Tell me lies

In January 1943 as Hitler’s 6^th Army froze in the ruins of Stalingrad and the scales of World War 2 were about to tip irrevocably towards the Allies, a football match took place about 2000km to the west. A crowd of 30,000 turned up to see Rangers play Celtic  on that cold Ne’rday and witnessed a match of fierceness and farce. Celtic were in the doldrums and not taking the unofficial war time league too seriously but the men who wore the hoops that cold day were incensed at the refereeing of the match. Three of them were sent off for protesting at decisions as Rangers won 8-1. The game is relatively unimportant as it was unofficial but what is important are the lies which some modern Rangers fans spread to this day about the game. I first discovered the lie on a Rangers website which claimed that Celtic fans sang pro German songs at this game. Some Rangers sites suggest this happened at a game in September 1941, which demonstrates that they are just passing on rumour without checking the facts. While doing some Uni work, I took the opportunity to scan the reports of three newspapers in the Mitchel Library on these fixtures and none mentions pro German songs. Are we seriously being asked to believe that Celtic fans with family in the forces fighting the Germans were learning ‘Deutschsland Uber Alles’ to sing at a football game? Ludicrous as it is this is what some Rangers fans still claim.

We in the Celtic family are well used to the rough edged banter which goes on with our friends across the city but there remains in our society a hard core of people who hate Celtic with a vengeance and will stoop pretty low to throw mud at the club. From outright lies like the disgusting ‘Lee Rigby’ (RIP) story yesterday to the usual vile paedophile chants. In a way we expect this from the less intelligent sections of the Sevco support but what’s more shocking is that some of the ‘newspapers’ in our country are equally guilty of such anti Celtic reporting. In 1998 a picture of Paul Lambert appeared on the back of the Sunday Mail showing a happy Celt celebrating winning the title. He is holding a Celtic scarf on which had been ‘photo-shopped’ an extreme Irish Republican image. It stuck out like a sore thumb because it was so poorly and clumsily executed. Who would do this at a newspaper and why? Today we see the Sun print an online story about the burning of a bus used by the Newco. Throughout the story and with no obvious accompanying text are pictures of Celtic fans on the pitch at Brentford. Is this some poor attempt to prove guilt by association? Hopefully Celtic FC will pull that most morally bankrupt of ‘news’ papers up about this.

 

This willingness to lie about the Celtic support is part of the mud-slinging mentality which thinks if you throw enough mud some of it will stick. Whole websites are dedicated to finding negative stories about Celtic and their fans. Like all big clubs we have our share of idiots among the support but the propaganda spouted against Celtic and their fans can be truly laughable at times. Of course all football rivals bad mouth each other, generalise about and stereotype their rivals. However, the lies, distortions and half-truths used in attempts to discredit and damage Celtic are taken to new levels by those who hate the club. Over the years I have read or heard the following claims made about Celtic and their fans:

 All Celtic fans are IRA lovers

Celtic is a paedophile network

Celtic introduced Sectarianism to Scotland

Celtic fans had a banner with ‘Islam CSC’ on it

People collect money for terrorists at Celtic games

 I could go on but you get the picture. There are those in our society who despise everything they imagine Celtic is about. The anti-Irish/Catholic prejudice which still lingers in some dark corners helps feed the lies and half-truths. Others, with a dislike of Celtic, are quick to jump on any lie no matter how outrageous and spread it as if it were true. The mind-set which wants to believe the worst about Celtic is already half way to accepting the lie. Modern communication has been transformed by the internet and this makes the dissemination of lies as simple as clicking a mouse. We saw the Twitter wild fire over the alleged singing of songs about Lee Rigby. (RIP) It became boring reading message after message demanding proof because as most of us suspected none existed as it never happened. What was  disturbing though, was the willingness of some unthinking people to accept it as true without any proof and to tweet about it.   As Churchill said, ‘A lie can be halfway around the world before the truth has its pants on!'

It has been said that one of the problems of the modern world is that many people do not approach the media looking for the truth, They approach it looking to have beliefs they already hold validated. George Orwell, of course wrote 70 years ago about the need for journalism to seek the truth when he said, ‘Journalism is printing what someone doesn’t want to hear. Everything else is public relations.’ We saw a massive PR campaign when Rangers collapsed and were liquidated. The half-truths, lies and propaganda had those of us with critical faculties sitting up and taking notice. It was a lesson in how the media works for and was manipulated by vested interests. Somewhere among obfuscation the truth struggled to be heard. The point of today’s blog is to ask all of you kind enough to read it to think for yourselves.  It is only by being sceptical and developing our critical faculties that we begin to see through the lies and insinuations thrown about with such ease by those who hate Celtic. The world has changed so much since Hitler’s Army froze in Stalingrad back in 1943 but even Adolf knew that in any war, truth is usually the first casualty.
 

 

RIP Lee Rigby

 

 

 

The Boys of the Mock-Shock Brigade

Celtic’s visit to Belfast wasn’t as nerve shredding as I feared. They did a thoroughly professional job on Cliftonville and scored 3 good goals. They also looked like hitting more and carried a lot of threat up front with Forest, Samaras, Commons and Stokes all looking hungry.  At the back, Ambrose seems to have listened to those who told him that clearing his lines is safer than trying to dance out of defence with the ball.  The atmosphere in the ground sounded incredible although the boffins at the BBC seemed intent on turning the crowd volume up and down. Perhaps this was to allow us to hear the typically inane comments of Stephen Craigan who apparently makes a living by stating the obvious at football games. That apart it looked a good advert for both clubs and no doubt made Cliftonville a few quid. Few can grudge them that as they were gracious hosts who made visiting Celtic fans feel like they were among family.

 

 

One thing which did come across loud and clear on BBC Scotland’s coverage was the raucous singing of Rebel songs and this  had the Sevco web sites in meltdown. There was much discussion of which ‘Fenians’ were actually singing the songs; the home side’s fans, the visitors or both? They were also asking each other in fevered tones if they should email UEFA about this ‘shocking event’? The mock shock took on comic proportions when they referred to the chant ‘If you hate the Orange Order clap your hands.’ This was described by one apoplectic bear as ‘Vile sectarianism of the worst kind from the Bheasts!’  Rather ironic when one looks at the effigies of the pope, papal flags and even a holy statue placed on bonfires. There was also rioting by, among others, Orangemen demanding to march through nationalist areas. The silence on those events from those of a Sevconian hue is deafening. Closer to home we had of course the events in Coatbridge last week. We heard all the old hate filled anthems in the predominantly catholic town. Mr Salmond promised to stamp out such excesses but it all poured out as the Police stood by and did nothing. So the mock-shock on the Sevco sites is fooling no one. It’s simply more selective cherry picking of things to be offended by. A look closer to home would demonstrate that they have more than enough to concern themselves with among their own support.

 

 That being said, anyone who reads my blogs will know my opinions on the singing of ‘Rebs’ at Celtic games. UEFA fined Celtic £12,700 following ‘illicit chanting’ against Rennes in 2011. Peter Lawell said at the time: "We reiterate our position that, however small the minority, such chanting is not welcome at Celtic."  Neil Lennon too was adamant that such chanting was not wanted at Celtic.  Belfast was the perfect storm for the re-emergence of Rebel songs. A long hot day, beer flowing and the nature of the fixture at Solitude Park meant few were surprised to hear the ‘Rebs.’ But rest assured if there is a recurrence of such singing at future matches played under the auspices of UEFA then the ever vigilant Sevconians will be firing of the emails and YouTube links to the disciplinary department at UEFA. There is nothing the Newco followers enjoy more than trying to drag us into the gutter which the worst of their fans have inhabited for many years.  So it’s time to engage the brains and support the team with the many great Celtic songs in our repertoire. Belfast was much more than a game of football, it was a gathering of the clans, a folk festival of the Celtic family played out at a time of heightened tension. In that context it was perhaps understandable that the old songs were heard but there’s no excuse for it at any future Champions League fixtures. Those who love Celtic would never knowingly tarnish the club or its reputation. I’ve said before that I have no problem with these songs in the correct context it’s simply that in 2013 a football stadium is not the correct context. Think about it.

 On a lighter note I met that most talented of Tims, Billy No’Well today and we talked for hours about our memories of following Celtic and what the club means to us and thousands like us. Celtic is our heritage, handed on to us by the generations who came before us. Some say it is shocking that Glasgow has no Famine memorial like other places where the Irish settled in large numbers. I say to them stand in Kerrydale Street and look at Celtic Park. It’s is a living memorial to what the sons and daughters of the Irish diaspora achieved in Scotland. An Gorta Mor killed so many and displaced even more but these pugnacious people refused to give up. They built a life for themselves and their children in Scotland and they built a wonderful football club. It’s a precious gift they left us and it’s our duty to care for it. It’s also our duty to make it a place anyone feels welcome. Despite others claiming to be ‘Rapeepo’ it is Celtic who is the true club of the people in this city.  Walfrid saw his club as a bridge between cultures, a vehicle to help assimilate the Irish into Scottish society. To be true to his founding principles, his club must welcome people are of all faiths and none, of all ethnicities and backgrounds. That is the essence of a club of the people not some narrow exclusive group who think they’re better than other people. That was tried by another club who in the end collapsed under the weight of their own arrogance and greed.

It heartens me greatly to hear the enthusiasm and affection people like Billy No’Well have for Celtic. It’s matched by many thousands of people all over the world. I’m proud to be a Celt and to be part of this amazing story. Celtic FC is truly more than just a club.

A Celtic Man in Paradise; Remembering Reamonn

As I wandered around the Hamilton Palace football grounds on a bright June day, it was obvious something big was going on. Over 2000 footballers of all ages and abilities were taking part in games spread over all the pitches. Over 6000 people turned up to support the event and here and there were former professional players from Celtic and Hibs as well as local MPs. Even Broxi Bear was wandering around to the obvious delight of some of the younger children. All of this wonderful festival of football had been created to honour one young man.

 I never met Reamonn Gormley but those who knew him speak of a warm, decent and very giving young man. A young man on the cusp of adulthood who was working hard at University and still finding time when he could to watch his beloved Celtic. We in the Celtic family know of his work with the Good Child Foundation in Thailand and we also watched the outpouring of genuine grief at his passing. The demonstration in his home town sought to honour Raemonn’s memory as well as, lambast the stupidity of the knife culture which persists in Scotland. It was attended by many hundreds of local people from all walks of life. To his family and friends, who knew him best, the loss must be even more keenly felt. Social media sites and blogs have been utilised to remember Raemonn and the heartfelt and touching messages there are testimony to the genuine affection many felt for this fine young man. Even those who never met him took the time to leave messages. One I read simply said… ‘I am a Rangers Supporter but at times like these we are all one.’ How true.

 The Soccer festival in Hamilton which bears Reamonn’s name brought together thousands of people from across all sectors of the community and was a demonstration that some good can come out of such tragedy. We in the Celtic family have always tried to help those less fortunate. Indeed, it is why our club was founded. The Good Child Foundation in Thailand received a huge boost in funds following Reamonn’s passing as many sought to show their respects in a positive way. The Thai Tims have recently completed their School Hall and named it in his honour. It is of course decorated in the colours of the club he loved. This is the legacy we should help create for Reamonn. A legacy which supports those less fortunate, which says no to hate and which celebrates his life.

Of course, nothing can fill the void in the lives of those who loved and lost this wonderful young man but perhaps it eases the pain to know he isn’t forgotten and that much good still flows from his life. It was, by all accounts, a life well lived despite being so tragically short.  I’ll leave you with the words of one of the many people who left messages on a blog set up in Reamonn’s memory. (Link below) Those of us who are people of faith live in the hope that death is not the end and perhaps these words echo that…

A Celtic Man in Paradise

 Although I’m gone, it’s not goodbye

So try to smile and do not cry

I’ve found my heaven in the skies

I’m a Celtic man in Paradise

 

With golden skies and fields of green

A heaven that’s beyond your dreams

Where Celtic fans can call their own

A place called ‘You’ll never walk alone’

 

Where every day I meet new friends

In a Paradise that never ends

Where smiling faces beam with Pride

To see our colours side by side

 

So live your life and please don’t dwell

And be at peace, I’m safe and well

In fields of green and golden skies

I’ll wait for you in paradise…

(By Angela McGovern)

 

Rest in Peace Reamonn.

We remember you with pride. We won’t forget.

 

http://reamonn-gormley.gonetoosoon.org/

 

Danny McGrain: Celtic Legend

Those of you old enough to have seen Danny McGrain play for Celtic will realise that you saw one of the great Celtic players in action. Danny clocked up an astonishing 657 appearances for Celtic in a career which saw him at Celtic Park for 20 seasons.  Danny won 7 titles, 5 Scottish Cups, 2 league cups and 62 caps for Scotland. As a right back, Danny had few equals in European football. His ability to combine wonderful overlapping attacking play with a no nonsense style of defending marked him out as an excellent player. His career with Celtic began in the wonderful year of 1967 and he saw all the ups and downs of the subsequent two turbulent decades. My memories of Danny are of him speeding up the wing at the old Jungle, playing one-twos with Provan or Dalglish and swinging crosses into the box. He’d also defend as if his life depended on it, crunching into tackles and battling it out with some excellent wingers. We’d roar out our appreciation to him… ‘Danny, Danny, Danny McGrain, Danny, Danny McGrain.’ He was a class act and we knew it.

There is a legend that as a schoolboy McGrain had been ignored by the scouts of Rangers FC (IL) as his name sounded rather Catholic/Irish.  Whether this is true or not it is an apocryphal tale of the moral darkness Rangers inhabited in those days. If the tale is true then Rangers missed out on a tremendous talent due to their narrow minded bigotry. Danny hailed from Drumchapel, a tough housing estate on the western fringes of Glasgow. He admits to being a boyhood Rangers fan but like Stein, Evans, Dalglish and so many other Celtic greats, he grew to love Celtic. He would no doubt echo the words of Jock Stein who said…’Celtic were not my first love but they’ll be my last.’ Danny came through the ranks at Celtic Park as part of the ‘Quality Street kids’ who followed the immortal Lisbon Lions. This group of young players included Dalglish, Macari, McGrain, Hay and Connolly and was truly a golden generation of Celtic talent. As Stein broke up the Lions, players like McGrain got their chance. He recalls his debut, at Tannadice in 1970 when he was so nervous Mr Stein had to force him onto the pitch.

 Danny overcame serious illness and injury in his career with the same determination he displayed on the pitch. At the 1974 World Cup he discovered he was a diabetic and this had a profound effect on his life. He recalls lying under the tap in the dressing room at half time during a Scotland v Zaire world cup tie. He drank pints of water as Willie Ormond was giving his team talk and this was later confirmed as one of the signs of diabetes. He also suffered a fractured skull in a game at Falkirk and was out for months. His clash of heads with the powerful Doug Somner was sickening and the ‘magic sponge’ wasn’t sufficient to revive him. He also injured his ankle in a game with Hibs which side-lined him for almost a year but this model professional fought back and was back in the first team fighting for the beloved Hoops.

 McGrain played in the famous ‘Ten men won the league’ game against Rangers in May 1979. It was his shot which was deflected by George McCluskey to win the cup in the infamous ‘Hampden Riot’ final of 1980. He can be glimpsed in the later part of his Celtic career in the 1986 league clincher at Love Street. His link up play in Celtic’s third goal was typical of this skilful and committed Celt. He was a mainstay in the team for so many years and his level of performance was consistently high.  He helped Celtic to 7 titles, 5 Scottish cups and 2 league cups. He played at the 1974 and 1982 world cup finals and represented Scotland on 62 occasions. My abiding memory of Danny was of him waiting patiently outside Celtic Park as fan after fan wanted a picture or an autograph. Some of the younger fans who asked him to sign their shirts were too young to have seen him play but as always the Celtic family recognises its greatest servants. An emotional Danny also carried the coffin of his long time friend Tommy Burns on that sad day at St Mary's Church. Like Burns he was a club man and like his great friend had time for the ordinary punters who followed Celtic.  Make no mistake about it, McGrain was an excellent player and contributed greatly to Celtic’s success in the 1970s and 80s. It is noticeable that the bad injury he suffered in October 1978 contributed to Celtic’s decline that season as they finished 5^th in the SPL. He was their leader, their Captain after Dalglish left for Liverpool and Celtic lacked direction and leadership on the park. His return in season 78-79 saw him drive his flagging team on to a remarkable and unlikely championship. It was McGrain and Aitken who marshalled that young Celtic team to the title that year and no one celebrated more than Danny.

 The boy from Drumchaped can be proud of a career during which he played twice against Brazil at the world cup finals. He played in the infamous European Cup Semi Final against the brutal and shameless Athletico Madrid team who, according to Danny had, ‘their veins in their necks bulging with hatred.’ He played in a Scotland team which won at Wembley and was a mainstay in both the Celtic and Scotland teams for over a decade. This modest man was asked where he keeps his caps and medals from his successful career and replied… They’re up in the loft, mouldering away. I don’t need them on display. The kids know who I am.” The fans know who you are too Danny and that’s why we voted you into the all-time greatest Celtic team. Celtic fans are delighted to see such a great Celtic man involved in Neil Lennon’s coaching staff. He is there because his is a skilled and excellent coach. He is also a link to the past, a part of the continuity we find important in this great club of ours.

 Danny McGrain, like Burns, Lennon and many others we hold dear, is Celtic to the core. He gave great service to Celtic and played an important role in many glorious occasions in our club’s history. If you were too young to see him play, take it from me, this guy was class. The Celtic family is good at remembering and thanking our greatest servants and Danny is up there with the best of them. That’s why 45,000 turned up for his testimonial game against Manchester United in 1980 and why many more Celts showed up to honour him at his tribute dinner in 2007.

 Danny is the epitome of what Celtic is about. His style of play built around robust defending allied to swift and skilful overlapping. He could easily have been a winger given his close control and ability to cross the ball. That Danny didn’t come from a Celtic supporting background matters not a jot to those of us who saw this immense player give 100% for Celtic for so long. Yes he could skin defenders and lay on goals, but Danny went in where it hurt too and bled for Celtic on so many occasions. We knew we were watching one of the great Celts when we saw Danny play. He was admired, respected and even loved by some who would stand in the Jungle and make the old stadium echo to a familiar song for so many years… ‘Danny, Danny, Danny McGrain, Danny, Danny McGrain’

Daniel Fergus McGrain: Celtic Legend and one of the good guys.

 

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EetwFCFWTa4

Unbroken Spirit

Unbroken Spirit

 

The game was over and the history books would record that Celtic had lost the 2003 UEFA cup final 2-3 to a talented but shamefully theatrical FC Porto team. To say the Celtic supporters leaving the stadium in Seville were disappointed is an understatement, they were hurting. Sniper trudged along beside his friends Mick and Barry still complaining about the diving, time wasting and what he called ‘bawbagery’ of the Porto players. ‘If I see yon Deco up the toon he’ll be getting my size tens up his diving arse!’ he declared. ‘Mer chance of seeing a handsome hun than seeing that wee dick up Sauchiehall Street,’ Barry responded. ‘Thing is,’ added Mick. ‘They were a good team. They didnae need tae dive aboot the place like that?’  As the the long throng of Celtic fans headed back towards the centre of Seville they saw and heard a group of hundreds of blue clad Porto fans celebrating their win. There was not a policeman in sight and the fans of many other clubs would have reacted differently to the Celtic fans that night on a bridge in Southern Spain. Incredibly, despite their crushing disappointment, they applauded the Porto fans who stopped singing for a moment and looked on in dumbstruck silence at the Celtic fans. They then applauded the Celtic fans in return and began to chant…’Cel-teek, Cel-teek.’ It was a moment which made Mick’s eyes moisten, ‘Fuck it,’ he said, ‘Let’s give them a song!’ As Mick started to sing, his song was taken up by dozens, then hundreds of Celtic fans. The dark Spanish sky echoed to the defiant chant of the unbowed and unbroken Celtic support…

 ‘For it’s a Grand old Team to play for

And it’s a grand old team to see!

And if ye know the history…’

 The next morning the three Amigo’s, hung over from another night’s drinking, headed for the train station and the long journey home. They stowed their bags and sat in the comfortable seats feeling a little revived. Barry produced a long baguette which had some sort of meat in it. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ said Sniper, ‘Ye buy that oot the Anne Summers shop? Looks like an edible dildo?’ It did look a little phallic but Barry shook his head, ‘Dae ye want a bit or no, ya big tube?’ Sniper relented and watched as Barry broke the baguette into three pieces and shared it with his friends. The Seville-Madrid train left the station and they watched out the window as the city they had looked forward so much to visiting slipped from view. ‘Tell ye whit,’ said Mick, ‘This year’s been great. Stuffing Blackburn, Liverpool, Stuggart and getting aw the way tae this final.’ Barry nodded, ‘I agree, we’re back on the map again. People know Celtic are a good team again.’ Sniper sighed, ‘Just wish we beat those diving clowns last night. It would have been perfect.’ The three friends were silent for a second. ‘I know,’ said Barry, ‘but it wasn’t to be, need tae take it on the chin and move on.’

 As always the journey home seemed shorter than the outward trip. They arrived at Madrid on a warm afternoon and headed for the Paris train. Mick had organised the trip with his usual efficiency and he guided his friends to the right platforms at the right times. As darkness fell they nodded off, helped in no small way by a bottle of Polish vodka Sniper had acquired in Seville.  Paris was a bit of a blur as a few too many beers were added to the vodka and again they slept as the Euro Star sped under the channel. As dawn broke, they walked through the quiet streets of London looking for a café and some decent breakfast. Someone banged the window of a passing red bus and gave them the thumbs up and a clenched fist salute, obviously a Celt living down south who had spotted their colours. Barry spoke first as they tucked into rolls and bacon and steaming mugs of tea in a deserted cafe. ‘Kilmarnock this weekend, we still have a chance of winning this league. I take it we’re all heading to Ayrshire?’ Sniper nodded, ‘Be great tae win the league doon there in mutant country!’  Mick smiled, ‘Dunfermline are heading tae Ibrox, canny see them putting up much resistance?’ ‘I know,’ said Barry, ‘Calderwood’s a bit of a hun eh?’ The three amigos then headed for King’s cross and the train back to Glasgow. Seville was now a memory. Perhaps in the future they’d appreciate how good the trip and the whole season had been but for now they just wanted to get home and win the SPL. It was the least the players and the magnificent fans deserved for giving so much that season.

 Barry’s mum woke him out of a deep sleep on a bright Sunday morning in that May of 2003. ‘Barry, it’s Sniper on the phone,’ she said handing him the telephone. Barry sat up in bed. His room was a shrine to Celtic with posters and flags celebrating great players and achievements adorning the walls. ‘Sniper ma man, whit ye up tae?’ he said. ‘Wit dae ye mean, wit um ah up tae ya dick? It’s an early kick off today, get yer arse in gear, I’ll be up in 5 minutes.’ Barry looked at his watch, ‘Shit! I’ll jump in the shower Sniper, see ye soon.’ ‘Aye, you dae that ya clatty fud,  am no sitting beside your boufin boady aw day. See ye soon ya minger!’ With that he hung up. Barry smiled. Sniper’s constant stream of good humoured abuse kept him going and always cheered him up.

 Sniper and Mick were at the door as Barry got dressed after his shower. He heard his mum show them into the living room. ‘Aw right Barry boy,’ said Sniper as Barry entered the room towelling dry his damp hair. Sniper was at the wind up again; ‘Wiz just tellin yer maw that it was brave of ye tae announce yer gay tae the world in Seville.’ Barry looked at him, ‘You talk such pish Sniper. Don’t you believe a word he says Ma,’ Sniper continued, ‘Noo don’t you be going back in the closet Barry, we all with you mate, this is 2003 no 1950! I figured it oot when ye started listening tae the Pet Shop Boys, mind ye’ Barry laughed, ‘Shut it ya mad dick, I’m no gay!’  ‘He’s in denial Mrs M,’ said Sniper to Barry’s mum, ‘but his mates will be there for him as long as he disnea want us to walk at wan of them gay pride marches, I mean I’ve got nothing against the gay community but I’ve got my  reputation wi the ladies tae keep up.’ Barry’s Mum smiled at Sniper, ‘I know my boy Sniper and I know what end of the pool he swims at so I’m no falling for this yarn!’ Sniper grinned, ‘I think you’re in denial tae Mrs M.’  Mick stood as Barry shook his head smiling at Sniper’s cheek, ‘Right, enough of yer pish Sniper, time tae head tae the game.’ Sniper stood and headed for the door singing a Pet Shop Boys hit as he went…’I love you baby and if it’s quite all right I need you baby to warm the lonely nights…’ Barry followed him out with a grin on his face, ‘Daft as brush ya big fud.’

 As they left the house Barry saw Sniper’s dad’s small red Fiesta outside the close. ‘Ye sure that’ll make it tae Kilmarnock?’ he asked looking at the ancient vehicle. Sniper sneered, ‘This motor’s got a Fenian engine, it never gives up!’ Mick smiled at Barry, ‘Well that’s aw right then eh? Just hope you’ve no been oan the bevy.’ Sniper looked at Mick in shock horror, ‘Me? Drink Drive! I’ll lock you in the boot ya fanny if ye suggest such a thing again! I’m a model citizen so am ur.’ He burped loudly and jumped into the driver’s seat, ‘Get in ya pair of pricks or we’ll miss the gem.’ Barry joined Sniper in the front and Mick sat in the back as Sniper fired up the engine. They sped down the M77 with Sniper singing along to a mix tape he made for the occasion. His choice of music was somewhat eclectic as a bizarre techno version of the Fields of Athenry was followed by The Boys of the old Brigade. They joined a green stream of Celtic buses and cars all heading for Rugby Park on that warm May day. Kilmarnock’s ground was not an easy venue for Celtic. They went there knowing they had to better Rangers score against a weak Dunfermline team. 

 

 The three friends joined 4000 other Celtic fans crammed into the stand behind one of the goals at Rugby Park. Celtic fans occupied both stands behind the goals although it was obvious that thousands more of them had bought tickets from home fans and sat among the Killie support. Sniper looked at the hundreds of empty seats among the Killie support, ‘Whit’s up wi these clowns? They’d rather see empty seats than let Celtic fans in? Ye could sell this game oot twice over and these morons won’t do it?’ He had a point as the home side were also missing out on thousands of pounds by having empty seats.  All of this was forgotten as Celtic came out and the singing ramped up. ‘We’re Celtic Supporters, faithful through and through’ they roared out.  The game got underway and it was obvious from the tackling of Kilmarnock’s players that they were up for the battle. Maloney was scythed down by a nasty challenge after 14 minutes and stretchered off. Celtic would have to earn it today. Then after 16 minutes Chris Sutton scored. Mick, Sniper and Barry roared themselves hoarse as they celebrated and urged their team on. Kilmarnock were pushed back and reduced to smacking the ball anywhere. Larsson and Petrov went close and it looked as if Kilmarnock would hold out until half time when the ever alert Sutton bundled one home from close range. The away fans were ecstatic although some had one eye on events at Ibrox and a constant stream of updates kept the Hoops support informed. Half time came and the Hoops were hanging in the title race. There would be no giving up.

 Sniper disappeared at half time and returned with three Killie pies, ‘Get these inside ye boys, best pies in the country. At least the mini Huns got that right.’  Barry took one and told him that Dunfermline were losing 3-1 at Ibrox. ‘We’ll need tae hit 5 or 6 here tae win this title,’ replied Sniper, ‘Calderwood’s clowns are on the beach already and this mob here are time wasting when they’re losing?’ The second half began and the pattern of the first resumed with Celtic on top and pushing for more goals. They were shooting towards the end the three Amigos occupied. After 10 minutes of sustained pressure Sutton was wrestled to the ground in the box and Thompson slotted home the spot kick. The Celtic support were right behind the team and still they came forward looking for more. Then came one of those moments in football which can so cruelly alter a team’s fate. Sutton fed Larsson and the deadly Swede raced through on goal and prodded the ball past Marshall. The ball sped towards the bottom corned but to the three amigos horror it clipped the post and was cleared. Then Alan Thompson, so reliable from the spot, blasted another penalty high over the bar. It was heart-breaking stuff but Celtic refused to give up and Petrov added a fourth goal but it was to no avail. Dunfermline wilted at Ibrox and lost 6-1. Celtic, who had had such a great season ended it by winning nothing.

 

As the team walked around the field at the end of the game not a Celtic fan had left the ground. The stadium echoed to their songs as they cheered the team for all their efforts. Barry put his arms around his friends’ shoulders and looked skywards, emotions welling inside him as he sang with thousands of others….

‘We’re Celtic supporters

Faithful through and through

Over and over, we will follow you…’

Sniper too was feeling the emotion of the occasion, ‘How the fuck did we win nothing this season?’ he said to Mick. ‘Robbed in the League Cup, cheated in Seville and now these Bastards time wasting when they’re 4-0 down?’ His anger was understandable as Celtic had been incredibly unlucky that season but there was no changing history. As the exhausted Celtic players trooped off the pitch having given their all, the supporters stood as they had always done, and cheered them off. They had fought with pride and brought great distinction to those famous shirts. The three Amigos would be back for more, Celtic was a big part of their lives and as Sniper said to Mick on that hot May day so long ago, ‘The hard times make ye appreciate the good times mate and I’m proud of every wan o’ they guys this season. Ye cany give any more than 100%.’ Mick nodded, disappointment and pride written on his face in equal measure. ‘We’ll be back Sniper, just you fuckin watch, we’ll be back!’

 

Postscript: In season 2003-04 Celtic opened their campaign with a 0-0 draw at Dunfermline. They then won 25 consecutive league games and clinched the title without dropping another point. They also defeated Rangers in all 4 league matches that season. Seems Mick was right.

A Dark Corner

A Dark Corner

My blogs are usually related to football and its surrounding culture but today I’d like to diverge a little and touch on a subject are which today of all days is in the minds of a lot of my fellow Celts here in the West of Scotland.

Those of you who know the east end of Glasgow will know well the distinctive Catholic church of Our Lady of Good Council. It’s hard to miss with its steep angled sloping roof. Some years ago I attended a funeral there of a fine man who’s sons I knew well.  Old Mr Murphy (Name changed) was a true gentleman and a big Celtic fan who would entertain us as kids with tales of Tully, Stein and Evans. He had a big family and brought them up well in difficult circumstances in a tenement flat in the east end. Below him lived another family who were of the Orange persuasion. Mr Murphy didn’t have a bigoted bone in his body and chatted to anyone. He lived in the same close as his orange neighbours for 30 years or more without any problem. It’s fair to say that this very decent man showed by example that he was one of the good guys. As I walked towards the church I saw two of his orange neighbours standing outside. There they remained throughout the touching funeral service. Even in death they wouldn’t pay their respects in a Catholic church. I watched as Mr Murphy’s coffin was carried out and one of his sons glared at the neighbours, obviously emotional and upset at such a snub of such a fine man.

I last saw one of the men who stood outside the church that day as I visited a friend in hospital. He was in a bed on the same ward and a very ill man. I remembered big John (name changed) from our youthful football games when he’d shout things like ‘Mark the Irishman’ to team mates as I came up for a corner. My Grandad was Irish, I’m Scottish but this didn’t matter to him. He died later that week and I and many other RC’s attended his funeral. The Crematorium was lined with men wearing the sashes of his order and perhaps he would have liked that. At least a quarter of the people in the crematorium were Catholics and I recall thinking that it was right to show your support of the wider family by attending as not all of them thought like ‘John.’

So what is this organisation which so despises Catholicism that it would not tolerate members entering a RC Church? Today we shall see thousands march in our streets their bellicose drums booming out like artillery. What is it all about? The Grand Orange Lodge of Scotland will tell you that it’s a celebration of Protestantism and not bigoted in any way.  Yet the Church of Scotland faces huge issues of falling attendance and empty pews. It’s clear that most attending parades today are seldom if ever in church. Nor is there much sign of Christian love and humility from those who attend such events. I recall prizes for those who boom the big drums most loudly as they pass RC Churches. As a child I even saw one big drum with the face of the Pope painted onto it. The drummer would then batter it all day long. This isn’t a Christian celebration, this is tribalism in its ugliest and most base form. I recall being in Glasgow City Centre on the day of such a parade and watching young men take turns to spit on the windows of a small shop in the High Street which sells Catholic statues and other such items. I watched as fellow citizens tucked their crucifixes out of sight or covered their children’s Celtic shirts. The Loyal Institutions say that it’s not them but their followers who behave so poorly but it is they who create the context of anti-Catholicism where it flourishes! They organise parades that degenerate into bigoted festivals. What sort of society allows that to go on? Is this Scotland or 1930s Germany?

I’m sure many of you reading this can offer similar anecdotes on the behaviour of some of our fellow Scots. One has to conclude that if such hatred was shown towards Muslims, Jews or migrant groups there would be outrage and yet little is said about this annual outpouring of bile. Today it’s the turn of Coatbridge, a town with a huge Catholic population, to suffer the booming drums and medieval attitudes as many of the parades will merge there. No doubt the Police will keep a lid on things but is this really the brave new Scotland of the 21^st Century? Is this really the best we can do in Mr Salmond’s ‘Best wee Country in the World?’ I accept the right of citizens to demonstrate but they should respect their fellow citizens and do it at a time and place which causes least disruption. There are plenty of empty fields in Ayrshire they could march in but as we all know this isn’t just about marching, this is about mindless triumphalism.  Perhaps they should also pay the Policing costs of such marches as the irony of the Catholic tax payers of Coatbridge funding such parades is obvious to all.

As I drove along streets I’ve known all my life this morning I noticed that flags and bunting were up in some of them. These are poor districts, places of high unemployment and little hope. Perhaps such attitudes flourish better in poverty and ignorance? A few early risers were on the beer early preparing for a long day of marching ahead. Somewhere I could hear an accordion playing a song made famous by the Beach Boys as ‘Sloop John B’ although here in Scotland we know it better as the tune of the ‘Famine Song.’  That’s the reality of modern Scotland’s darker corners. Few see how this bigotry stops the working class uniting and working together for jobs, decent housing or social equality. It's frustrating to hear one group in our society celebrate the defeat and subjugation of another 3 centuries ago. What possible relevance do battles fought in the 17th Century have for Scots today? I don’t write these words in anger rather I’m a little sad.  I don’t consider myself to be an unreasonable or in any way bigoted person. I simply find it amazing that we allow these Parades year after year and none of our Politicians has the balls to say ‘Enough of this nonsense!’ These are the same politicians who persecute football fans for singing the odd distasteful song and then allow, indeed pay for, tens of thousands to boom out nakedly sectarian songs all day long in our city and town centres. These are the politicians who said nothing about 100 years of ‘FTP’ songs at Ibrox and now try to tell us that in certain circumstances you could be arrested for blessing yourself. They could change this culture if they had the will to but they hide away from it like the cowards they are.

 As I think back to old Mr Murphy, I can’t help thinking that the decent, gentle old chap that he was, he’d ask us to be patient and not allow ourselves to be seduced by hate.  Of course he is right and most decent Scots no matter their religious convictions, if any, have little time for these Parades. Be safe if you’re out and about today and rise above any of the intolerance you see on your travels. We as individuals and as a country can be so much better than the displays we’ll see today.