The Lord of the Wing

Celtic Manager Jimmy McGrory always liked to keep an eye on the reserve side to assess if any new talent was ready for the first team. On a chilly October day in 1961 McGrory, puffing his usual pipe. watched the Celtic second string take on St Johnstone at Celtic Park. As the teams trotted out at a near deserted stadium, he couldn’t have failed to notice the skinny wee boy with the flame red hair who looked more suited to schoolboy football than the muscular challenges of the professional game. He watched with interest to see how the young lad his scout, John Higgins, had told him about would cope. The game got underway and it soon became obvious that the lad was indeed a player. He turned the St Johnstone full back inside out and laid on three of Celtic’s four goals that day. He also managed to score the fourth himself. McGrory left his seat deciding there and then that he would sign this lad that very evening. The wee lad’s name was James Connolly Johnstone.

The Celtic which teenager Jimmy Johnstone joined in 1961 was a club which lacked direction. They had an enormous fan-base and some very talented players coming through the ranks but were brittle and disorganised at times. They had a Chairman in Sir Robert Kelly who thought nothing of telling Manager Jimmy McGrory who to play in his first team and who to leave out. A talented batch of youngsters was emerging but they needed moulding into a team which believed in itself.  Johnstone’s first team debut against Kilmarnock in 1963 showed all of these flaws. A bright opening by the visitors was soon forgotten as a very useful Kilmarnock thrashed them 6-0.  Despite such inconsistency the team had fought its way to the 1963 Cup final though few gave them much hope against the dominant Rangers team of the era. In front of a huge Hampden crowd Celtic raised their game and matched the odds on favourites for the 90 minutes, earning a deserved 1-1 draw. The Celtic support had watched Johnstone give the Rangers defence the run around and felt they had a  real chance of ending a six year trophy famine in the replay. Astonishingly Sir Robert Kelly told McGrory to drop Johnstone for the replay. Rangers won 3-0 and the Celtic support was livid. Jimmy was in and out of the first team over the next two seasons and despite Celtic’s struggles was developing into an excellent winger who’s dribbling skills were mesmerising defenders and fans alike. Like many great talents, Jimmy was a complex man and did have spells in the reserves and dark days when he thought of giving up football altogether. On one occasion as the Celtic reserve team trotted off at Easter Road for the half time break the Hibs Manager said to him...

‘What are you doing here Jimmy? You should be in the first team showing those skills off to thousands.’

The Hibs manager knew a player when he saw one and few would have guessed the remarkable journey both on and off the pitch those two would have in the years ahead. His name was Jock Stein.

Volumes have been written by far better writers than I about Jimmy’s achievements on the pitch once Stein arrived at Celtic Park and put his ideas about how the game should be played into practice. Jimmy became one of the greatest players of the era and saved some of his best displays for the big occasions. His destruction of the Rangers defence on numerous occasions, his wonderful display against Leeds United in the 1970 European Cup Semi Final or his tormenting of England full back Paul Reaney as Scotland beat England in 1974. Who can forget his display in Lisbon in 1967 when Celtic reached their greatest heights? Then there was the time he had 100,000 Real Madrid fans chanting ‘Ole’ every time he glided past one of their demoralised defenders. Jimmy flourished under Jock Stein’s fatherly influence as did the whole Celtic team. They became one of the greatest club sides in European history and amassed 25 major trophies under Jock. Yes, Stein had to work hard to keep him disciplined and fit and Jimmy drove him to distraction at times, but there is no doubt that Jock loved the Jimmy and recognised his talent as being a unique one.

Those of you lucky enough to have seen the wee man in the prime of his career were blessed indeed. He was and remains in the eyes of many the greatest player they ever saw. This accolade for formally bestowed when Celtic fans voted him the greatest ever Celtic Player in 2002. As he stood on the stage at the SECC with his old comrades from the Stein era and modern heroes like Henrik Larsson, he beamed with delight despite being in the midst of his courageous fight with Motor Neurone Disease. This wonderfully gifted footballer basked in the genuine affection of the Celtic faithful that evening, many of whom had never seen him play in the flesh. They chanted the song which had echoed around the football stadiums of the 1960s and 70s…..

‘Jimmy oh Jimmy Johnstone, oh Jimmy Johnstone on the wing!’

Jimmy Johnstone lost his battle with Motor Neurone Disease on 13^th March 2006. It was the one defender he could not get past. There was an outpouring of genuine grief about the loss of one of the great players and characters of Scottish football history. The week after his passing, Celtic played in the League Cup Final and every player in the team wore the number 7 shorts in tribute to the great Jimmy Johnstone. The fans chanted his name throughout the final as they still do on occasion at matches. In December 2009 a statue of Jimmy Johnstone was unveiled outside Celtic Park’s front entrance. It captures Jimmy as we remember him, in mid-flight, ball tied to his toe and perfectly balanced. In the background is the statue of Jock Stein holding the European Cup who might be echoing those words of so long ago…

‘What are you doing here Jimmy? You should be in the first team showing those skills off to thousands.’

The wee man might reply… ‘I did Boss, I did and by God we were the best!’

You were indeed Jimmy and the Celtic faithful will never forget your sheer brilliance nor the contribution you made to the club you loved as much as we do. You played the game with a smile and you lit up the lives of those who saw you play. Rest in peace wee man, our Lord of the Wing.

James Connolly Johnstone

1944-2006

Celtic Legend. 

Tirnaog

A Tale of Two Cities....Lisbon and Barcelona

I almost dropped my basket in Tesco when I saw on the book shelves a blue volume entitled ‘To Barcelona and Beyond: The Men Who Made Rangers Champions of Europe.’ Had I missed something? Had I been in a coma for a few years and failed to register that Sir Minty had indeed conquered Europe with his now defunct team? On closer inspection it turned out some Journalistic license had been taken by the author, Paul Smith. It seems winning Europe’s third rated trophy in 1972 allows the former Rangers FC to claim the title of ‘European Champions.’ This will no doubt come as a surprise to that magnificent Ajax team of the era who were the actual European champions in 1972. So how are we to rate the Cup Winners Cup victory of 1972 in the pantheon of great Scottish European results and how are we to gauge the status of the Rangers team who played that night in riot torn Catalonia? Well, firstly, Rangers qualified for the tournament via the back door after Champions Celtic, who beat them in the 1971 Scottish Cup Final, obviously elected to play in the European Champions Cup. Celtic were in good form in 1971-72 season and would stroll to the title.

Season 71-72 began with the big two drawn in the same league cup  group and that August Celtic played their great rivals twice at Ibrox, as Celtic Park was in the midst of building the new South Stand. A convincing 2-0 win for the Hoops on 14^th of August was followed by a resounding 3-0 drubbing for Rangers a fortnight later and these results had alarm bells ringing in the Blue Room. Rangers morale was in tatters as the League campaign began and by late September they sat in 14^th place having lost again to Celtic at Ibrox. Indeed 3 out of their opening 4 league games were lost. Europe offered some respite from a dire league campaign that would see them lose 11 league matches and finish 16 points behind Celtic. Remember these were the days when it was 2 points for a win, in today’s terms it was a 24 point deficit! Celtic would complete a whitewash over them with a 2-1 victory in the New Year’s game of 1972 giving them an impressive statistic of 4 victories in 4 Old Firm games for the season. Both Clubs progressed in Europe and found themselves facing home European semi-finals in the same city on the same evening. A combined crowd of 155,000 watched these unique matches and Rangers defeated a strangely subdued Bayern Munich side to reach the Cup Winners Cup Final in Barcelona. Their players celebrated by watching Celtic lose a penalty shoot-out with Inter Milan on a TV in the dressing room. Former Ibrox player Alex McDonald recalled his team mates cheering each Inter penalty as it hit the net. Celtic lost out to Inter but would go on to defeat a very good Hibernian team 6-1 in the Cup final to record a double for the season. For Rangers, the domestic disasters would be forgotten if they won in Barcelona wouldn’t they?

Much has been written about the behaviour of the Rangers fans before, during and after the game in Barcelona. Rangers won 3-2 although a resurgent Russian team complained that field invasions in the last few minutes when they were pressing for an equalizer had affected their players. Rangers kicked off after losing a second goal, and within a few seconds a long ball had found Johnston in an offside position. To waste time he belted the ball into the stands, at which hundreds of Rangers fans had a better idea for running down the clock and poured onto the pitch. "The majority of them were drunk," Russian player Pilguy remembers, "They had mad faces, with bulging eyes.' They had to be cleared from the field and although they didn't really do us any harm, it meant the game was held up, and that was a big advantage for our opponents. They were exhausted by that stage and could hardly drag their legs, and I'm sure in that final four minutes we'd have scored a third." The pitched battle after the match with the riot Police brought shame on Scotland as did the brawls and rioting involving Rangers fans in other Spanish resorts that evening. Rangers received the Cup in a small ante-room under the stands. The Rangers manager on that day, Willie Waddell, didn’t mince his words when he said of his club’s fans...

“It is to these tikes, hooligans, louts and drunkards that I pinpoint my message – it is because of your gutter-rat behaviour that we are being publicly tarred and feathered.’

When one contrasts Barcelona in 1972 to Lisbon in 1967 there is simply no real comparison. One was a festival of football during which wonderful attacking football overcame the defensive stranglehold of Inter. In Barcelona, a grim battle of attrition ensued as Rangers held on for dear life in those closing minutes. The intervention of the worst elements of the Rangers support meant the final is seldom remembered for the football. Aberdeen’s Cup Winners Cup Victory of 1983 was achieved by a talented young team attacking and defeating more illustrious opponents. Celtic and Aberdeen fans at those games were  good ambassadors for Scotland and came home victorious and perhaps more importantly with their reputations enhanced. As if in a grim action replay, the behavior of Celtic fans at the 2003 UEFA Cup Final in Seville was in stark contrast to the disgraceful scenes in Manchester in 2008 when Rangers fans once again brought shame on their club.

But what of the Rangers team of 1972? Were they the greats of Rangers folklore? The honest truth is that on their day they were a fairly good team and beat some top names on their way to Barcelona. However, four whippings from Celtic that season suggests the Hoops were still far superior. To finish the league campaign 16 points adrift of Celtic says it all. Rangers of Barcelona in 1972 join the likes of Slovan Bratislava, FC Magdeburg, Mechelen and Dynamo Tibilisi as forgotten winners of the third rated European trophy. Who outside their own fans or immediate opponents (and perhaps Spanish Police force) will even remember their achievement? The Rangers team of 72 were certainly no Lisbon Lions and the six or seven Lisbon veterans still at Celtic Park that season mauled them regularly to remind them of that fact.

Tirnaog

A True Celtic Hero

19 years ago on a chilly, damp January day Celtic took on Rangers at Celtic Park in the traditional New Year’s game.  A sell-out crowd gathered to watch the game and those rooting for Celtic were hoping for rather than expecting a victory. Years of under-investment coupled with what we now recognise as  reckless spending at Ibrox saw Celtic struggle to live with Rangers in those years. The game came during a period of bitter strife within the Celtic family as fed up fans had been organising and demanding change. Celts for Change had spearheaded the fans opposition to the ‘biscuit tin’ Board who seemed to have little idea of how to stop Celtic’s decline. Combining fans anger and frustration with the acumen of some Celtic supporting businessmen seemed the best way to oust the discredited and failed custodians who had allowed Celtic to slip perilously close to insolvency.

In some ways the Rangers game of January 1994 was the straw that broke the camel’s back. It was played out on a gloomy afternoon in a stadium best described as a working Victorian museum. After 28 minutes of torrid play Celtic found themselves 0-3 down and the mood on the Celtic end terraces was becoming very ugly. I stood near a Celtic fan in his 30s almost crying with rage at what he was watching, ‘You bastards had best get yer taxis booked now!’ he screamed in the general direction of the Director’s box. Any good will towards the people running Celtic at that time was completely erased by the humiliating and depressing drubbing Celtic took in that first 45 minutes. Rangers eased off the gas in the second half and the game finished 4-2 in their favour. In truth Celtic never got near them that miserable day back in 1994. But as we trudged home from that game in the darkness and rain, wheels were already in motion to change Celtic FC forever.

Fergus McCann had failed with a takeover bid the year before but enough shareholders saw the slippery slope Celtic were on and sided with McCann’s consortium in early 1994 to break the log jam. Celtic were miles behind Rangers and over £7m in debt, there seemed an unanswerable case for change. Over a thousand Celtic fans waited outside Celtic Park in the rain in March 1994 while negotiations dragged on for hours inside. Eventually McCann emerged flanked by Brian Dempsey who told the waiting fans the news they longed to hear…’The battle is over, the Rebels have won!’ They may well have saved Celtic from a similar fate to that which befell Rangers in 2012. McCann was now in charge but faced huge challenges including a massive debt, a dilapidated Stadium, disenchanted fans and a failing team. Ousted Director Michael Kelly, dismissed McCann’s plans for Celtic in his book ‘Paradise Lost’ by stating bitterly that there was no demand for a 60,000 capacity Stadium and they would never fill it if it was built. Kelly also assured us that there was no way Celtic fans would support a share issue to raise the huge funds required to rebuild the stadium and the club. How wrong he was! Celtic’s share issue was vastly oversubscribed as Celtic fans shelled out their hard earned cash to resurrect their club. The McCann revolution was underway. Success on the field was patchy but progress off it was undeniable. As Rangers closed in on 9 in a row there was an understandable call to invest heavily in the team. McCann stuck to his budgets and soon showed the door to players who demanded more than their contracts stipulated. He also took on officialdom when he thought Celtic had been wronged. The disgraceful 6 week hold up in registering  George Cadette at a vital point in the season led to McCann taking on SFA Chief Executive Jim Farry.  Farry lost his job after an inquiry sided with McCann and found the hold-up had been deliberate. This disgraceful behaviour by the SFA fed Celtic fans’ paranoia further. Farry departed with a nice lump sum and signed an agreement to keep silent on the matter.

Fergus McCann brought the business philosophies of North America to Scotland and didn’t suffer fools gladly. Tommy Burns, Wim Jansen and others fell out of favour and were moved on. Burns dismissal was harsh in the eyes of many as his skillful young team were capable of brilliant attacking football in the finest Celtic traditions. But his team failed to stop Rangers closing in on Stein's 9 in a row record. McCann was plain spoken, abraisive and yes, even ruthless at times, but he laid the foundations for all the success Celtic have enjoyed since 1994. His no nonsense approach to the more contemptible sectors of the sporting press in Scotland led to certain newspapers doing a hatchet job on him. He was called penny pinching and compared to Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussien. Most fans saw through this vile agenda but an impressionable minority fell for it and sadly booed Fergus as he unfurled the League Championship flag in August 1998.  A man who had built for them the biggest club stadium in the UK at the time, sold out season tickets and brought the title to Celtic Park for the first time in a decade was booed by his own fans.  He had always asked to be judged on his 5 year plan and said…

"I want people to judge me on what we have achieved after five years. I will go back to my home in Bermuda, play some golf and live a healthier life."

 By the time he left Scotland in 1999 the modern Celtic had been born. A more businesslike and professional club, playing in a modern stadium and regularly winning trophies was his legacy. Whether you liked his methods or not he restored a club at death’s door to strength and vigour and made possible so much we take for granted today. If Brother Walfrid, Jock Stein and Willie Maley are the giants of the Celtic story them in my opinion they are followed in turn by Fergus McCann. We owe a debt of gratitude to Fergus and I for one would like to see one of the great Stands he built named in his honour. He once said that following Celtic wasn’t always easy but it was always worthwhile. He often had a rough ride in Scotland, sometimes from his own people but he stuck it out and was the architect in chief of the modern Celtic. He said modestly in 2011…

"I'm just a footnote in the grand scheme of things. Brother Walfrid was the visionary who started things and his is a name that should stay in people's minds.’’

We won’t forget Walfrid Fergus but we won’t forget what you did for Celtic either. We owe the ‘Bunnet’ a huge debt of gratitude and I say on behalf of many thousands of Celtic fans a long overdue; Thank you Fergus.  

Tirnaog

The Minister of Propaganda speaks!

As a journalist and broadcaster, Jim Traynor came across to me as something of a patronising big mouth. Personally, I found his writing style to be as fluid as treacle and as interesting as being locked in a coal bunker. His bleating that Scottish football was out of order ganging up on the now dead Rangers FC and ensuring that any New Company start at the bottom was unconvincing. Rangers were liquidated and Charles Green bought the assets of a dead company. His Newco were just that, a New Company and a new Club. By all historical and moral precedent they should start in the lowest rung of the game. That is exactly what happened and that is fair. Now that Traynor’s paycheck comes from Charles Green, he is turning his acid tongue to churning out statements of the type we read today. Normally I’d ignore the ramblings of a third rate Journalist at a third division club, but he mentioned my team and that can’t go unchallenged. Mr Traynor stated…

‘’Many Rangers fans like to think the frenzy to cause the club as much additional pain as possible was driven by one club but that wasn’t strictly the case. Many fans of many clubs waded in but this is not to say Celtic fans or their club didn’t attempt to influence the outcome of debates on Rangers and possible sanctions. Of course they did. And they are still at it on social media sites and on blogs clattered out by individuals who are no better than semi-literate.’’

Traynor like McCoist before him mistakes the consequences of going bust with sanctions. What sanctions have been imposed on the new company?  McCoist stated that they had been thrown out of the SPL, banned from Europe, denied entry to the ECL after finishing second in the league and demoted to division three. All of this is demonstrably untrue. These were all the consequences of financial mismanagement and liquidation and not sanctions applied by the football authorities at all. UEFA rules state that no NEW CLUB can enter European competition without showing 3 years accounts. As a NEW CLUB the SPL could not allow them direct entry into the top league. As for demotion to Division 3, they were not demoted at all. They were a NEW CLUB seeking entry to the Scottish game just as Annan and Gretna had in recent years. You could argue they were given priority over clubs such as Spartans and others who have long lobbied for entry into the senior game. All of this propaganda is poured out to convince the average fan of the New Club that the history is unbroken and that strong men now stalk the marble staircase at the once mighty Ibrox. My advice is always to ‘Follow the money’ as telling people what they want to hear usually happens when you’re selling them something. Green and his new mouthpiece are selling the fantasy that Rangers never died as well as shares, season tickets and merchandise.  Followers of the Newco are eating all of this up and have an increasing anger and persecution complex about what happened to their old club. They lash out at other clubs, the SFA, the SPL and even ‘semi illiterate bloggers.’ As if any of them brought down the house of Murray! Rangers 1872 died of terminal greed, rampant arrogance and financial mismanagement on a grand scale.  Traynor may trot out tired lines from Bill Struth about  revealing ‘Tolerance and sanity’ but the truth is that the history of the old club was littered with intolerance and arrogance. Struth managed Rangers for over thirty years and cemented their ‘No Catholics’ policy. Is he really the man to be quoting in the brave new Scotland?

I may be just another ‘semi-literate blogger’ to you Mr Traynor but I won’t sit idly by and watch you re-write history to suit your own agenda. I'll still be here writing long after Rangers have shown you the door. Your real gripe is that reconstruction talks are going on at Hampden and the once mighty Rangers are not involved. That is the new reality. No one fears the bluster and arrogance anymore. The ordinary fans Aberdeen to Annan stood up to the bully. The NEW Rangers are where they belong and despite dire warning of Armageddon, we’re getting by fine without you. Take your time climbing up the leagues because no one misses you.

Tirnaog

Walfrid’s Children 

The world into which Celtic Football Club was born was a hard and cruel place. Victorian Britain may have been at the centre of a wealthy and powerful Empire but for many who had the misfortune to be born poor, abject poverty and an early death were the daily realities they faced. In a world where decent medical attention was only available to those who could pay for it, disease was rife. Infant mortality in Glasgow’s poorer wards matched or surpassed the rates in India. Between 1870 and 1914, Glasgow ranked as one of the richest cities in Europe. Despite this the city suffered from appalling social problems of poverty, crime and disease. The massively unequal distribution of wealth meant that the splendid mansions in the West End contrasted to the disease ridden wynds and closes of the High Street, Saltmarket and Gallowgate. These were areas where crime, alcoholism and hopelessness prevailed. Glasgow saw serious typhus epidemics in 1837 and 1847 and the first cholera outbreak in Scotland occured there in 1832 and killed 10,000 people. Between the 1830s and the late 1850s, death rates in the city rose to peaks not seen since the 17th century. Into this world of great inequalities poured impoverished Irish immigrants seeking escape from the horrors of famine and oppression at home. They were joined by displaced Highlanders, all drawn to the factories and docks of the workshop of the Second City of the Empire. Districts such as the Saltmarket, Calton and Gorbals became cesspits of crime, despair and exploitation. The poor were expendable labour to be used in the factories, mills and shipyards and discarded when unfit to work.  Women and children were not spared either in the sweatshops, factories and brothels of the ‘Second City of the Empire.’ The rich got richer and the poor got yet more children to try and feed.  In 1888 Queen Victoria inaugurated the magnificent new Glasgow City Chambers and the foundation stone was laid ‘with full masonic ceremony’ by a smug elite who claimed the title ‘Christians’ while accruing fortunes on the exploitation of others. It was a marble palace where the rich could congratulate each other on their successes while just  mile away, in the disease ridden poor were dying in their thousands every year.  The overcrowded tenements were damp, rat infested and insanitary and the landlords crammed the migrants into every available space. Profit, not people mattered in those harsh times. This is the world Andrew Kerins moved in although his flock knew him better as Brother Walfrid.  He had witnessed the genocide of the Irish 'famine' as a child and had been raised in a land which exported food under armed guard as a million perished of hunger. He arrived in the city to carry out his duties as a Priest in some of Glasgow's poorest and most desperate areas. How could he help feed and bring some much needed pride and hope to the people he met as he walked the streets of that other Glasgow?  

Walfrid had seen the Irish in Edinburgh found Hibernian football club and decided that he could raise much needed funds by forming a football club in Glasgow. Forward thinking businessmen among his flock began the process of making Walfrid's dream a reality. His club, Celtic,  would be open to all and a bridge to help assimilate the Irish into Scottish life and society. It would be a charity which would raise funds to feed the poor children of the East end. This is the reason Celtic were born and the reason this Club is a shining light to the world of what a poor and marginalised community can achieve. Those Irish navvies who answered his call and showed up with the tools of their trade to build a stadium for his team were heroes. They built, with their own sweat, a field of dreams for the poor and when the Landlord put the rent up tenfold a few years later, they did all it again half a mile away. Celtic, despised from the start by those not intelligent enough to know that the ruling classes were using them and were 'dividing and conquering' the poor as they had always done.  Celtic rose to greatness on the support and prayers of the poorest in Scottish society, rose to become the greatest team in Europe.  Walfrid would smile that his flock have fought their way out of the slums to take a full part in Scottish life. Inequalities still exist, they probably always will, but we should never forget the sacrifices of those who gave life to the wonderful institution that is Celtic Football Club. We should also never forget the poor in every corner of the world who need our help today. It is our pride and joy to be called Celtic men and women but with that comes responsibility to continue the good works of Walfrid’s team.  The poor might not be dying around us anymore but they still exist here and abroad and we must continue our legacy of charity, justice and our rage against those who exploit the poor.

Those who love Celtic, regardless of creed, colour or ethnicity should say with pride that they are Walfrid’s Children.  Those who suffer hunger, persecution and poverty in our time are Walfrid’s Children too and he’d want us to help them. It’s 125 years since those brave men and women of  that first generation of Celtic people built a stadium with their own hands.  125 year on we’re still here to remember them and to thank them for gifting us that field of dreams and for beginning an incredible story. As our current manager Neil Lennon said…’the story isn’t finished, it isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning.’

Hail Hail!

Tirnaog

The Stuff of Legends: Ten Men Win the League

Season 1978-79 was an odd one. Celtic under new Manager Billy McNeil set off in pursuit of Treble winning Rangers who under new manager, John Grieg, were determined to hold onto the title. Celtic began the season in good form winning all 3 opening matches convincingly before Rangers arrived in the East end of Glasgow to test if McNeil’s team had the bottle to beat them. Rangers had a settled and strong team with players like Forsythe, Parlane, Cooper, McDonald, Johnstone and Smith all seasoned campaigners.  Celtic had failed miserably in the previous season, losing 15 league games and finishing fifth in the league. Jock Stein’s shabby dismissal by the board after that barren season angered many of the fans too. Billy McNeil was a young Manager, could he build a team to put the Hoops back on top? Did they have the stomach for the battle? September 9^th 1978 saw a packed Parkhead roar the teams out for what was an important marker for the rest of the season.  Celtic fielded George McCluskey up front with Tom McAdam and the speed and dribbling of ‘Chicken George’ allied to McAdam’s physical presence had Rangers toiling from the start. In just 2 minutes he cracked home a fine drive after Rangers failed to clear a free kick. The Jungle and Celtic end were bouncing as Celtic totally dominated the opening exchanges. It was no surprise when George McCluskey hit a low skidding shot into the net to send Parkhead into raptures. McNeil’s first Old Firm game couldn’t have got off to a better start.  Rangers tried to raise their game but Celtic matched them and could have gone in at half time more than 2 goals up. As often happens in such games though, the team under the cosh snatched a goal and it was game on. Parlane’s goal in 47 minutes gave Rangers some hope but Celtic held their nerve and McAdam’s second goal to make it 3-1 was fair reward for their play. A late penalty save by Latchford from Alex McDonald was the cherry on the cake for the happy Celtic support who went home in fine voice. The desperate disappointments of 77-78 Season were behind them, they were ready to challenge for the title again. Weren’t they?

Of course, being Celtic, the euphoria was short lived as Hibs won the next league match at Celtic Park 1-0. Celtic stuttered through September into October which brought a crushing 1-4 reverse at Pittodrie to the emerging Aberdeen team being built by Fergie. Further defeats to Hearts and Dundee United left the Hoops drifting off the pace and November began with a series of equally poor results as 1 win in 4 league games testifies. It was looking grim as Christmas approached. Celtic lost a League Cup Semi Final to Rangers after some ‘Honest mistakes’ saw a ‘penalty’ awarded for a blatant dive by Cooper and Tommy Burns sent off  for protesting about the award.  Celtic didn’t win a single game that December and were in some disarray as 1978 gave way to 1979. Snow covered Scotland in that fierce winter of 1979 and Celtic arranged a few friendlies as matches were called off and fixtures piled up. It is remarkable that they didn’t play a single SPL game from 23^rd December 1978  till the 3^rd of March 1979. Would McNeil be able to rejuvenate his flagging side during the shutdown?

Fergie’s fast improving Aberdeen came calling on a raw March day in 1979 and were beaten more convincingly than the 1-0 score suggested. The 26,000 who roared Celtic on that cold and windy day knew that now only a good run of form would give them any chance of getting back into the title race. Remarkably Celtic won six consecutive league games after failing to win a single SPL match in the previous 4 months! It was game on as spring arrived and hope sprung again in the hearts of the faithful.  Celtic surged through the fixture list winning 13 of the 16 league games after that opener against Aberdeen.  It was a remarkable turnaround for a club who looked well off the pace in the league as late as March. Celtic crammed six SPL games into 19 crazy days in May 1979 as the fixture schedule began to demand much of tired legs. In a bizarre game against St Mirren played on a Friday night at Ibrox, due to reconstruction at Love Street, Celtic finally overcame a very useful St Mirren team 2-0. The second last game of the season was against Hearts at Parkhead and a nervous Celtic support watched as the team pounded the visitors goal for most of the game but it still took 55 minutes for the much under-rated (and Celtic Mad) Mike Conroy to score a headed goal from a Provan cross and win the match.   However Rangers were ominously on their tail and had 2 games in hand as the season neared its climax. The Ne’rday game, which was postponed due to the snows of January, was rescheduled for May 21^st 1979. For Celtic it was winner takes all as a win would put them out of sight and see them crowned Champions.  For Rangers a draw would do as they had Hibs away and Partick Thistle coming to Ibrox the following week. It all came down to this one game for Celtic, beat Rangers as they had done in that opening Old Firm game back in September and the Championship would be theirs. Lose and Rangers would be Treble winners for the second successive year. The Celtic team which lined up for that legendary game is worth recording as they live in Celtic folklore forever: Latchford, McGrain. Lynch, Aitken, McAdam, Edvaldsson, Provan, Conroy, McCluskey, McLeod & Doyle. Substitute Bobby Lennox was the link to the glory days of Lisbon and was after one last hurrah in a glittering career which yielded 10 Championship medals.

Despite a Public transport strike, Parkhead was a seething mass of noise, passion and colour as the teams came out on that bright Monday night. The TV crews had gone on strike just two hours before the game and the only footage of a historic match would be recorded by the rather poor cine camera of Celtic Films.  The packed Jungle was swaying and roaring defiantly as the pre match ritual chants of YNWA and The Grand Old Team boomed out.  The Captains shook hands, the coin was tossed and battle commenced. The first few minutes were full of snarling players, bone shaking tackles and little good football. However after 9 minutes Rangers swept up the Jungle side in their first real attack of the game and Cooper’s cross to the near post was swept home by the aggressive Alex McDonald. The Rangers end exploded as the Hoops fans were momentarily silenced. A bad start for Celtic, no doubting that, but not fatal to their hopes just yet. Things took a turn for the worse however after 15 minutes when a grounded Alex McDonald exchanged verbals with Johnny Doyle who foolishly flicked at him with his boot. The eagle eyed Jungle side linesman flagged it up and Doyle was sent off.  The look of horror on Doyle’s face as he sprinted from the pitch said it all. Johnny bled Green and White, he loved Celtic and now he had seemingly let them down in the most vital game in years. He ran distraught to the dressing room leaving 10 men to face a confident Rangers and a one goal deficit. The Hoops fans responded to the setback and sang as loudly as I’ve ever heard them in an Old Firm game. The team, prompted by the power of Aitken and McLeod as well as the guile and skill of Provan and McCluskey began to pin Rangers back. Aitken’s goal bound header smashed the bar as the green clad hordes roared Celtic on. Celtic had nothing to lose as they drove at an increasingly desperate and defensive Ibrox side who seemed relieved to hear the half time whistle with their lead intact. As Celtic reappeared for the second half three quarters of the Stadium was covered in Green and White as a defiant chorus of ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ filled the spring sky. Come on Celtic, you can do this! The assaults on Rangers goal became increasingly ferocious and it is a wonder that they held out until 66 minutes had elapsed. The talented Davie Provan fed Roy Aitken in the box in front of a packed Celtic end and the big man smashed it home! Celtic Park erupted as the players punched the sky in joy! Half way there, let’s get the winner now!  Celtic swept forward in waves of attack after that and in the 74^th minute George McCluskey latched onto a blocked Aitken shot to slam home number two amid scenes of utter jubilation!  Incredibly the ten men were in the lead. A stunned looking Rangers restarted the game and immediately won a corner. It was a rare attack for the men in blue but fate dealt Celtic a cruel blow when Cooper’s low corner was swept through a ruck of players by Bobby Russell and nestled in the bottom corner of the net. It was 2-2. Rangers were back in the driving seat. Celtic restarted the game with just 13 minutes left to find a winner. Aitken roared and cajoled his team mates to greater efforts; it was as if he knew a moment in history was here to be seized. He almost equalized with a header which the diving McCloy touched over the bar with his fingertips. The clock was ticking down and still they pressed, harried and chased every loose ball.  The Celtic end seemed determined to drive Celtic home and roared every attack on in an increasingly hysterical and tense atmosphere. Then, in the 85th minute, McCluskey carved his way into the box and his swerving cross come shot was parried by the Rangers keeper onto the head of onrushing defender Jackson who to his horror knocked it into his own goal.  It was 3-2 to Celtic! Seldom has the old stadium roared and rocked as it did in those frantic closing moments! ‘Come on Celtic, hold on, nearly there.’ In the dying seconds Murdo McLeod strode forward with the ball ‘Kick it into the fucking crowd!’  Someone near me shouted in desperation. McLeod reached the corner of the penalty box and unleashed a shot of stunning power and accuracy which ripped into the top corner of the Rangers net! The Celtic end exploded…’Yeeeessss! We’ve done it, we’ve fucking done it! Champions!’ The final whistle went unheard amongst the roars but the players heard it and threw their arms into the air and embraced like brothers. The fans did the same. Celtic had won the Championship against all the odds. All the faults and failings, all the struggles and setbacks had been blasted away by the left foot of Murdo McLeod and his magnificent team mates. I recall seeing Davie Provan on his knees punch the ground in joy as we fans hugged each other as if their lives depended on it. On the packed terracing of the Celtic end and Jungle an explosion of joy was taking place. Some shed tears at the passion and sheer will to win on show on that May night long ago. Brother Walfrid, Willie Maley, James McGrory, John Thompson and all the greats of Celtic’s wonderful history would have smiled down on dear old Paradise that night. They would have seen the old Celtic spirit alive and the joy it gave to their wonderful support. It was nothing short of remarkable that Celtic could have suffered so many setbacks that season and still rouse themselves to the monumental efforts it took to seize the title on that wonderful May night.  They would not accept defeat and came back time and time again against their greatest rivals. It was one of the most dramatic games of Celtic’s illustrious history and the players and fans had fused into one to claim that title. They did it the hard way; they did it the Celtic way with skill, passion, goals and guts.

It was the night a legend was born. It was the night Ten men Won the League.

The Gift of Celtic

The noise of hundreds of Celtic fans singing in unison echoed through the great cavern of Central Station. Saturday shoppers waited stoically for the noisy mob to pass and head for platform 11 where the ‘Football Special’ waited for them. We soon saw the battered collection of antique carriages British Rail had set aside for us. My old man shook his head, ‘We’re human beings for God's sake not bloody cattle,'  he said as we opened the door of the first carriage which looked as if it had a little space. The carriage was soon packed with fans and the songs and drink were soon flowing. The last doors banged shut, a whistle blew and the train dragged its tired arse out of Central Station for the short trip to Greenock. Somewhere further up the crowded carriage a flute was playing and the crowd soon filled the carriage with a full blooded rendition of a familiar old song…

‘Oh Father why are you so sad on this bright Easter morn,

When Irishmen are proud and glad of the land where they were born?’

We all joined in and my old man kept the beat by hitting the table with his hand. When the song was finished he slipped his hand inside his pocket and took out a half bottle of whiskey and took a generous swig. He offered it to my brother and I but we both declined as beer was enough for our young stomachs, especially at lunch time!  As the old train clattered and rattled its way towards Greenock the fans in our carriage took turns singing. We heard good singers and bad, Celtic songs new and old, Rebel favourites and eventually a big cheerful, bearded ogre wearing the hoops and carrying a bottle of Eldorado wine looked at my Dad. ‘Geez a song auld yin, these young cunts canny sing tae save themselves’ My Da obliged without needing to be asked twice. My brother and I watched amused as he gestured for quiet before beginning in a surprisingly fine voice…

They were the men with the vision, the Men with the cause

The men who defied their oppressors Law,  the men who traded

their chains for guns, Born into slavery, they were Freedom’s Sons.’

The carriage was quiet as he sang and somewhere out of sight the sound of a haunting flute could be heard joining my old man in his song. It was a strangely beautiful moment amid the coarseness of the day. He finished to roars of approval and applause and the bearded ogre thrust his wine bottle into my Da’s hand, ‘That was mag-fuckin-nificent’ he said, ‘Have a drink oan me auld yin, yer some fuckin chanter so yi ur!’ Further up the carriage someone started another song and we all joined in…‘Hail Hail, the Celts are here, what the hell do we care, what the hell do we care…’ My old man joined in, a pleased look on his face that his singing had been appreciated. He loved following Celtic and filled our away trips with tales from his youth about his various adventures on the road with Celtic. His memories stretched from the near relegation at Dundee in the late 40s, to the 7-1 game.  Charlie Tully scoring with two corner kicks at Falkirk to the Coronation Cup miracle. Then of course, there was the heat of Lisbon. We had heard all his stories a hundred times on our long trips following the Hoops and we loved them all. It was our catechism, our heritage, our family history being passed onto us.

The train pulled into Greenock station and the doors burst open and a green and white river flowed through the station towards the exits, shadowed, as always, by lines of unfriendly looking cops and a few fierce looking dogs in tow. As we queued to leave the station, the banter began with the cops. ‘Aw right big man, ah see ye brought the wife?’ one wag said, pointing at a huge Alsatian. ‘Do ye play fitbaw yerself?’  he went on.  The Cop nodded suspiciously as if waiting for a trap to spring, ‘Aye, a wee bit.’ The trap did indeed spring, as the wag went on, ‘Ah bet yer shite though eh?, Bet I could keep a beach baw aff ye in a phone box!’ The crowd laughed and, to his credit, so did the cop. We left the station and entered a nearby smoke filled pub my old man knew well. I watched amazed as the local Tims drank wine in pint glasses as if it were water! We spent another happy hour singing and drinking before heading to the game. Morton had a good team back then. Players like Joe McLaughlin, Jim Tolmie and Andy Ritchie always made it tough for Celtic at Cappielow. Ritchie, known as ‘Mabawsa’ to the Hoops support for obvious reasons and was capable of brilliance on occasion and needed watching. The points would need to be earned today that was for sure.  All that day though my old man had been going on about Charlie Nicholas, a young player he had seen playing in the reserves. ‘Great prospect,’ he said, ‘He’ll go right to the top that boy!’  He had droned on about Nicholas as we queued to get into Cappielow and continued as we found a spot on the terracing at the front and just to the left of the goal. The old stadium was pretty full and the chanting was in full swing. The teams trotted out and much to my Da’s pleasure Nicholas was on from the start. The old man fished his big black ‘Eric Morcombe’ specs out of his pocket and put them on as the game began. Celtic roared forward and were looking good in the opening exchanges. ‘Nicholas will bag a couple today,’ my Da predicted confidently. Celtic won a corner at our end and my Da shouted at the bulky ‘Mabawsa’ Ritchie, ‘Oot the way fat man,  I canny see the game!’  The corner was cleared but only as far as Murdo McLeod who fired in a ferocious left foot shot which almost broke the post. We roared for more!  Then it happened… A through ball caught the Morton defence square and Nicholas raced towards the goal with no defender within 10 yards of him. ‘Come on Charlie Boy!’ My Da roared, ‘Bury it son!’  As the Keeper raced out to block him, Nicholas unleashed a powerful rising shot which sped past the post and hit my Da square in the face! He staggered back his specs broken, momentarily stunned! Despite the fact it was my own Da, it was the funniest thing ever. We couldn’t contain our laughter and neither could some of the fans around us. My Da however was not pleased, ‘Ye couldny hit a coo’s arse wi a banjo ya useless bastard!’ he began. His tirade of abuse against Nicholas continued for most of the first half much to the amusement of the fans around him. ‘Honestly,’ he went on, ‘If that fuckin clown was in Dallas shooting at JFK, that man would be alive today!’ We laughed our arses off at his caustic comments, particularly as an hour before he’d been singing Charlie’s praises.  Such was life on the road with Celtic.

Celtic fought their way to a hard won victory on that far off day in Greenock. It was one of those trips which we’d look back at and smile. My brothers and I would retell the tale to our own kids of the time their Grandad, had been hit by the ball at Cappielow.  We told such tales in much the same way he had told us about Tully and Jock Stein. That was the way it was. We handed our stories of Celtic on to the next generation as if it was the most valuable thing we had to give our children. In some ways it was, it was the green thread which ran through the fabric of our lives. It was and is part of us, part of who we are and we should thank those dad’s, uncles, and mothers’ who taught us to love Celtic. It was a fine gift they bequeathed to us.

 Thanks Da… I miss you big man.   

Tirnaog