtic fans tuned into their radios knew Hearts were ahead at Tannadice. Given they already had a five-point lead on Celtic, it was vital that the men in green claimed the points at fortress Pittodrie. A place where they had stumbled a few times in recent seasons.

'Need a goal here, George,’ Tony said to his long-time friend, ‘if we go any further behind the league will be over.’ George Toner nodded, ‘aye, Hearts don’t look like losing these days but we just need tae keep winning and make them work for it.’ As they refocused on the game, Owen Archdeacon took a quick throw to Mo Johnston who swivelled away from his marker. As another Aberdeen defender rushed to close him down, the quick-thinking striker unleashed a hard, low shot which flew past the goalkeeper and into the net. The Beach end exploded with joy! Celtic had their break through and they weren’t going to let it slip now.

 The coach pulled into Stonehaven, where it seemed every bar was filled with Celtic fans. The police moved them out of Aberdeen as soon as the game was over and many supporters’ clubs had pre-arranged to stop in the small fishing town just off the A92 for a few beers. In truth, most stayed till closing time and trundled into Glasgow at 2am.  Local pub owners were glad of a full house and the as their supporters’ bus drew up outside the Ship Inn, bus convenor, Charlie Devine stood up and addressed the fans in his own inimitable style. ‘Right, listen up. We aw remember the trouble we had in this toon last year when some daft basturt robbed the condom machine in the bog. I want yer best behaviour in here! Nae taking the pish oot their accents or any other fuckwittery. Be warned! Baws will be kicked!’ There was a loud cheer as the door of the coach opened and they piled into the bar. The few locals already there smiled when the sixty thirsty Celtic fans besieged the bar.

 Once George had bought a couple of pints he sat with Tony in the corner, watching the banter and laughter unfolding in the bar. ‘A good win that today. Huns lost at Clydebank but Hearts won at Tannadice so still five points behind.’ Tony sighed, ‘do ye think we can still win this league?’ George shook his head, ‘four games left. Ye have tae say it’s Hearts league to lose now.’ As Tony took a long drink of his beer his friend looked at him. ‘Are you serious aboot that bet ye put oan wi that walloper, Dixon?’ Tony nodded, ‘cannae get oot of it noo. After the 4-4 game at Ibrox, he said Celtic had no chance of winning the league. I told him we still would and he said, ‘if Celtic win this league, I’ll run through the streets naked.’ George grinned, ‘and if we don’t, you’ll dae it?’ Tony exhaled, ‘No way tae avoid it.’

 George laughed, ‘so let me get this straight; you bet that big currant bun that if Celtic win the league, he has tae run through the scheme bollock naked? If they don’t, then you have tae dae the streak?’ Tony nodded, ‘aye, that’s aboot the size of it.’ George laughed even louder, ‘the whole fuckin scheme will be seeing the size of it if Celtic don’t pull aff a miracle.’ Tony laughed with him, seeing the funny side of things. George sipped his beer, ‘I hope tae fuck Celtic spare your blushes. They’ll be lining the streets tae see wan of you two dafties streaking.’ Tony sipped his beer hoping it wouldn’t be him.

 A week later, Celtic, inspired by Roy Aitken beat Hibs 2-0 at Celtic Park. Hearts, looking nervous, drew 1-1 with Aberdeen. The gap was four points with Celtic having played a game less. Dundee was then defeated 2-0 at Celtic Park, before Celtic played their game in hand away to Motherwell. They laid siege to the Motherwell goal for much of the game before again winning 2-0. It had all come down to the last game of the season. Celtic were away to St Mirren and Hearts travelled to Dens Park. The mathematics were simple; Celtic had to defeat St Mirren by at least 3 goals and hope that Hearts lost at Dundee. It was a long shot but as long as there was hope, the team would keep fighting.

 George Toner sat beside Tony on the coach as it climbed up onto the M8 for the trip to Paisley. ‘This is it,’ he smiled at Tony, ‘we’re playing well and I think we’ll win. It’s all aboot wit Dundee dae against Hearts. They were hopeless at Celtic Park last week but they’re chasing Europe so they’ll be up for it.’ Tony gazed out the bus window, ‘a draw does Hearts though. It’s gonnae be a long afternoon.’ As the coach queued in traffic in Paisley, George pointed to a restaurant. ‘See that place there? I see it’s called ‘Pierre’s brasserie.’ Tony looked at him, a tad confused, ‘and?’ George met his gaze, ‘if Celtic don’t win this league, you’ll be opening one called ‘Tony’s Bare-arsery.’ He guffawed with laughter at his own joke as Tony shook his head. ‘Sometimes you’re a total fud, Georgie boy!’

 There are certain moments when football becomes an art form and transcends its masculine, combative nature and becomes something beautiful. As George and Tony watched, mesmerised, such a moment arrived in the unlikely setting of St Mirren’s love Street stadium on a damp May Saturday in 1986. Veteran defender, Danny McGrain, facing his own goal, played the ball delicately over his own head to Murdo MacLeod. The stocky midfielder played it back to McGrain, who instantly fed Paul McStay. The Maestro turned his marker beautifully and slipped the ball to Roy Atken, without a pause, Aitken fed the overlapping McGrain who in turn slipped the ball forward to Brian McClair. McClair nutmegged the centre half before racing towards the box and firing in a low cross to the onrushing Johnston, who gleefully smashed the ball into the net. In took Celtic just seven passes and 16 seconds to sweep the ball from one end of the field to the other and score a goal of breathtaking beauty. They now led 3-0. It was up to Dundee to make or break Celtic’s day…

 A few days after Celtic’s astonishing league win at Love Street, George and Tony saw the imposing figure of big Ian Dixon walking towards them in the street. ‘When are you getting the kit aff, Fannybaws? A bet’s a bet,’ Tony smiled. The large, bearded man, grimaced and fished a photograph out of his inside pocket before handing it to Tony. ‘Already done it. Jammy fuckin’ tarriers.’ Tony and George stared at the polaroid instamatic image and laughed out loud. It showed a fairly distant shot of a bulky, naked man running up a deserted Sauchiehall Street, his white buttocks shining in the street lights. ‘Looks like a full moon that night eh,’ smiled George. The bigger man was not amused and walked past them muttering, ‘Albert fuckin Kid.’

 

 

 

 

 

 

A shot at glory

 

A shot at glory

Celtic’s performances in the Champions League this season, Dortmund apart, have been commendably consistent. To play in the toughest club competition on the planet and finish with a record which reads P8 W3 D3 L2 is a big improvement on what we have watched in recent years. We gave a very good Aston Villa side a run for their money this week considering the first three names on the team sheet for many this season- Carter-Vickers, Maeda and Kyogo- were missing. It was not to be on the night though, but the job was already done in terms of qualifying for the play-offs.

The ties with Bayern will make Celtic even more money. A home tie in the UCL now is worth £3m+ in ticket sales alone to Celtic. This season has been a very good one financially for the club and with the SPFL Champions facing play off ties to reach the Champions League next season, the club needs to get the squad stronger in order to have the best chance of reaping the rewards the Champions League brings. As a club, Celtic has a history of not building on a position of strength and that needs to change.

Events off the field in Birmingham seemed to gain as much publicity as events on it. The use of pyro and smoke bombs have long been a cause of debate among Celtic fans. Whether you like them or not, UEFA have set the rules and they are banned. Celtic can expect yet another fine and the very real possibility of fans being banned from the away leg of the tie with Bayern. That would be a real tragedy for the supporters who love these away trips in Europe. Reaction to this possibility led to some castigating those who bring pyro to matches as ‘selfish wee neds’ who are spoiling it for others. Some, of course, turned their fire on UEFA for banning pyro it in the first place, but there are serious safety concerns around its use. A one-match suspended ban on issuing away tickets for Champions League games as well as an immediate €20,000 fine was implemented by UEFA after Celtic supporters lit pyrotechnics during the game at Borussia Dortmund earlier in the campaign. The rules are there and they are known. The club has a history of these events at its matches so it seems likely that consequences will follow

The more right-wing media outlets were getting into a lather about the anti-royalist songs sung by some Celtic fans in Birmingham. They used words like ‘outrage’ and ‘shameful’ at what was little more than uncouth banter. I seriously doubt that anyone was outraged as it was as predictable as the Scottish rain. Perhaps they should save words like ‘outrage’ and ‘shameful’ for occasions when Palestinian children are being incinerated but I guess that doesn’t suit their agenda.

Those who hanker after Scotland’s two biggest clubs one day joining the English game were given a reminder of the sort of issues that could occur should that extremely unlikely scenario ever arise; Celtic is a club with a very distinct identity and the ‘F*ck the Pope and the IRA’ banner hung over a motorway bridge was a reminder of the sort of welcome fans would receive in some English cities. I doubt the English police would want Glasgow’s big two visiting regularly and the moronic hooligan fringe which lingers in the English game would doubtless be on the prowl.

So, we will barely have time to catch our breath before Bayern Munich come calling in ten days or so. The team sit top of the Bundesliga with just one loss in 19 matches and will be formidable opponents. With players like Neuer, Kane, Kimmich, Sane and Thomas Muller, we know Celtic will have a mountain to climb. The Germans will be delighted to have drawn Celtic as the alternative was Manchester City. The first match at Celtic Park will be interesting though as Celtic are rediscovering the sort of home form in Europe that made Celtic Park a fortress in the O’Neill era. The fans will bring the thunder and the team will know they have a shot at glory. It's going to be quite a night.

Time will tell whether the team is capable of giving a side like Bayern a real test but we are at the top table of European football so let’s enjoy the ride and remind folk that there is life outside the rich leagues and we still have our dreams and songs to sing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A time and a place

  

A time and a place 

It may not have felt like it on the day, but Celtic’s derby match with Rangers at the start of January wasn’t the most important match of the month. On Wednesday, Celtic face Young Boys of Bern in the Champions league with qualification for the play offs tantalisingly close. Celtic sit in 21st position in the table with 9 points and a win would almost certainly guarantee them a play-off spot. Just below them, like crocodiles under a trap door, sit sides such as PSG, Manchester City, PSV Eindhoven and Stuttgart. So it is absolutely vital that Celtic take full advantage of the decent draw they have been handed and beat the Swiss side. Anything less will leave them with a mountain to climb at Villa Park at the end of the month. 

 

Speaking of Villa Park, I have a good friend who lives and works in the fine city of Birmingham. He tells me the game is one the locals are looking forward to very much. Of course, they think they’ll roll Celtic as easily as they swatted Hibs aside in Europe a couple of years back but Brendan Rodgers and his players will have other ideas. Birmingham has a sizable Irish community and, as is the fashion in many cities now, the city is broken up into various quarters. In Birmingham they now have a Jewellery quarter, Knowledge quarter, etc. The area of Digbeth has been designated ‘Irish Quarter.’ Celtic fans will be guided there and will find plenty of friendly pubs but of course a major police operation will be in place as this is designated a high-risk game. Many pubs have already been told of the standard of behaviour expected on the premises and the likelihood that pubs will be closed if things get too rowdy.  

 

The local police have also warned landlords that songs mentioning the IRA or disrespecting the King may be dealt with by officers closing the pub. I know it seems ridiculous that expressing a negative opinion about a monarchy is something which might excite the police but England is culturally a different place from Scotland. I make no value judgement about Irish republican songs, but merely point out that there is a balance to be struck between freedom of expression and not offending people. Birmingham has recently marked the 50th anniversary of the dreadful pub bombings of November 1974, which killed 21 people and injured over 180 others. No one has ever been rightfully convicted of the bombings and it remains an extremely painful episode for many in the city. It is to be hoped that Celtic supporters show some tact and respect when in town. You just know certain parties will be waiting to blacken our club's name, so if you’re travelling south, use your common sense. There’s a time and a place for everything. This is the actual communique being sent to pubs and other venues likely to be hosting Celtic fans... 

 

 

On the field of play, Celtic are doing reasonably well without hitting the heights of the early season when they trounced Rangers and convincingly beat RB Leipzig. The challenge of facing a top six Premiership side is a daunting one but I’m sure we won’t disgrace ourselves. Villa, who sit fifth in the Champions League table, are a big, athletic and very talented side. Celtic however, must focus on the Young Boys match totally. This is where we can finally make a mark in Europe again. Our record of 2 wins, 3 draws and one defeat in this year's UCL is good for a club from one of the smaller leagues of European football, but the prize of a play-off spot is with our reach. Let’s take it and then Villa Park can become a much more relaxing trip. 

I used to describe the Champions League as the caviar of club football and the week-to-week SPFL matches as our bread and butter. We are dining at the top table at the moment and if we want to continue to enjoy the caviar for a while yet then we need to make the Swiss Roll first. Let's raise the rafters on Wednesday and drive Celtic to victory.