As expected, changes were made to the first 11 in the aftermath of the LASK debacle. Some were enforced and somewhat mysterious. Despite training on Friday and being entrusted with the pre match media responsibilities, Kasper Hogh was not present in the matchday squad. Neither was Callum McGregor, who missed out due to illness; being replaced by the lesser spotted Oxlade-Chamberlain.

Scales replaced Trusty; kicking off the never-ending passing of the baton between those two in central defence. Haissem Hassan was given his first full start at right-wing, in turn, Camillo Duran took his place at the apex of the team.

I was in very early for this one but still managed to miss kick off due to daft moment of distraction. When I did lift my head about 10 seconds in, Falkirk had got down to business and where racing away on the right wing. They flashed the ball across, but CCV managed to turn it away for the corner. This was followed by another corner; the early pressure doing little to dissolve the tension and trepidation that existed.

That apprehension subsided in the 5^th minute when Camillo Duran gave Celtic the lead. A speculative pass from CCV was chased down by the Columbian. He was beaten to the ball by Scott Bain, who got there first but poorly miscalculated his own momentum. Instead of risking handling outside the area, he instinctively relinquished the ball, Duran opportunistically turned it in from a tight angle. The goal was eventually cleared by VAR, having been strangely flagged for offside.

Celtic looked confident. Yang beat two with a twitchy dribble inside before forcing a save from Bain. Hassan looked bright on the right-hand side, comfortably able to beat his full back via pace or panache, he proved a real outlet throughout the first half.

The second goal came on the 30^th minute and was the direct result of a smart combination on the left. Yang inverted to collect Tierney’s pass. The South Korean, took the ball in, turned, and lifted a smart ball in behind Falkirk’s defence for Tierney to fetch. The left-back got there first and – as is standard – expertly cut the ball across goal for Duran to tap in.

Nygren missed a chance he’s scored plenty of. Duran turning provider this time with a slide rule pass. Tierney then played sharply into Durans feet, who came away with a flicked back heel pass into the path of Baur’s intuitive run. The German had time to set himself before shooting with his left against Bain.

Oxlade-Chamberlain had a fine first half, at times displaying the quick feet and control – if not the speed – on which he built his reputation. His technical quality and poise shone; at one point he was harassed and surrounded by 2/3 Falkirk players, a shuffle of the feet, a sharp deceptive turn, were followed by a nice switch of play, and from a dangerous position, Celtic were on their way again.

Early in the second half, the English midfielder’s adroit use of the ball created a chance for Nygren, who after turning well in the box saw his effort well saved by Bain.

Colby Donovan then broke his right boot – literally – in a bizarre, never seen before type incident.

Like night follows day Kieran Tierney had to go off. He was replaced by Austin Trusty who went into the middle, Scales was shunted out to left back. The tiresome work around - as opposed to solution - had an immediately bad effect.

A moment of hesitation in midfield, allowed a ball to be played in between them and after another pass, Falkirk where in on goal. Sinisalo stood up well and saved but only parried the ball against the recovering defender Colby Donovan, who turned the ball into his own net.

The anxiety rolled down from the stands and became further exacerbated by the incoming substitutions.

McCowan, Tounetki, Forrest and Osmand came on but Falkirk never really managed a flurry of attacks to truly unsettle the crowd. The kitchen sink never arrived and Celtic pushed through, despite the nerves and obvious fatigue.

What’s new?

Baur and Hassan had good games and have certainly elevated the technical level of the team middle to front. The Egyptian tired eventually, though whilst fit and able, continuously ghosted his marker with ease. There was a pleasing amount of effrontery in his play and evidence that, once settled and fully fit, he’ll do a fair amount of damage.

The German is aesthetically and stylistically similar to Hatate but displayed an enthusiasm and alacrity that has escaped the Japanese midfielder for some time. Towards the end of this game, he found himself at the base of midfield. Taking the responsibility for quarter backing in his stride; moving the ball crisply and with the right amount of urgency, considering the state of play.

Standing apart from this, and everyone else in the country for that matter is Camillo Duran. To provide a reference, or For Fans Of type comparison there are similarities to Raphinha, minus the explosive, top tier pace.

He can do everything. His double yesterday was him as a rapacious striker. The double against Lask, was exquisite match winning individualism. His pressing and the two chances he created for teammates, show an all-round game intelligence to add to the goals and assists he’ll inevitably rack up. Some are great strikers, wingers, full backs but some are just great players. Usually, we get them at start of their ascendance, but Duran has arrived at 24-years-old, with an already sharpened edge.

I don’t care if this is going early but the Colombian is the best footballer I’ve seen at Celtic in a long time.

Notes

Pre game i sat listening to Sportsound on BBC. Scott Brown, Packie Bonnar and Andy Halliday discussed the numerous failings from Celtic’s disaster against LASK. Brown’s analysis was rudimentary, but hard to argue.

Physically we are not up to scratch. The defence and central midfield did not have the pace, power or punch to match the Austrian champion’s late on in the game, and along with playing strong offensive football, they ran all over the top of us.

The middle of the park offers as much resistance as a bead curtain; the collection of defenders are generally 5 minutes away from breaking down.

Next up is Aberdeen(H) on Wednesday night.

We are aware of the definition of insanity but there must be an aphorism for this? Where the same mistake is made, at the same time of year almost every year. This post play off pain is a feeling we’re well used to but it’s somehow getting worse. The most dreadful of all Deja-Vu.

The club are in a permanent stasis when it comes to European football: unable to gain that small, achievable margin that would at least, get us a seat at the top table every year.

Domestic dominance has almost become a given, but our foreign affairs are a never-ending nightmare, played out with the foreboding, anxiety inducing effect of a Christopher Nolan score ringing in your ear. Kairat Almaty was the inception of this latest drama and now like Odysseus, we are all at sea again. The footballing ether seems shocked at Celtic’s disintegration against LASK, and whilst it was almost unbelievable, it was kind of predictable.

Maybe, in a abstract Stockholm Syndrome way, we fixate on the monetary riches the Champions League brings the club – as if it ever really shifts our horizons. More important to me is that the club remains amongst those familiar names; that milieu of top clubs, whose names have adorned the big cup. That being said, I’m sick of hearing about Lisbon in all honesty. Sick of using it as a crutch to enable our standing as a big, legacy club. Over the last couple of years, I’ve endeavoured to read a lot of the great Celtic writers but after a while it became a bit thankless; a reminder that that iteration of Celtic, is not remotely like the one I know.

O’Neill brought up Seville in the aftermath of Tuesday night. Get over it. Rangers have done it twice since.

The away leg in Munich felt like getting a glimpse over the parapet. Since we’ve regressed quickly, infuriatingly. Docile in the transfer market when the opportunity to double down appeared; Almaty and a 3-0 lead the other night at half-time, was as close to a bye as you can get, and we fumbled badly.

Being lost for words isn’t ideal for a writer but it is the concise truth.

Other outlets may be able to offer more insight, draw wee diagrams or apply vague idealistic terms and frame it as science adjacent, but the long and short of it is, that someone at the club has watched that team and went, I know what to do here; let’s make the midfield even less athletic.

Baur looks a nice player, but he is as close to a clone of Hatate as you could imagine. We signed two strikers and shunted one out to the right-wing, then signed another right winger. To not fortify the midfield – which was about as sturdy as a soaked digestive – is utterly criminal. Was the thinking that McGregor would get younger over the summer? That he would catch a physical second wind and pick up the slack of Engels’ departure.

I wrote a piece called The Engine Room in early April, discussing the midfield and the massive overhaul that was needed. Without editing it, it was still relevant and accurate in late May. All that’s really happened since is Bernardo and Engels have left and Baur has came in. It’s incomprehensible.

Now, after a few weeks of back slapping over the club spending some money - money that was essentially a backdated maintenance payment – the curtain has been pulled to realise that not much has been changed. The window that was providing a nice vista for a while, has allowed us a look in, and the place still needs a good tidy. It’s the same mistakes again.

Some decent players have been identified but the overarching plan seems incoherent. No additional central midfielders, no reinforcement for an ageing and fragile bunch of defenders, players getting contracts because they are Scottish. Along with the appointment of O’Neill, it’s complete short termism.

Having a lead for a second leg always leads to a strange strategic limbo but it was alarming how ineligible that plan was, or if there was one. What was said at half-time - 3 goals to the good with 45 minutes to play is anyone’s guess. No additional measures to tighten up, be more compact or to show a general awareness of the clock. Rudimentary would be a compliment here as it looked like we were under instruction to simply, boot the ball up the park. People roll their eyes at horseshoe possession but if ever there was a time to employ it – to a certain extent – it was here. Off the ball, it was nothing short of a shambles.

The damage was done when the subs came on. The dam, well and truly burst.

And here we are again. Cue, the tennis balls, calls for boycotts and general toxicity.

To dull the innate natural pride of the Celtic support; to quell its passion for shouting the club’s name from the rooftops; to stop it from wearing the colours, or in this case mobilising as one to not even buy those colours, is quite an achievement. Apposite of what happened on the pitch, it’s remarkable how we can contrive such failure, from the jaws of victory.

The Europa League draw takes place at 1pm Friday.

Last season’s disaster, at the hands of Kairat Almaty took on an Event Horizon importance; a big bang that proceeded 12 months of angst, conflict and incessant managerial instability. It set the tone for a bizarre season and although the ending was magical there’s a lot about it, we would prefer to forget.

So early in the season yet so defining.

Maybe, in a weird Stockholm Syndrome way, we obsess over the monetary riches it brings the club. £26 million pounds is guaranteed for base level qualification to the stages, and this is before a ticket is sold or a point is gained; it’s massive money but of far more importance is the cachet of Europe’s premier competition. The validation it brings.

This two-legged test determines what class we are placed in going forward; how far out our horizons set.

Well, the prestige would be more interesting to me. I must admit, for the football club, I’m talking personally and I’m talking about the team. But for the football club, the finances are very, very obvious. I think if you did qualify for the Champions League, even though you only have a period of a week or something, you might be able to attract other players from that viewpoint. So it’s got all its merits, of course, financially. But for me, it’s the prestige as much as anything else -Martin O’Neill.

It’s important that the club remains amongst those familiar names; that milieu of past and present names that have adorned the big cup. The away leg in Munich felt like getting a glimpse over the parapet. Instead, we’ve regressed quickly, infuriatingly. Docile in the transfer market when the opportunity to double down appeared; Almaty was as close to a bye as you could get and we fumbled badly.

This is a semi favourable draw and an opportunity to enter the group stages for a 4^th time in 5 seasons. The new format gives you a chance to find your feet once in it – draw dependant – as we showed in the 24/25 campaign.

At a surface level, the club seem to have identified and actually invested in a decent level of player, but tomorrow night looms large and it would take a coin toss to pick a central midfielder to partner Callum McGregor. It’s a glaring omission from the to do list for this summer.

We just mentioned Arne Engels. It would be nice to have kept him for the couple of games, because he knows the players, he knows his role in the team. We’ll have someone else in there, and it might be young Mika Baur, he might start in the game. I’m not sure yet. And he’s just getting to know the team. So those are difficulties we have to overcome - Martin O’Neill.

If the board think this is job done, they’re making a rod for their own back.

These games feel abrupt given its still early days in the season, though there can be no excuse for not being prepared - again. It’s been marked up in the calendar, underlined in bold since the start of the year. The club have only just realised - via a journalist - that AOC is suspended for both ties.

Hopefully though, signings like Kasper Hogh and Camillo Duran - with 10 Champions League goals between them last season - can make the difference; get the the goals that eluded us over 221 minutes against Almaty.

Celtic are going in as strong favourites and Parkhead will be bustling; frenzied with expectation thanks to 12 wins on the bounce.

Listen, there are challenges in this Champions League. You could get nothing else but excited about it, which is fantastic, even at my age. Especially at my age - Martin O’Neill.

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There were 4 changes made to the line up for the visit to Tannadice in the league cup.

As expected, Colby Donovon replaced Alaistair Johnston at right back. Back from suspension, Liam Scales deputised for Kieran Tierney. Tounetki took Yang’s place at left-wing, and you know it’s early season league cup when Oxlaide Chamberlian is getting a start; he took the now departed Arne Engles’ spot in midfield.

A makeshift yet strong-ish side with an eye on Wednesday night’s Champions League qualifier against LASK.

There were two important additions on the bench in the shape of new signings Hasisem Hassan and Mika Baur with fans hopeful of getting a taste of what’s to come.

It was a scrappy opening in which Dundee Utd hit the post twice. One the result of hesitant defending and the other, another piece of dicey distribution from Sinisalo in goal, which is worryingly becoming a bit of theme.

In the 23^rd minute Austin Trusty got his head on a Benjamin Nygren corner. It looked perfectly contrived and rehearsed and dare I say it, what happens when you have a set piece coach? Nygren’s front post ball was met by Trusty, who perfectly flicked the ball across goal and inside the far post.

The game was effectively ended as a contest 3 minutes later, when Duran put Celtic 2 up. Duran knocked it inside to Nygren and kept moving. The Swede spotted Ox’s run into the box and slipped a pass through with the perfect weight. Ox’s cut back was towards Hogh. Unable to win it, the Danish striker simply got in the way and the ball fell to the Columbian - who had kept moving - to open his account from 6 yards.

Approaching half time the Columbian was picked out by Kasper Hogh and looked to return the favour, chipping a pinpoint cross to the back post for Hogh. The striker’s finish was poorly executed this time though, and he spooned it over the bar.

It was an encouraging combination between the two and an indication of an understanding in evolution. There’s certainly more to come here.

The second half saw Utd came out with a strong intention of halving the deficit early and again, they struck the woodwork with a well hit shot from the edge of the area.

In pursuit of that goal, Utd streamed forward leaving acres of space in behind. Nygren sent Tounetki racing. The Tunisian finally managed to piece it all together after one his elongated dribbles. Having carried the ball, he cut inside and found the bottom corner just inside the near post. This is a position he gets in often but rarely does it come to fruition.

Dundee Utd had a right to feel hard done by but Celtic, as they did at Kilmarnock the previous week look cutthroat in comparison to last season.

Baur came on in the 58th minute and looked eager to get hold of the ball at every opportunity. Despite Utd making most of the play Celtic grabbed a 4th to well and truly put the fork in this game. Trusty pressed aggressively, winning a header in the opposition’s half. McGregor’s first-time pass was flicked on by Baur into Tounetki’s path, who in turn found Benjamin Nygren at the edge of the area. Two quick touches to set himself the Swede curled a placed finish inside the post from 18 yards out.

The game became shapeless and non-descript from here. A Scottish trio of Forrest, McCowan and Murray replaced Hogh, Nygren and Trusty. Before Hassan replaced Sebastian Tounetki.

In the dying seconds Mergham of Dundee Utd produced an incredible hit from distant that dipped and curled before hitting the stanchion of post and bar. Dundee Utd’s 5^th effort against bar or post in the game.

Fine margins but it’s hard to read too much into it. There were moments of sloppiness throughout, but this was us without our two first choice full-backs and although it didn’t tell too much in this, Arne Engels leaving leaves a massive hole in the middle of the park. Celtic had Dundee Utd at arm’s length throughout, and the game was essentially over after 25minutes. This is exactly the perfunctory sort of win against decent opposition that is needed at this time of the season. 5 subs and the game wrapped up with plenty time to spare; an ideal management of resources with Wednesday in mind.

Benjamin Nygren has taken a step forward; looking more athletic and comfortable in the somewhat augmented attacking position he takes up. He’s far more involved and his quality in the final third is no longer understated or debatable even. He’s close to being inevitable. 3 goals, 3 assists in 3 games for the Swede suggests he’s a lot better than he’s given credit for.

I’ve gave the signing of Ox strong scrutiny but on the pitch, he put in an impressive performance despite needing an oxygen mask from about 40 minutes in. Him dropping deep to link the game helped and also due to his fine range of passing, he was able to open the game up instantly with when switching the ball.

Out with the set piece goal, all 3 of Celtic’s goals had a collective fluency that was missed last season.

Sinisalo.

I’m not sure what to make of the keeper. He’s young and kind of plays like it. He needs to settle down in general and be more conscious when it comes to his distribution.

The idea of him coming through and being a long-term number 1 sounds positive but he’s currently still the wrong side of experienced.

That said he does seem to be a strong communicator. Maybe Sinisalo 100 games further on would be ideal but the club may fancy an older, mature player – again - in such a foundational position.

If he can be improved upon in the short term, then it’s hard to argue against.

Duran.

Camillo Duran’s capture seems a long time ago and has been somewhat eclipsed by the big money signings of Hogh and Hassan.

Latently dangerous in his first two games, the Columbian turned things up a level at Tannadice. There seems to be an intrigue as to what we’ve signed here; hard to pin down positionally, there is a suspicion that he could be something special, and you can see why.

The strong running and pressing ability, mixed with a tight touch, beguiling movement and a coldness in front of goal, means he has all the attributes to shine in this Celtic side.

Time will tell here, but at £5.5 million we look to have won a watch.

General.

Since that disaster at Tannadice in March, Celtic have now won 12 games straight. 100% is hard to improve on but this side clearly has another gear to move into.

The attacking outlets at O’Neill’s disposal have been completely revamped but work remains to be done to reinforce the midfield and defence. More so now that Arne Engels has officially departed to join West Ham.

All eyes turn to Wednesday and the first leg of the Champions League tie against Austrian champions LASK. So early in the season, yet so defining.

Haissem Hassan is a box of tricks, with bags of potential. He comes with what we vaguely describe as pedigree and although he has not got the superficial stats - the goals and assists – to show it, there is compelling evidence that illustrates his underlying quality. Evidence that indicates that Celtic have signed a winger capable of transforming the right-hand side, and finally replace Nicolas Kuhn’s creativity and decisiveness.

This might sound made up or two good to be true, but in many of the winger adjacent metrics from La Liga, Hassan’s name comes out on top of Lamine Yamal and Vinicius Jnr’s. 1^st in dribbling and crossing across that whole league, and across all 5 top leagues in Europe he tops the rankings, by some considerable distance, for explosive ball carrying. To give that some definition, nobody accelerates more explosively, more often than Hasssan. Sounds dangerous doesn’t it.

There is still work to be done though, polish to be added in the final 3^rd. Hassan has only scored 7 goals across two seasons in Spain and this is maybe where he has fallen through the cracks, right into our lap. Similar to Nicolas Kuhn, Celtic offers him a platform to develop.

I’m pretty confident in my strengths, creating entertainment and being that winger that dribbles and beats people one-v-one. But I also know my areas of improvement, and I know that I need to be more decisive with goals and assists. I think Celtic will help me in that aspect as well, being more dominant with better players and attacking football. That’s something I want to work on this season, going from being just a player that can beat someone one-v-one to also being someone that scores goals and gets assists - Haissem Hassan.

This signing was just short of a saga. The 24-year-old looked like just another tenuous link, the day before Egypt’s World Cup last 16 tie against Argentina. No one can truly steal the show when Messi is playing but Hassan’s was an eye-catching cameo. Egypt’s infamously disallowed goal was the result of a breath taking mazy run from our new winger. Moments later he stood up his full back before waltzing by him and cutting the ball back for the North Africans’ second goal.

Tuned to our own type of cynicism, this performance looked to have put him out of our reach. The club delivered though and whilst it’s not prudent to sign someone off the back of the World Cup – which isn’t the case anyway – it’s definitely exciting.

In fact, the club have been admiring his pronounced skill set since January.

We’d been tracking him in January time. We were hoping that we’d be able to do something. Oviedo were unwilling to let anybody go at that stage, which is totally understandable - Martin O’Neill

O’Neill was also succinct in explaining why he wanted the winger.

Going past players now is sort of a dying art, which is really almost unforgivable in football. That’s what fans get excited about. Actually, to tell you the truth, so do fellow players.

This isn’t the £2/3 million type punts we’ve become accustomed to signing in recent years. The cheap t-shirts that get resigned to the pyjama drawer after a couple of washes. This is a product of a higher substance or thread count. Along with Hogh, the club has made an intentional investment. An initial fee of £6million will be topped up to almost £9million if everything goes to plan.

Hassan, like Hogh, has been sold on the club despite other options. Something that along with the fees being paid, seems redolent of O’Neill’s first spell in charge.

The manager mentioned that we missed the Champions League last year, but we want to go back this season and we are building a team to go back in the Champions League. I think that’s like the right step for me and it was a very nice conversation with him. I would say the Champions League was part of the discussion, but we are not qualified yet so I wouldn’t really be focusing on that. I guess every player wants to play Champions League, but it’s not only about that, it’s about the club in general – a big fan base, playing in front of 60,000 fans, expecting to win trophies, being a better player.

The prospect of such direct pace on the right with the intricacy of Jota on the left is mouth watering. These are the difference makers, the 1v1 merchants we’ve been crying out for. Like O’Neill alluded to, being able to ghost full-backs and open up the play is a dangerous tool to have, both domestically and in Europe. Celtic have added a real weapon up front in Hogh. Hassan is the perfect ammunition. The frontline that’s been assembled in the last few weeks looks - for once - like serious business from the club.

A Norwegian, a Columbian and an Egyptian. It’s no joke.

Hogh, Hogh, Hogh, now we have a machine gun. I know the reference doesn’t really land if you pronounce his name correctly but you get the jist.

It would be a brave man to bet against Kasper Hogh going home with a few more match balls in his Celtic career. His 3 first half goals in yesterday’s 5 – 1 rout at Kilmarnock, were compelling evidence that Celtic have got themselves a formidable weapon; a player of real penalty box pedigree, and a bonafide goal scorer.

This is further corroborated by the fact that this was the first time since May 2025, that Celtic have scored 5 goals in a league game.

The hints were there on his debut. Despite missing a few half chances last Monday, he was - as advertised - in the right place at the right time. Yesterday he was clinical. Two back post headers that were hard to miss - facilitated by great deliveries - but ultimately, the Dane’s instinctive ability to find space, meant he was unopposed to tap home.

His second goal was also a result of clever movement; this time moving away from goal to meet Nygren’s low pass in space. The finish was well struck, low and hard, into the bottom corner.

Goals aside, his all-round performance was encouraging. First time lay-offs, passes around the corner to runners, and an ability to hold the ball up via his physique, meant that Celtic had somewhere to start if they had to go slightly longer. This was not the indiscriminate, shelling the ball up to him that we seen against Dundee, but a far more measured, rehearsed approach. Using him more as a reference point, than a distinct target.

Early on he pulled a long ball in midfield before playing a neat one-two with McGregor. Having turned he spotted Duran wide right and arched a lovely ball into his path, with the outside of his foot.

I was really, really impressed with his all‑round game. Everything that went up to him stuck and it was a platform for our team. His all‑round game was good and then the goals kind of top it off. We’ve watched him for a long, long time. If we create chances he’ll score - Shaun Maloney

Yesterday left you with the distinct feeling that he will score goals. Lots of them. The 3 that he did get were the type of routine, poacher’s goals that felt non-existent last season. Bread and butter that was often left on the plate, resulting in drop points. Given the right service, the Dane will feast and already, 20/25 league goals seems realistic.

Another implicit benefit of having an archetypal No 9, is the space created by him occupying a central position. Centre halves become inadvertently pinned, clearances become less clean and simply, their attention gets diluted by his presence. This effect has seen Benjamin Nygren flourish in the last two games. The Swede has always had the knack of arriving late into the box but he has seemed to be operating in more space when receiving the ball in the pocket. Turning, driving and getting his head up to feed others, has come much easier to him, than it looked previously. Him and Hogh, already seem to understand each other’s idiosyncrasies, when in proximity.

The powerful forward has an earnest, infectious quality that has been sorely missed since Jota’s injury. Fans want success but they want a hero at the same time; someone to adorn with affection, someone who’s name they can print on the back of a replica top. He cost a lot of money, but some things - along with goals - are priceless.

First of all, all glory to God. You can see I’m a happy man, and I got some great assists from the boys today. The feeling we had as a team and the way we played was so nice. We had such a good connection. After the first game, I said that I had to do some shooting practice. I just take one day at a time and keep training, so it was nice to see that pay off today - Kasper Hogh.

Celtic named an unchanged line-up for this. A luxury that was lesser spotted last season. On paper it looks strong, but worries about squad depth are still valid. Regardless of the quality of the signings, the fact there has only been two signings - none of whom are midfielders or defenders - is genuinely baffling.

This was a slick and comprehensive attacking display from Celtic. Hogh, with a willing and able supporting cast, ran riot on Kilmarnock’s freshly laid hybrid pitch. Camillo Duran got his first assist for the club with a delightful, sand wedge of a cross, and in a very general sense, gives off signs of being a real talent.

Engels had one of his finest games for Celtic. It was his 100th appearance for us, and you get the feeling that he’s on the cusp of becoming the sum of his parts. Whether or not we get to see it is another question, but this was an accomplished, mature performance from the 23-year-old.

Yang continued his understated consistency. His physicality and efficiency has made him a very useful player in this set-up, if not a stand up.

Nygren inevitably assisted and scored, while McGregor looks fresh and revitalised.

Celtic could have scored more than 5, thanks to the perilous nature of Neil McCann’s set up. What could often be construed as an admirable intention to go toe to toe, ended up just looking a bit daft. Kilmarnock’s defence offered little resistance and after their initial exertions going forward, they offered next to no threat. They did though, score a neat, well worked consolation goal.

What’s next?

Although it’s still a few weeks away, Jota coming back into this side - along with the expected addition of Hassan - is a mouth watering prospect. It would constitute a considerably high level of attacking options across the front 3/4 positions. However, lots of work remains.

The back four, whilst solid on paper is no guarantee. Johnston and CCV have pretty extensive injury histories and whilst he’s maintained fitness since returning, Kieran Tierney is also susceptible to picking up knocks. The level of back-ups is not adequate in either quantity or quality, which is also the case in midfield.

The Champions League play off looms large.

The veneer of optimism that was brought by last week’s signing of Kasper Hogh has now dulled. Despite unfounded hopes of being able to retain Alastair Johnstone, he looks likely to head south - along with Arne Engels - and suddenly, the realisation that the Celtic squad is about to be significantly weakened is hard to shake. This and the gloomy summer’s night setting brought with it a latent foreboding.

Still, it’s hard not to be excited; to anticipate what the new season brings. The novelty of it being a Monday gave it another layer of intrigue.

After the flag being unfurled, it became clear that – not surprisingly – not a lot had changed. Dundee looked comfortable enough, intermittently stealing the ball and holding it long enough to frustrate, quiet the expectancy.

In the 9^th minute, the big moment arrived but Kasper Hogh snatched badly at his first chance and from there he was a bit rushed, a bit eager to be involved. Throughout the first half he was hit indiscriminately with long passes that looked unrehearsed, speculative, and didn’t stick. As advertised though, when the ball was in the box, he was close by.

Engels headed narrowly wide from a textbook Tierney cross and concluded a beige, non-descript half to start the campaign.

We did start to open up a bit in the second half. Players had got their touch; found their range and started to turn Dundee with quicker passes, and smarter movement.

The similarities to last season continued when Benjamin Nygren scored in the 54^th minute. Arriving late, he walked onto another, textbook, trademark, fist time Kieran Tierney cross to head home from 6 yards. Another definitive touch from the Swede but Tierney’s ball is a first-class weapon from that slightly deeper half space.

Celtic continued to be dangerous and Duran produced a slick turn out of nowhere to turn his defender in the box but couldn’t quite get hold of his cut back. Yang forced a smart save from range. McGregor was having a game and struck the post with a lesser spotted right foot shot.

Tounetki, Forrest, McCowan and Donovan had replaced Yang, Duran, Nygren and Tierney.

Hogh got on the end of Donovan’s cross late on. Again, it didn’t go his way, but he was where we’ll need him to be.

I do think that as the season progresses they will be really good for us. I don’t think wide right is really Camilo Duran’s position but hopefully he’ll settle in the next couple of weeks. Kasper Høgh missed a few chances, he will definitely get better and he will score goals for the football club - Martin O’Neill.

Casually, you would probably describe this as a typical first game of the season, against a team with a few games in the legs. It was a bit dusty and hesitant.

We won, which is the most important thing. I thought we were pretty rusty, although we did create and should have scored a number of goals. When you consider the games we played with high intensity last season, I thought in the first half we didn’t have that intensity. We had to try and force the issue in the second half, which I think we did and we got the goal - Martin O’Neill

The 11 that started the game looked strong on paper, encouraging to an extent but there’s no guarantee we’ll see it again. Talk of Engels’ and Johnston’s departures still loom large.

1 down, 37 to go.

The play - off

Right en cue the Champions League play-off is round the corner and Celtic’s inactivity becomes even more mystifying. The first leg will be at home to Austrian champions LASK on 19^th August before travelling for the second leg on 23^rd.

It could change but it is starting to look a bit familiar. Predictable. Redolent of last summer’s failure to be prepared for something, we’ve known is coming.

The on-going transition of the squad and the tightrope of qualification means the next few weeks take on an event horizon importance for the season, before it really gets going.

You do wonder what the plan is? The money in the bank is for a rainy day, but in additional to fees received from player sales; a portion of it, could easily be spent on fixing the roof. A strange cause and symptom type scenario when it comes to the calamity carousel, we seem perpetually stuck on each summer.

Kilmarnock(A)

The Ayrshire club have finally pulled up that old carpet, just in time for Kasper Hogh to get “used to the grass”. How nice of them.

Kilmarnock conceded four at newly promoted St.Johnstone at the weekend, which gives hope to the notion that this might be the right fixture at the right time; especially for our two new additions.

With big fees come large expectations and Hogh - Duran also - will be looking to get up and running. These games - like Dundee on Monday night - are our bread and butter but too often last season, points were left on the plate. A merciless striker at Celtic would be a welcome addition, turning draws, defeats and nervy wins, into more comfortable, pleasurable performances.

The right-wing.

Fans have seemed very focused on the idea of replacing Kyogo in the last 18 months but the Japanese striker was largely cooked before departing. For me, replacing Nicolas Kuhn on the right wing has been just as important. The German was largely responsible for the successful domestic and European campaign of 24/25. Since then though, it’s been square pegs in round holes, or no pegs at all, in some cases.

News has broke this afternoon, that Celtic are close to finally completing the signing of Haissem Hassan for £9million from Real Oviedo. The Egyptian winger caught the eye with his swashbuckling ball carrying v Argentina at the World Cup.

Yang continues to slowly and surely improve but Hassan’s ability 1 v 1 is something the side has been crying out for.

The whole league campaign now boils down to an immediate, hand to mouth, week to week uber jeopardy. It’s win or bust.

The final chapter is about to be written. 8 months of pre narrative is about to be calcified in fact, figures and silverware. Whilst time is against us, timing is everything. You only need to be top once to win it.

This weekend offers us something of an intangible advantage. Both Rangers and Hearts play tricky fixtures on the Sunday. Secure the points on Saturday - by hook or by crook - and Celtic can crank up the pressure one notch further, heightening the jeopardy on the other two candidates.

It may not count for a lot but there is a latent suspicion that Celtic’s all-encompassing dominance of the past generation, means they have that hardened edge, an additional ability to keep their balance, when tip toeing on the tight rope.

What we are fighting for now, is an opportunity to show it.

Celtic 3 v 1 Falkirk - 25/04/2026

Football as a live event is something special. Each game has its own rarity. It’s not a gig, where the same thing happens each night, choreographed by an actual set list. Sure, they may move from location to location, but the notes don’t change.

It’s not theatre or film, were there are set times and the same thing is replicated by actors multiple times per day. I love the pictures, but people will have the same experience as me later in that day. The guy will hit rewind, people will buy from the same selection of snacks as I will, take their seats, turn their phone off and the guy will press play again.

While there are subplots intertwined in football the ending isn’t defined. Luck will often play its part. The bounce of a ball, the width of a post are the stars of the show sometimes. If we could predict football games, the same way we can a rom com, then we’d be millionaires.

Despite it being the 4^th time we had faced Falkirk at home this season, it is still unique. The show won’t pack up and move onto Manchester tomorrow.

This is why football is different and ultimately better than what all the other people choose to do with their time. It’s makes it truly live, visceral in a way these things are not.

It’ll be on the news, written about in the paper and I’ll have been there. You don’t say that about much do you? You’re not often at the scene of the crime, or on the front line of some far-flung foreign conflict.

If the wind blows, I’ll feel it, if it rains, I might get wet - dependent on my ticket - and if a goal goes in. I’ll know about it before anyone else who is not in the stadium.

I know people there, casually or closely but simply, via the commonality of obsession. Immediately and by a few degrees of separation. Glasgow, and more specifically the Celtic supporting half of it, is a small place.

The reason that goals, particularly big ones or late ones are so special in football is the element of surprise. Childbirth is an emotional moment, but you’ve known it’s coming, known what’s in the post. Celtic’s first on Saturday came out of nowhere. The tension creeps up on you, gradually and then suddenly. The ominous realisation that this was the whole season, right here, right now was palpable.

And then bang, Maeda steals the ball. His head down, ready to shoot. The seats go up causing a strange thunderous clatter of plastic on plastic in 60,000 strong unison. As he draws his foot back, that sound is harmonised by a collective drawing of breath. The ball hit the net; relief coming out on top of joy, in the battle of emotions.

It’s strange because Celtic is the cause of my need for therapy and the therapy itself. Quite clever in a way: an absolute money grabbing racket, I guess. It keeps you coming back and is maybe a bit like the mafia. You’ll never really be able to leave the family once you join will you.

“Just when I thought I was out, they pulled me back in.”

It would mean not seeing your mates as much, not knowing what they’re talking about or why they are jumping up and down.

Anyway….. The novelty of the 5:30 kick off and the sun shining, made this a real spectacle. The immediate jeopardy was pronounced, almost touchable. A random punter going through the turnstile at the same time as me - 2 minutes fashionably late - confirmed this. “Massive game mate, massive” he proclaimed.

“Easy peasy” was my reply….

The spirit of 86.

Good marketing is aspirational. It creates a need and then sells you a feeling, a lifestyle, or an ideal. Those pesky kids in the Green Brigade should be getting headhunted by execs everywhere.

The spirit of 86’ is a beautiful, bite size slogan. Encapsulating the job at hand and the opponents. A galvanising piece of rhetoric, which captures the imagination and the sentiment of the support. It pays homage to and draws inspiration from one of the clubs most magical days, in its history.

Something is brewing in the ether.

Hibs(A) - 03/05/2026.

This was it. The whole league campaign boiled down to one game. Reduced to finality; we are living perilous existence.

Tounetki started this one in place of Forrest and for the first time since October, Alistair Johnston took his place at right-back. Daizen Maeda continued through the middle having finally returned to goalscoring form.

As per the last few weeks, Celtic started well, eager. Creating a spate of almost half chances without being overtly dangerous in front of goal.

The game took a fortunate turn for Celtic in the 22^nd minute. McGrath’s tackle on Johnston turned out to be a bad one on 2nd look. He was deservedly sent off via a lengthy VAR check.

Celtic started to assert even more pressure, gradually strangling the game. The goal came at the perfect time and was encouragingly well worked. A quick one-two between AJ and Engels caught Hibs out. AJ’s cutback was perfectly timed and weighted; screaming to be tapped in. Maeda obliged with his 4th goal in 3 games.

Celtic were cruising. It had been relatively comfortable – despite the excruciating anxiety - to this point. Dominance quickly proceeded disaster though, right on half-time. A sloppy pass from Scales lead to the concession of a free kick. The sky-high hopeful ball was initially dealt with, only for it to be tossed back into the box speculatively. It was harmless, until Nygren, inexplicably headed the back into danger. Sinisalo and Trusty justifiably caught off guard by this, got in each other’s way and the ball fell to Newell, who finished.

The Swede’s intervention was the two-page spread, in what was a catalogue of errors. We had looked the gift horse in the mouth and went in 1-1.

How the goal stood is anyone’s guess. Newell categorical benefited by handling the ball, at least once you could argue.

The 2nd half was similar in terms of possession but in a far more intermittent state. Hibs had a lifeline to grab to and have had recent experience of playing at a numerical disadvantage. Every stoppage took an age as they tried desperately to kill our momentum and the clock.

Forrest and McCowan came on and helped to get a foot on it in the final 3rd. Again, Iheanacho came on, instantly showing his subtlety with a chested pass into a runner’s path. Celtic started to turn Hibs with Maeda running in behind off the left.

The goal came from a set piece in the 75th minute. An in-swinging corner got a flick at the near post, deflecting it to Kelechi, who was instinctively lurking on the edge of the six-yard box. His first touch with his chest was exquisite, almost exhibitionist in execution. He took the sting out of it, caressing it directly up; where it hung in the air, for what seemed like an hour. When the ball finally dropped, his second touch was decisive; volleying the ball low into the bottom corner from 6 yards.

The Nigerian likes cameos, and they like him. It’s hard not to think about what ifs in his case. Only 29, his pure skill and wit is as evident as his lack of fitness. Finesse, with a hint of farce unfortunately, otherwise you can’t help but think, he would run amok in Scotland.

Both Celtic’s goals in this were excellent. The first a result of a 3-man collective pattern, the second a touch of individual effrontery, that has been lesser spotted this season.

In general, the effectiveness of Alistair Johnston was plain to see. A blunt object marked “what we’ve been missing” to the back of the head. The Canadian is a force, when at his best. Physically capable and eager, occasionally swashbuckling. It was his first start since in six months and not only did he effect the final 3rd emphatically with his assist, his general influence on the balance of the side was evident.

The novel trend of strikers scoring goals has carried us well these last few weeks. Iheanacho has 4 in the last 5, Maeda has hit a little run with 4 in 3. If they could repeat this in the next 3 games, it would probably prove to be the difference.

The tension of the 2nd half really colours what should have been a perfunctory win bar the moment of madness.

VAR have stated that there was insufficient evidence of handball, but I can only presume they mean a 2nd, even a 3rd handball. It could have been costly. It could still be.

Ultimately, this was a good day. A tricky away fixture navigated. I feel like games are immediately consigned to the history books as soon as the whistle goes just now. There is little room for reflection, nor is it necessary. Generally, I’ll watch a Celtic game a second time - especially if I go to it - but lately I’ve not bothered. There’s little sophistication to describe, it also doesn’t really matter. All that matters is the next one.

Bank Holiday Monday - 04/05/2026.

Sky done a pretty good job of dramatizing Hearts v Rangers, with its Bank Holiday Monday, prime time viewing slot. With it kicking off at 5: 30pm, anyone with any interest in Scottish football would most likely be tuning in.

For us, it was a case of trying to unlearn a life-time habit in one afternoon. I have since learned that, I do in fact, not know what’s best for me. I found it utterly impossible to genuinely, actively, wish them anything but misery and failure.

At half-time, Celtic were joint top of the league. Rangers winning this game, was logically the best result for us, but a draw seemed like a healthy compromise for mind and soul.

It wasn’t to be. Danny Rohl and Rangers came unstuck by a rudimentary tactical change by Hearts. They were smothered by the Edinburgh side in the second half and duly wilted in the cauldron of Tynecastle.

This coming soon version of Rangers is as predictable as night following day. Great at chasing, terrible at being chased.

It must be said that the standard of football on show was desperate. Primitive and overly rugged. The company we are keeping these days, is a poor reflection on ourselves.

The Weekend

We play Rangers this Sunday. It’s hard to preview that, without a look at Hearts’ trip to Fir Park. Again, Sky are not messing about this season; giving this a 8pm Saturday night kick off slot. This is massive for Hearts, their biggest game in decades, their biggest game since the last one, their biggest game of the season to date (and maybe ours as well). It represents a huge challenge, against a side who may relish the role of being kingmakers, despite being 4^th in the league. Rumours of their being friction between both sets of players is music to our ears.

A fraught and controversial contest finished 1 - 1, only heightening the anticipation for Sunday.

Celtic 3 - 1 Rangers - 10/03/2026

For all the angst that has accompanied this season. For all the existentialism surrounding our dominance and dynasty. For all the toxicity, fulminations and off the field controversy, this Celtic team is now on the verge of glory.

A beleaguered, brow beaten bunch of players/misfits are two wins from modern folklore.

Daizen Maeda took the roof off Celtic Park yesterday. In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.

The celebrations that greeted the goal; the primal, unexpected, unbridled joy. The trepidation vanquished, the sheer elation, that anxious itch scratched in unison by 60,000(minus those clad in black) created a noise that can’t be replicated anywhere else, in any other stadium in the UK. Often, it’s hard to describe what is so special about Celtic Park’s atmosphere but this was it.

Platitudes from Europe’s finest are fine. Anecdotes of great goals and great times bring a smile to your face.

This was pandemonium, pure hysteria and it corroborates the idea that Parkhead, is a fine piece in the pantheon of football stadia. Not necessarily the bones of the place these days, but its soul remains unrivalled.

It was breath-taking, literally. Spinetingling, still.

It was a where were you moment. Comparable to Larsson’s chip, Nakamura’s free kick or Rogic in the Invincible final.

Fairy-tale stuff. Football has this strange ability to, on occasion, be utterly perfect, just when you need it to be.

This was that.

The Goal.

You’ll have no doubt watched it back 4723 times by now. You’ll no doubt see it a million times in the coming years.

The aesthetic beauty of it was matched only by its spontaneity. A cross only half cleared, bounced to Maeda. His improvised touch with his left foot, went upwards and left him with his back to goal, awaiting gravity to do it’s work on the ball. The next thing we knew, was that Maeda was horizontal in the air, attempting an overhead kick with a technicality and audacity, not immediately associated with him.

The trajectory of the ball as it left his foot was confusing, it seemed farcically speculative. It’s flight then started to plateau. Confusion turned to curiosity as the ball suddenly appeared to head in the general direction of goal. It was in the air forever; allowing me time to nudge my pal, as if it to alert him to the fact that something was happening, that this isn’t in fact going nowhere. The moment prior to it hitting the net was surreal. A whole stadium, stupefied into silence, spellbound and bewitched by the ball.

Jack Butland’s reaction confirmed suspicions. He stood there resigned to his fate as the ball and the penny dropped. It hit the net just inside the post and under the bar.

The entire stadium jumped clean out it’s skin. Delirium.

Celtic Football Club (@CelticFC) on X

It’s a moment that will live with me forever.

These games are relatively non-descript. In fact, the only thing that matters is the score line above. I remember little despite being perfectly sober. In between the ball flying about like a hissing potato, the arms flailing in protest and aching tension, the actual football seems intermittent and somewhat irrelevant.

This is my take from the game despite having just watched it all back. Other outlets may be able to offer more insight.

Celtic played with the feral energy and competitiveness that is necessary to come out on top. There was none of the passive, second guessed play we’ve seen and now that the end is in sight, the players seem focused, the collective is tuned and recalibrated. The plan seems more calcified.

A confident Maeda, a fully fit Engels and the flying Alistair Johnston have added drive and physicality to the team and rejuvenated the redundant right-hand side.

Wednesday night can’t come quick enough.

Motherwell 2 - 3 Celtic 13/05/2026

Scottish football has it’s very own Zapruder film this morning.

Stills, adjusted frame rates and even doctored images are being circulated in order to prove conclusively, whether or not Celtic’s injury time penalty can match a narrative, or confirm a bias.

Footage of a first half barge in the back of Daizen Maeda, has strangely gone missing.

Controversy and drama, the likes of which we’ve never seen. A title race, the likes of which we’ve never seen. At least not in my lifetime.

We’re now witnessing a climbdown this morning from the frothing fulmination in the immediate aftermath of the game. It was not in fact “Disgusting”, it was a handball. It wasn’t in fact “The worst VAR decision in history”, it was fairly routine for handball decisions. His hand was above his head and touched the ball, is the long and the short of it.

The level of condescension towards Scottish football over the last months, has been truly staggering. The spate of fans and pundits - with no interest in Scottish football - who suddenly, are desperate for Hearts to win the title, for sheer novelty alone, have had their say. David Orstein (The Athletic) was on Sky Sports last night, giving his opinion. Embarrassingly uninformed and lacking in insight, he suggested Hearts should win the title because “They’ve played really good football all season.” An opinion shared by absolutely no one.

Highbrow stuff indeed David. Thanks.

It’s understandable. Hearts are the underdog, the hero in this would be magical fairy-tale, that could still unfold. That Celtic are the natural villain also makes perfect sense.

What seems lost though, to all those casting Celtic as their Bête Noir is that Hearts and Rangers are the flagships of the type of modernity everyone loathes apparently. This is not organic in any sense. Rangers are a sub department of a footballing conglomerate. Another workstream of a corporate fund. There’s another branch in Leeds. Hearts are merely another folder in Tony Bloom’s portfolio. Not mainlined with cash like Rangers but data doped. An algorithm with a maroon top on.

Spare me your wistful, doe-eyed romanticism.

Anyway….

Kelechi Iheanacho is cool. Do you not what’s cooler than being cool? Ice cool.

The Nigerian clearly carries a little weight above the waistline but it’s fair to say, he carries a fair amount just below it as well. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t watch. This was pure concentrated pressure in the 95^th minute. Literally the last kick of the game.

The 29-year-old had no such problems; his effrontery even allowed him to look the keeper dead in the eyes, before sitting him down and slotting it in the bottom corner. It was a clear illustration of the quality of the player.

Motherwell’s performance had been impressive. They move the ball as a neat collective. A rotating swarm of players, drifting around the ball, they take turns to pop up and sting you. Coordinated patterns and rehearsed runners caused plenty trouble throughout. They took the lead in the 18^th minute, via Watt’s deflected effort.

Celtic steadied though. Maeda is a man possessed at the minute. Having missed a similar chance earlier, he found himself with the ball on his left foot, left of goal. Whereas he shanked the previous effort, he finished in an unstoppable manner on this occasion. Head down, in stride, bang, far post. It was a lethal finish; his 7^th goal in 5 games.

Shortly before half time, Celtic were inexplicably denied a penalty after Motherwell’s keeper collided stormed out his goal and collided with Maeda in the box. Bizarrely, it was given little attention.

The enigma that is Benjamin Nygren was next to have his say. Having touched the ball out of his stride, he then released a vicious shot from 25 yards. An almost knuckleball strike, it flew off his laces, dipping and swerving indiscriminately, before finding the top corner, to give Celtic a priceless lead.

The game stewed intermittently from here. Motherwell’s enthusiasm swelled ominously around the 75^th minute and again, they started to pick Celtic apart. The team looked leggy at this point and offered as much resistance, as a bead curtain.

Sinasalo made a great save at his bottom corner, before a deflected cross struck the crossbar minutes later. Eventually, Celtic’s defence gave way. A sclaffed clearance was turned back towards goal and blocked, the rebound was then saved again by Sinisalo, only for it to fall perfectly for Liam Gordon, 5 yards from goal. 2 – 2 and hanging on.

Hearts were 3-0 up at this point. Celtic would need to win by 3 on the last day. Optimism was blunted by the reality of it all.

Cue the madness, the penalty and unbridled joy from the Celtic end.

To be fair, I don’t have words. I don’t know how I did that. We done it. The fans are still shouting - Kelechi Iheanacho

All’s well, that ends well etc etc.

Tynecastle.

Like in 86, the news filtered through.

A whole stadium crestfallen. The realisation dropped hard on the Hearts players and fans. What was about to be a celebration, had turned to mourning en masse. A winning lottery ticket, whipped away by a gale force wind. There one second, gone the next.

The consequence of the result was lost on no one.

It’s disgusting - Derek McInnes

Celtic v Hearts - 15/05/2026 - The day before.

I’m sitting bored in work, vacantly nodding as my manager talks to me about plans for next week. My mind couldn’t be further away; it had been clamped on tomorrow since the whistle went at Fir Park. I’ve already planned tomorrow morning’s breakfast and, looked out the train times from Partick. Get there early I think, soak it all in.

Often it’s those who can endure the most, rather than inflict, that will ultimately be victorious.

This season has been a perpetual omnibus of everything, everywhere, all at once for Celtic. Wednesday night was predictable; another episode of the one battle after another feel of the campaign.

One way or another, it all ends tomorrow.

Tynecastle looked completely shattered at full time the other night as the news broke. Brave faces, weak smiles.

Hearts had emptied their ammo into the bad guy, only to see him rise to his feet, once again.

They have one bullet left.

Scottish football was still in nuclear fall out. Sheer indignation or Cannytakeitness to be more precise. The ball hit his hand above his head and a lot of folk, will need to get over it pronto.

It’s understandable. Hearts are the underdog, the hero in this would be magical fairy-tale, that could still unfold. That Celtic are the natural villain also makes perfect sense. This isn’t the Disney channel though.

This is a game for the ages; a 10/21er at our bit, with our ball, with the whole scheme - and most of Europe - watching.

Onto victory once more…

Celtic 3 - 1 Hearts - 16/05/2026 - 5 in a row.

After Tannadice, Celtic had to win all seven remaining games. They did. Hearts’ form was admirable; it just wasn’t enough.

If you’ve never been hated, you’ve never lived.

Every great story needs a villain; were there’s a people’s champion; there must be a heel. Were we have a David, so there is a Goliath. In this case – for many - the bad guy was still standing when the credits rolled.

Celtic were the perfect antagonists. They survived everything thrown at them. A 74-year-old manager taking a bunch of brow beaten miscreants. A resignation, a sacking after 33 days. Off the field frothing fulmination, incessant conflict, even the banning of our own fans. All compounded by long-term injuries to their best players.

True fictional baddies are also inevitable. This became apparent on Wednesday night, when the news filtered through from Fir Park. The terror was etched on every face at Tynecastle. They had failed to finish Celtic off and there we stood, devilishly smug. Hearts had to come and chap our door.

The execution was broadcast live, viewed by millions, desperate for the underdog to come out on top. They nearly did. What was so sickening for some though, was the abruptness of the ending. Top until they weren’t, falling at the final, agonising hurdle after being on the summit for 250 days. The winning lottery ticket whipped out your hand by a gale force wind.

For an extra dramatic twist, there was a cruel flourish at the very last. The uniqueness of the last goal as Celtic players pouring up the park unopposed to tap the ball home, was pure cinema. It just wasn’t the ending a lot of people hoped for.

A prevailing sentiment was that this title means nothing to Celtic, whereas it would have meant the world to the Hearts fans. That’s not how sports and specifically football works. I can see why some would take this wildly naïve, sentimental view, but can you ever really cherish something you’ve never known? You can covet it, but coldly put, you don’t know it. Have never lifted it above your head, draped in your colours.

That’s a feeling you don’t give up easily, which was evident in the unbridled mayhem at the end of the game.

The sub-plots.

I still can’t get my head around the fact that Martin O’Neill is the Celtic manager let alone, steered the club to this title in such dramatic, nail-biting fashion.

I’ve tried to sum this up in concise fashion a few times over the last couple of months but have found it hard to nail down. There’s such a wistful nostalgia to it all. Like a crossing of the streams; a previous life running simultaneously on top of this current irritation. A slow burning latent Deja - Vu minus Larsson, my hair, and The Strokes on repeat.

In his pre match interview, his demeanour departed from the humble, the happy to be here type sentiment he’s tried to convey throughout. It should have served as notice, that he had had everyone on strings the whole time. He appeared almost uncharacteristically cold, laser focused.

The ending of the game was the perfect example of his calculated but also innate cunning. McInnes had spent his cards, while O’Neill had one up his sleeve. It was something like serendipitous that his old hat 3-5-2 would ultimately decide the game and the title.

Some people are on the pitch…

It was the longest 7 and a half minutes of my life. I tried to distract myself and eat time by going to the toilet on the 92-minute mark. It was a calculated gamble.

I struggled to watch and hung about the top of the stairs at 143. Glancing just about everywhere but the actual pitch itself. Content that the clock was ticking by. As Blair Spittal lined up his free kick, the tension was utterly agonising. Crippling.

Thankfully he made a meal of the set piece, and first contact was from a Celtic’s players head, but the dread was not over. The ball fell to a Hearts player 30 yards from goal. It would have taken a moment of a lifetime for him to score but we’ve seen it all before in football. Or at least we thought we had.

Little did we know that we were about to witness one of the most iconic moments in the contemporary history of Celtic. Kelechi Iheanacho blocked the shot from Hearts. It landed at the feet of McGregor, who shunted the ball forward into the path of Callum Osmond.

It took a couple of seconds for the reality to hit home. Celtic had won the league and their 5^th consecutive title. Three Celtic players streamed up the park unopposed like a trifecta of wild horses. Osmond finally stroked the ball into an empty net and a whole season of angst, weeks of excruciating tension and itching anxiety was scratched instantaneously.

The celebrations that greeted the goal; the primal, unexpected, unbridled joy. The trepidation vanquished, the sheer elation of 60,000(minus those in Maroon) created a noise that can’t be replicated anywhere else, in any other stadium in the UK. Often, it’s hard to describe what is so special about Celtic Park’s atmosphere but this was it.

In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.

Hopefully over the next few weeks, we’ll be able to unpack this whole season but for now we’re still living out the case. It’s all been a bit of a carry on.

17/05/2026 - And scene……..

It’s often those who can endure the most, rather than inflict that win in the end. If i can endure this hangover, I can do anything. Usually such physical depletion would bring with it a crippling anxiety and emotional toll, but not this time. The smile was still beaming.

In terms of drama, it was all a bit far fetched. Hollywood.

Football never really ends. Whilst we may look upon the cup final as the end of a season; allowing us to put a full-stop after it, underline it, and archive it somewhere in the large repository our brain keeps for all things Celtic, it is more of an addendum, than it is anything definitive. The final whistle signals the beginning of what’s next and so on. It is merely an interval; a well-earned one.

If you would have told me Celtic would have went on to win the league when I was at Hampden for last month’s semi-final - the week before the split - I would have been relieved, surprised but not at all shocked. Sure, they looked desperate that day - up until that explosive period of extra time - but in the bigger picture they were still in with a good shout. Past glories perhaps shouldn’t influence the present, but they do; precedent often begets belief. Football fandom, like religion, has faith as its foundation

Callum Osmond’s goal is a moment that I’ll never forget, but I almost struggle to remember it. It was too inexplicable to understand, too unique to know what to expect next, and too good to be true. After a few seconds, it sunk in that he couldn’t be caught; Celtic had won the league. I can’t picture the face of the random guy who I shared the moment with. Squeezing the life out each other as if we had known each other our whole lives, screaming in each other’s faces with manic joy, and then off, and onto the next embrace or handshake.

I’ve not struggled to write about this season, but this last couple of weeks has been a nightmare, too much to surmise, too ethereal to apply logic to.

Celtic, like all football dynasties are built on a willingness to go to the limit. To dig deep when the chips are down, to turn it up to an intensity that others are not naturally comfortable with. This is what we’ve seen in the last few weeks. It started at home to Falkirk, and it became even more palpable at home to Rangers. Celtic puffed its chest out. Fortitude swelled; expedited by the calls for a spirit worthy of past glory. The biggest clubs have a reference to draw from, notes of previous success to look back on, from which they can plot the perilous course ahead.

The most obvious and valuable reference this time, was Martin O’Neill.

Iconography

Maybe it’s something to do with a certain religion that many of us may share but we do love an icon, or the imagery that goes with it. St. Martin’s fable is even more consecrated, despite already enjoying deity like status. We’ve also plenty of moments to choose from when looking to visualise the glory of what has just passed.

Osmand’s goal will be rewatched as long as Celtic exists, but it came only six days after Daizen Maeda went upside down and produced one of the most spontaneous moments of bedlam seen in years

Cheers.

It’ll take years to unpack this whole season but for now we’re still living out the case. It’s all been a bit of a carry on.

A major problem still exists though. One which existed long before we arrived at the transfer window, and strangely, one that no inroads whatsoever have been made into solving. The midfield!

We may have signed a couple of cherries, but there is a distinct lack of cake to put them on top of.

An off-kilter midfield will fly like a paper plane with an uneven fold. Celtic’s needs symmetry, reinforcement and refinement.

The midfield is often referred to as the heartbeat of any side, the engine room which powers the team. Beyond the beige though, it can also facilitate the finer flourishes. Its influence on the team is all encompassing.

A strong core adds stability; strengthens the defensive balance and provides oxygen to its attack, allowing forward players a firm footing to platform their abilities. A midfield doesn’t just carry the water; it hydrates the whole team.

Do you want a 6 and an 8, two 6s, two 8s. Would you have 3 in there and if so; is it a 6 an 8 and a 10ish type of player? Is a 10 a midfielder? They certainly can be. Are you at home or away, is it Europe or the league, or a stuffy cup game against particularly agricultural opposition midfielders? The possibilities are not endless but there is more than one way to skin a cat, or win the battle of attrition in the middle of the park.

Apposite of the general decline in standards of player at Celtic, there is no longer competition in these vital positions. Matt O’Riley, peak McGregor and Hatate, propped up by a competent supporting cast seem like far flung heady days. Over the past 12 months, it would be a stretch to even label it functional.

From surfeit to starved.

Too often it looked sclerotic last season. Unimaginative on the ball and feeble off it. As resistant as a bead curtain. It often looked Staccato. 3 individuals who had gone rogue as opposed to a synchronised operation, working in tandem to move the ball. There’s a lot of work to be done, but before that, roughly half of the recognised midfielders are likely to leave.

Engels: The Belgian has improved incrementally throughout his two years at Celtic, but it would be a bit of stretch to say we can’t find better. The 22-year-old will be the flagship departure this season. The big ticket that will be cashed in to underwrite most of the rebuild. His athleticism fits the meta version of today’s midfielder. Something we needed more, not less of. As an attribute, this is currently top of the shopping list. Reports this morning are that he has agreed personal terms with West Ham United, and the clubs are now finalising a fee.

Hatate’s talents are obvious and he has had great spells intermittently, during his four and a half years at Celtic. Ultimately though, his time is up.

The lesser spotted Paulo Bernardo will leave. Another who has failed to live up to his latent talent will surely be looking for another club. Rodgers, Nancy and O’Neill have all turned there nose up at the Portuguese. A player who is hard to define and seemingly, hard to get a consistent tune out of.

Benjamin Nygren has proven to be a big hitter in the final third. He hits home runs but struggles to make base often and his general performances can be immensely frustrating. For the purposes of this though, I wouldn’t define him as a central midfielder.

McCowan and Oxlaide - Chamberlain will operate on the periphery. Most likely the club have picked the two lowest hanging opportunities here; quantity is the motivation with offering both new contracts. Merely having bodies is not enough.

That leaves McGregor.

Ubiquitous in Celtic’s midfield for over a decade now and intrinsic in our dominance. Regardless of his accomplishments on paper, on the pitch he has always been front and centre; busy in midfield, a fulcrum for building play, a conduit able to progress the ball and manage a game. From a relatively early age McGregor has carried a large amount of responsibility.

McGregor has turned 33 now. Whilst it would be futile to build around him given his age, he will likely be the main thread around which, this new midfield will knit. More legs are needed to compensate for his age, but importantly an adaptation of his role, could allow the captain a prolonged Indian summer.

A true number 6 would naturally allow him more freedom. Celtic have gone without a naturally defensive midfielder for some time now. Someone with a nose for danger; a padlock.

Chiawa, Gbane, Gineitis all seem to be adjacent to that profile of player. Add two of these to Baur – a more Hatate like player – and we could have something like the right blend.

O’Neill has a job on his hands fixing the midfield. It’s about to be stripped for parts; in quantity and quality. It wasn’t exactly firing to begin with. Get it right and it could be truly transformative.

Celtic have completed the signing of Kasper Hogh.

At £11 million – plus add ons – it is a record-breaking fee for the club. It represents an ambitious move; a departure from the decision paralysis of recent transfer windows that we’ve become accustomed, if not completely resigned to.

There’s a lot to be done still but this is a big signing.

Bodo/Glimt are the darlings of Modernists. A team who despite their circumstance, have maximized marginal gains via analytical process. There is however a purported curse for players who leave the idealist sanctuary of the Norwegian club. Most if not all, have ended up back in Norway within two seasons of departing for Europe’s top leagues.

For every rule though, there is an exception. Hogh looks a great bet. Good goals, scruffy goals, headed goals and all types in between, the 6’2 Dane seems the archetypal No 9 for a Martin O’Neill team.

Maeda came up brilliantly for us in the last six or seven weeks of the season, but we didn’t have that recognised striker. For most of the time I was here last season, we struggled to score goals, we didn’t have that striker. So that would be a big plus - Martin O’Neill

Recognised striker can be loosely translated to penalty box striker in this case.

O’Neill’s assertions ring true. In last season’s league campaign Celtic scored 39 goals fewer than they did in 24/25. A massive deficit, that was illustrated by also taking 10 points less.

Teams that would often be beat by half time, hung on. A one goal led became a nervy position of peril. A merciless striker gives you a bigger margin for error.

Hogh comes with an impressive resume in front of goal: most noticeably hitting 8 Champions League goals – and 4 assists - in 19 appearances. Added to this; he has 7 Europa League goals, 36 league goals in 63 appearances and recently scored on his second international cap for Denmark.

After being strongly linked in January, he went on to do some serious damage in Europe’s elite competition, scoring twice as Bodo/Glimt dispatched Man City on Matchday 7.

He added to this on Matchday 8 with the winning goal away to Athletico Madrid.

Through to the knockout round, Bodo faced off against Inter(H).

Having produced a slick, back heel assist for the opener, Hogh then set up the second with another, well executed, well timed pass. A comprehensive showing was signed off with a tap in to seal a 3-1 win. It was his 3rd consecutive MOTM performance in the Champions League.

That was followed up with a goal at home to Sporting Lisbon in the last 16.

The season before he scored 7 Europa league goals, catapulting Bodo to the semi-final, only succumbing to eventually winners Spurs.

“Without going to too deeply into it, that’s the calibre of player that we’d be looking for, who has scored goals in the champions league. I’m hoping that players coming into the football who are of some sort of substance, I think that would be the exciting thing for the fans.” - Martin O’Neill.

Hogh’s record and recent exposure in the Champions League, gives this a gravitas that we’ve became unfamiliar with. It feels retro; redolent of O’Neill’s first spell and the signings of Chris Sutton or John Hartson.

He cost the club a record fee - it’s only the second time we’ve broke the £10million mark. If he’s good though, he makes us better, if he’s really good, it shifts the needle. Goals, especially in Europe, are priceless. It’s fair to say that the club lost more by failing to score against Kairat Almaty over 221 minutes, than it would by slightly overpaying on a transfer.

The 25 year old, has the opportunity to become a hero at Parkhead. To fill the hero vacuum left by Kyogo Furahashi and now Daizen Maeda.

That’s been missing - exacerbated by the absence of Jota - for the last year or so. A fans favourite. Someone to get you to the edge of your seat, or get you off it. Someone you back to take that half chance on the big nights. Our No 9 but our number one.

We’ve got a cherry, just not the cake.

Not unique to following Celtic but without doubt, exacerbated by it, is the intense, neurotic obsession we have developed with transfers. The summer window starts full of hope, naïve and lustful for new heroes before usually fizzling out, into a complicated and regretful episode.

Three months of soap opera gossip, wondering when, not if, your favourite character is going to be killed off. Sold for a record-breaking fee you’ll never see a penny of.

Is that window selling? You can sell but you can’t look?

Juxtaposed to the fact it takes place in summer, the transfer window for a Celtic supporter is a troubling time.

The idea of new players is exciting. Regardless of how good the side is, it’s never good enough, is it?

There’s always that gem out there who might shift the needle. The young French centre mid with a Velcro touch and a penchant for defence splitting passes, or the 22-year-old Serbian centre-half who, despite being built like a double wardrobe, can run very fast.

It was the summer holidays, circa 97, that my rumour habit found its gateway. I’d have been 14/15, with an out-of-sync sleeping pattern and probably quite twitchy from playing too much Championship Manager (It’s proper name, thanks).

Whilst no doubt steering my simulated team of footballers to unrivalled success, my attention was caught by a clandestine back door delivery arriving at the Shell garage across the road. Big bundles of tomorrow’s papers getting emptied from a car boot. I never knew they did that.

This media industry trick was a revelation, and suddenly a curious itch arose. The primal trait of curiosity swelled within. Deep down, my inner Isa had awoken. I have to know.

My habit got bad quickly; pacing around my bedroom with change and the house keys rattling in my pocket. I was a mess. As soon as that navy Ford Mondeo pulled in, I was off.

There was an intervention after the teletext rumour numbers (remember that?) got the best of me. I remember a paper phone bill getting waved in my face. The threats of being grounded with my season ticket taken off me quelled the habit for a while.

Thankfully, these days, we’re under my roof, and if I want to stay up late watching YouTube comps of a tenuously linked wingers we could never afford, I will. The Europop soundtracks grow on you after a while.

Dossiers, graphs, stats and anecdotal information, close to dissertation length, are all part of the corroboration, the intrigue and conjecture needed before we can sign off on any target or give the “Boy looks a pler” seal of approval in the group chat. There is no quenching of the thirst for news. The other night I fell asleep to the voice of a guy called Quinny – he seems brand new, Celtic crazy, but things are moving too fast. Unlike the transfers.

Fans, customers, or the chattering classes as the board probably refer to us, are now miles beyond cynical. I have doubts we’ll get the Duran deal done and he’s already scored for us.

The club operates on a higher financial plane than it ever has done, but it hasn’t shifted the horizons of the team. “Life in the slow lane” O’Neill chimed prophetically. Here we are; here he is as well.

Hold up though. You’ll have seen the forums in the last few days; you’ll have got the WhatsApp. The speculation, the whispers from the ether delivered by trusted messengers with a link to the footballing underworld of what is essentially, hiring staff.

A Dane, an Egyptian, and a German. It’s no joke.

World Cup 26

The long nights. Made longer for the - scheduled a year in advance - abrupt end to the World Cup. It always seems to come out of nowhere.

Here for a month, then gone for 4 years. Like extended family you really really like.

The rarity of the World Cup makes it something else. Its scale gives it a majesty and prestige. It evokes something of childhood in most football perverts and in many ways – out with club football – it was probably the genesis of our obsession.

It was the perfect tonic; a distraction and attraction that made the mundanity of Celtic seem slightly less important for a moment.

I followed it closely from the start and kept a bit of a WC diary. Notes on most games and major narratives that arose throughout. It currently sits at 14,000 words, which is by far the longest ting I’ve ever written. Mostly I got carried away by the romanticism of Messi’s last dance. The sheer distain on my fiancé’s face when I told her I was staying up to watch Argentina v Algeria at 2am is something I’ll never forget.

Here’s a little snippet:

Messi can often out do a tactical plan. The shape can be prized open; locks can be picked. The spaces between the lines can be rearranged by his presence never mind his precision. He can simply blow the door off the hinges.

This is where things become sticky for coaches. What is it he does and what do you do about it?

How do you catch what is not natural? Can you mark someone that doesn’t run? Well simply you can’t. You can maybe stop him controlling the entirety of the game but it’s unlikely you will suppress his will completely. If you do that, you still have to stop his feet. Two touches is generally enough for him to decide your fate.

His 17^th World Cup goal was just so Messi; Messi coded, Messi ish. So much so that despite being a first-time finish from the edge of the area, it carried the formality of a two-yard tap in.

Having started the move just inside the Austrian half with a sharp turn, play was opened up and Argentine attacked in a sweeping fashion down the left. The cross was an elongated cut – back, arched towards the edge of the box. Amada let the ball run through his legs beautifully as he, seemingly along with everyone else out with the Austria team knew what was happening. The rest, as they say, is history. Until there was more history in injury time. Messi scores again. 5 for the tournament and 18 all in. It led to bitesize clips of all 18 goals. From his first back in 2006 to now. Evolution, maturation, but ultimately sheer brilliance.

It produced a kind of sharp existentialism and melancholy (my default setting apparently). A timescale perspective of life via his. I know that sounds ridiculous, but I remember him scoring that first goal in 2026 and well I remember his goal last night. Different couch, house, job and lover. Only Messi remains constant. Enjoy it while you can.

I’ll probably never get to finish it but what fun it must be to actually be a football writer. My job is the most boring on earth and for my sins, the only thing I have a decent view of from the office window is Ibrox. I really should start going to chapel again.

Anyway, the final itself was utterly dreadful. Engrossing nonetheless but there was little football played. This is quite often the case. Reward is directly relevant to risk, and it played out that way. There’s been a lot of sanctimonious pearl clutching nonsense directed at the Argentinians. Sure, they didn’t cover themselves in glory but the idea that general everyday altruism has any place on a football pitch is childish. In the homogenised, media trained and highly sanitised world of professional sport, it’s refreshing to see such uninhibited passion and pride in their nation. For Argentinian’s, football is a vehicle for their identity. They have given us the two most expressive and artistic players in history, I won’t begrudge them a few kicks, shirt pulls, or the odd headlock.

One thing that I noticed over the last few years and was really encapsulated by this tournament, was our growing obsession with all things surrounding football, let alone the game itself. The actual sport.

Trump was Trump throughout, Fifa were Fifa, it was ever thus. Sure, it leaves a sour taste in the mouth, but this sort of insidious commercialism is present in every aspect of entertainment. It’s a struggle to define but I notice so many publications on Substack dedicated to business in sport, adjacent to football. Articles on club infrastructure, breaking news on the appointment of some middle management at a club. Deep dives into what are day-to-day dealings, tantamount to little more than administration.

It’s fun to peak behind the curtain, but there’s only so much we need to see.

For me it ties into the overwhelming narrative that football has lost its magic. I didn’t feel that at all about the World Cup. The football on display was top drawer for the most part. People shine a strange nostalgic light upon tournaments of the past. Italia 90 – I was only 7 – is heralded as a cultural centrepiece, yet it’s widely accepted the football was vapid and overtly defensive. Gazza crying doesn’t make it anymore special. Funnier yes, but not special. Nostalgia is often just memories, with a sepia filter on it.

A fine piece of nostalgia i purchased recently from Oxfam on Byres Road.

Daizen Maeda.

Daizen Maeda having a medical is a bit of a laugh isn’t it.

Score – 200%

Comments – The fittest/fastest man alive.

The Japanese virtuoso has officially left Celtic. A truly remarkable player, who’s attacking elan is stamped all over the last 5 years at Celtic. A half decade of dominance in which – for the most part, he played like his hair was on fire – in a good way. He truly was one of a kind, Sui Generis.

We will not be able to replace him. There is no aphorism fitting of him. No comparison or For Fans Of type reference.

First, there’s the obvious. The incredible athletic ability, the churn milk into butter type elbow grease, the inimitable industry and the first touch that quite often, needed another.

He was always a frustrating player. In his earlier days, I remember being behind the goal as he wound back his left leg for a shot. My first instinct was to clutch my Bovril tightly with both hands. There were the wild crosses which looked they’d been fired out a cannon and usually ended up in Parkhead cemetery. The persistence was eventually given some polish though, and strangely, despite not technically being good, Maeda ended up being our best.

He left us with an almost ethereal run of form to clinch the title. Opportunistic goals against Falkirk, a tap in at Hibs, the Rangers goal, a lethal finish at Fir Park and then a late winner in the final game, when it mattered most.

That overhead kick against Rangers was a goal for the ages.

The aesthetic beauty of it was matched only by its spontaneity. A cross only half cleared, bounced to Maeda. His improvised touch with his left foot, went upwards and left him with his back to goal, awaiting gravity to do its work on the ball. The next thing we knew, was that Maeda was horizontal in the air, attempting an overhead kick with a technicality and audacity, not immediately associated with him.

The trajectory of the ball as it left his foot was confusing, it seemed farcically speculative. It’s flight then started to plateau. Confusion turned to curiosity as the ball suddenly appeared to head in the general direction of goal. It was in the air forever; allowing me time to nudge my pal, as if it to alert him to the fact that something was happening, that this isn’t in fact going nowhere. The moment prior to it hitting the net was surreal. A whole stadium, stupefied into silence, spellbound and bewitched by the ball.

Jack Butland’s reaction confirmed suspicions. He stood there resigned to his fate as the ball and the penny dropped. It hit the net just inside the post and under the bar.

The entire stadium jumped clean out it’s skin. Delirium.

God speed Daizen, not that you’ll need it.

Hello again.

It’s important for us all to have a break and a strong pre-season. Holiday this year was in the Algarve, were there seems to be strong Celtic fisherman contingent.

I’ve not posted on here in six weeks but still people continue to join us. If you’ve came across this for the first time, it’s free to subscribe and posts will be sent directly to your inbox.

Letters from Zaire is a light-ish hearted look at what’s going on. Most of the other content centres on games and narratives arising throughout the season, with the odd topical piece thrown in.

This coming week, with the new season in mind, I intend to release the match reports from the last season’s split in one long form piece. I received so much great feedback from that period and being a bit of a novice in all this, it’s very much appreciated and encouraging. Substack now has a function which allows to listen to the pieces and I’ve a feeling it might be enjoyed as a kind of short audio book.

Addendum

It’s Saturday afternoon, I’m in Partick Library. It looks like Celtic have just spent £11m on Kasper Hogh. A player I watched score twice against City not long ago…….

Just when I thought I was out…….

From Zaire.

Mark

There can’t be a longer to do list in all of world football than Celtic’s. We’ve just ticked one off though. We’ve got 99 problems but a manager isn’t one.

This is not the most progressive or long term appointment. It’s the antithesis of modernity and the evolution of the club that has been coveted by so many. It is, however, as close to a guarantee of silverware as you can get. O’Neill enjoys a deity like status amongst the support which was further consecrated by his miracle working last season. Against all obstacles the 74 - year - old managed to steer a brow beaten group of players to unforgettable glory.

Emotionally though, this is the right man at the right time. The other option - if sources were to be believed - was far less palatable. O’Neill is maybe the most prominent figure in Celtic’s contemporary history. For many, including myself, he was the first great manager, the first architect of sustained dominance that we’ve known. His was the first era in what has become a quarter century of almost all encompassing ascendancy in Scotland.

There’s such a wonderful nostalgia to it that it’s hard not to indulge in. Like a crossing of the streams; a previous life running simultaneously on top of this current irritation. A slow burning latent Deja - Vu minus Larsson, my hair, and The Strokes on repeat.

O’Neill still has the wily shrewdness; the arch, the faux-naif had most fooled until it came to the crunch. A Kaiser Soze like ruse. Whilst in situ, he took both Danny Rohl and Derek McInnes for a long walk without either of them realising. His record last season is overlooked due to the circumstance surrounding it; losing only two domestic games in total. One of which Celtic had 10 men and the other was played on what resembled a basketball court at Tannadice.

He went unbeaten in his two games against Hearts and four against Rangers and in Europe - despite the inadequacy of the squad - won away at Feyenoord and Stuttgart, along with a resilient draw in Bologna

When it mattered his demeanour departed from the humble, the happy to be here type sentiment he’d conveyed throughout. The last game against Hearts was the perfect example of his calculated, innate cunning. McInnes had spent his cards, while O’Neill had one up his sleeve. It was something like serendipitous that his old hat 3-5-2 would ultimately decide the game and the title.

Despite the veiled protestations, he - like most - would struggle to walk away after the fairy tale ending. His post league interview on the pitch, was the perfect touch of vulnerability, authenticity and honesty.

The players and the coaching staff have given me a reason to live — that’s not to say my family haven’t. This is the most special place on Earth - Martin O’Neill

It certainly felt like it that day.

It is, as it stands, only a start on the monumental task that awaits the club this summer.

Whether O’Neill’s 4th appointment will be a lightning rod for those in charge remains to be seen. Success will to some extent appease the incessant opprobrium directed at the board; football is always the greatest distraction, the ends which will justify most means.

It could be the smoking gun in many ways, or a trojan horse. Failure to back him, to leave him under resourced and ill equipped would be the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back for many amongst the support.

Whilst it was framed in the most diplomatic way possible, O’Neill didn’t make any bones about the lack of quality in the Celtic squad, It was O’Neill that famously and prophetically quipped about Celtic preparing for “Life in the slow lane”. And well, here we are. Here he is as well.

The club will support Martin fully again across the close season to make sure we are well prepared to achieve domestic success and compete on the European stage. - Dermot Desmond - 11/06/2026

The positive and negative with windows is that you can see through them. They can provide a stunning vista or allow the neighbours a look at your dirty laundry. Patience is thin and there is nowhere to hide for Celtic this summer. The clock is ticking.

I’m not sure if this is what we wanted but it could be what was needed, or maybe the other way round.

As proven last season; the biggest and most successful clubs have a reference to draw from, notes of previous success to look back on, from which they can plot the perilous course ahead.

The most obvious and valuable reference this time is O’Neill.

It is once again a great privilege for me to continue as Celtic manager. Last season will live long in all our memories and to be part of that success has in a big way whetted the appetite to work again for more days like those and bring our supporters those moments - Martin O’Neill - 11/06/2026

The midfield is often referred to as the heartbeat of any side, the engine room which powers the team. It’s not just the engine room; it’s the vehicle which runs the whole house - it does the school runs and gets the shopping. Beyond the beige though, it can also facilitate the finer flourishes. Its influence on the team is all encompassing.

A strong core adds stability; reinforces the defensive balance and provides oxygen to its attack, allowing forward players a firm footing to platform their abilities. Ultimately a strong midfield/midfielder hydrates everything else.

In essence, it is the most altruistic position in a team. A socialist role by nature, in that your job is to share the ball; and via your own hard work, provide ideal circumstances for others to succeed. A jack of all trades can be a condescending, shaded description in a lot of contexts but here, it could probably serve in a complementary sense.

A striker doesn’t really have to tackle as such; a defender will rarely have to dribble. Some players have the game in front of them and other spend time with their back to goal, but midfield is completely 3 dimensional.

A right back will rarely find himself on the left side of a pitch and vice versa. A centre mid though, has very few parameters, very few situations that are alien or not in his jurisdiction and his responsibility. He is as likely to play a pass to a left back as he is a right winger; similarly, he will receive from a goalkeeper and find a striker. Logistically, he is central to everything. A conduit and a nucleus whose footprint is stamped on the game. It makes sense that his game is comprehensive and all encompassing.

All these individual behaviours and tasks can be scaled up when discussing the role of a midfield as a collective. Finding the equilibrium in midfield is an art in itself – worthy of dissertation length analysis and the genesis of endless pub conjecture.

Do you want a 6 and an 8, two 6s, two 8s. Would you have 3 in there and if so; is it a 6 an 8 and a 10ish type of player? Is a 10 a midfielder? They certainly can be. Are you at home or away, is it Europe or the league, or a stuffy cup game against particularly agricultural opposition midfielders? The possibilities are not endless but there is more than one way to skin a cat or win the battle of attrition in the middle of the park.

Getting this balance just right; stewing all the ingredients together and getting it to boil at the right time, is where the most seasoned managers will earn their crust.

Apposite of the general decline in standards of player at Celtic, there is no longer competition in these vital positions. Matt O’Riley, peak McGregor and Hatate, propped up by a competent supporting cast seem like far flung heady days. Last season it would be a stretch to label it functional.

From surfeit to starved.

Too often it looked sclerotic last season. Unimaginative on the ball and feeble off it. As resistant as a bead curtain. It often looked Staccato. 3 individuals who had gone rogue as opposed to a synchronised operation.

Engels: The Belgian has improved incrementally throughout his two years at Celtic, but it would be a bit of stretch to say we can’t improve upon him. Most likely we’ll have to or at least attempt to. The 22-year-old will be the flagship departure this season. The big ticket that will be cashed in to fund the rebuild. His athleticism fits the meta version of today’s midfielder.

Hatate looks set to leave the club; part of the mass exodus this summer. His time at the club is up.

Nygren is next to impossible to define but has proven big hitter in the final third. He hits home runs but struggles to make base often and his general performances can be immensly frustrating. The numbers he has posted though, in all competitions also mean he will be highly sought after. A strong World Cup with Sweden and he could become a commodity; we struggle to hold onto.

In fact, that’s very few we can say will be at the club with any certainty. Bernardo, is another who has failed to live up to his latent talent and will surely be looking for another club.

McCowan operates on the periphery of the first 11 and Oxlaide - Chamberlain is unlikely to be here.

That leaves McGregor.

Ubiquitous in Celtic’s midfield for over a decade now and intrinsic in our dominance. Regardless of his accomplishments on paper, on the pitch he has always been front and centre; busy in midfield, a fulcrum for building play, a conduit able to progress the ball and manage a game. From a relatively early age McGregor has carried a large amount of responsibility.

McGregor will turn 33 this month. It seems young to describe him as a veteran, but not many reach the accumulative figure of games he has played, regardless of how long they last. Inclusive of a loan spell and international football, he has already made roughly 700 professional appearances. It started to show last season.

Whilst it would be futile to build around him giving his age, he will likely be the main thread around which, this new midfield will knit. More legs are needed to compensate for his age, but importantly an adaptation of his role, could allow the captain a prolonged Indian summer.

A true number 6 would be concomitant to allowing him more freedom. Celtic have gone without a naturally defensive midfielder for some time now. Someone with a nose for danger; a padlock. Now seems like the time to take that responsibility off McGregor.

O’Neill has a job on his hands fixing the midfield. It’s about to be stripped for parts. In quantity and quality; it wasn’t exactly firing to begin with. Get it right and it could be truly transformative.

72 days out from the Champions League qualifiers. The clock is ticking.

There is, due to a combination of reasons, namely incompetence, set to be a mass exodus of playing staff come this summer. An organic changing of the guard due to contract lengths, squad numbers and maybe even retirement. In some cases, it’s just time to call it a day.

A cursory look at the squad list suggests a natural cull will be achieved quite easily. Schmeichel has confirmed his retirement. Kelechi Iheanacho’s contract expires, as does Alex Oxlaide – Chamberlain’s. Marcelo Saracci, Tomas Cvancara, Julian Aroujo, Junior Adamu, Benjamin Arthur and Mvuka’s – who has made such an impact I can’t remember his first name – loan spells at the club will be concluded.

That’s 11 already.

Next up is the large diaspora of loans we have sprinkled across other leagues. The likes of Luis Palma, Maik Nawrocki, Jonny Kenny are still employed by the club but whether they have a future here is doubtful. Palmaand Kenny will most likely have options and may represent a low hanging opportunity to pick up a small fee. Whilst it makes little tangible difference, Inamura and Shin Yamada will be allowed to leave for nominal fees on return from loan spells in Japan and Germany respectively. Stephen Welsh will also return from loan at Motherwell, just in time for his contract to expire.

Before we get to the conjecture about who’s not deserving to play for Celtic there’s the normal churn which affects us every summer.

A fair portion of the vast fortune that the club have accumulated can be attributed to player sales. Every summer – almost without fail – wesell a prize asset. Any club with a logical plan concomitant with improving, would use this windfall to fund the signing of players, whether the object be to add quantity, quality or ideally both. Despite the vacuum of talent at club currently, that will still be the case.

The flagship offering this summer will be Arne Engels. The club would have been besides themselves rejecting an offer worth £25million for our record signing in January. Their lack of foresight left them next to no option, or no time to source a replacement. They will be eager to attract more bids this summer, and it appears likely there will be sufficient suitors for the 22-year-old.

Daizen Maeda could and should have left last summer. The locker was cleared and he had said his goodbyes. Again, the club’s inability to build a sufficient roster of players made this inviable at the time. Whilst he hasn’t been able to reach the same heights of the previous campaign, he will still command a decent fee. This move seems almost naturally beneficial for all parties. His time is up as a Celtic player.

The same goes for Reo Hatate, who has never veiled his desire to play elsewhere. The departure of these two will signify an end of the club’s most recent period of dominance. Having both joined in January 2022 at the behest of Ange Postecoglou, they have played a significant part in the all-encompassing, domestic success of the last four seasons. A fifth successive title was the perfect way to bookend this last half decade and round off what may be referred to – in future years - as the Japanese chapter, in the club’s history.

Paulo Bernardo has failed to impress any of the incumbents of the Celtic managerial position this season. His future rests elsewhere, having never managed to live up to his latent potential.

Murmurings of Callum McGregor being lured to Saudi Arabia, by Brendan Rodgers persists. The idea of Celtic minus these two seems abstract. In McGregor’s case it would be an abrupt and premature ending giving his importance to the team on the pitch, and the esteem in which he is held at the club in general. Many have suggested he looks spent, but it is hard to judge the individual, in such a dysfunctional collective. For me, he has built more than enough credit to get another shot at it.

Has anyone been counting?

There’s a lot of work to be done to build another successful squad. These departures will further expedite what is already a monumental job. The great refresh is what’s been needed for a while; not merely to replenish an ageing squad, but to refresh the hunger and motivation of the squad. Ultimately, new heroes are needed.

Unfortunately, the currently stewardship of the club is not serviceable. It would be wildly optimistic to have any confidence in the club to deliver this, over and above, hiring a new manager and coaching staff.

Stay well stretched and hydrated folks, you might have to pull those boots out the cupboard.

It’s often those who can endure the most, rather than inflict that win in the end

Football never really ends. Whilst we may look upon the cup final as the end of a season; allowing us to put a full-stop after it, underline it, and archive it somewhere in the large repository our brain keeps for all things Celtic, it is more of an addendum, than it is anything definitive. The final whistle signals the beginning of what’s next and so on. It is merely an interval; a well-earned one.

If you would have told me Celtic would have went on to do the double, when I was at Hampden for last month’s semi-final, I would have been relieved but not at all shocked. Sure, they looked dreadful that day - up until that explosive period of extra time - but in the bigger picture they were still in with a good shout. Past glories perhaps shouldn’t influence the present, but they do; precedent often begets belief. Football fandom, like religion, has faith as its foundation

Callum Osmond’s goal is a moment that I’ll never forget, but 10 days out I almost struggle to remember it. I was stood at the top of the stairs to 143, too scared to look; only properly engaging or taking my eyes off the clock when the ball fell to Cammy Devlin’s feet. The next thing we knew, three Celtic players streamed forward unopposed like a trifecta of wild horses. It was too inexplicable to understand, too unique to know what to expect next, and too good to be true. After a few seconds, it sunk in that he couldn’t be caught; Celtic had won the league. I can’t picture the face of the random guy who I shared the moment with. Squeezing the life out each other as if we had known each other our whole lives, screaming in each other’s faces with manic joy, and then off, and onto the next embrace or handshake.

I’ve not struggled to write about this season, but this last couple of weeks has been a nightmare, too much to surmise, too ethereal to apply logic to.

Celtic, like all football dynasties are built on a willingness to go to the limit. To dig deep when the chips are down, to turn it up to an intensity that others are not naturally comfortable with. This is what we’ve seen in the last few weeks. It started at home to Falkirk, and it became even more palpable at home to Rangers. Celtic puffed its chest out. Fortitude swelled; expedited by the calls for a spirit worthy of past glory. The biggest clubs have a reference to draw from, notes of previous success to look back on, from which they can plot the perilous course ahead.

The most obvious and valuable reference this time, was Martin O’Neill.

Iconography

Maybe it’s something to do with a certain religion that many of us may share but we do love an icon, or the imagery that goes with it. St. Martin’s fable is even more consecrated, despite already enjoying deity like status. We’ve also plenty of moments to choose from when looking to visualise the glory of what has just passed.

Osmand’s goal will be rewatched as long as Celtic exists, but it came only six days after Daizen Maeda went upside down and produced one of the most spontaneous moments of bedlam seen in years.

The trajectory of the ball as it left his foot was confusing, it seemed farcically speculative. It’s flight then started to plateau. Confusion turned to curiosity as the ball suddenly appeared to head in the general direction of goal. It was in the air forever; allowing me time to nudge my pal, as if it to alert him to the fact that something was happening, that this isn’t in fact going nowhere. The moment prior to it hitting the net was surreal. A whole stadium, stupefied into silence, spellbound and bewitched by the ball.

Jack Butland’s reaction confirmed suspicions. He stood there resigned to his fate as the ball and the penny dropped. It hit the net just inside the post and under the bar.

The entire stadium jumped clean out it’s skin. It was breath-taking, literally. Spinetingling, still. It was a where were you moment. Comparable to Larsson’s chip, Nakamura’s free kick or Rogic in the Invincible final. It was the moment we knew that the title was there for the taking.

Football has this strange ability to, on occasion, be utterly perfect, just when you need it to be.

In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.

If you’ve never been hated, you’ve never lived.

It’s been a strange feeling being the bad guy. I can’t say it’s not been fun.

Every great story needs a villain; were there’s a people’s champion; there must be a heel. Were we have a David, so there is a Goliath. In this case – for many - the bad guy was still standing when the credits rolled.

Celtic were the perfect antagonists. They survived everything thrown at them. A 74-year-old manager taking a bunch of brow beaten miscreants. A resignation, a sacking after 33 days. Off the field frothing fulmination, incessant conflict, even the banning of our own fans. All compounded by long-term injuries to their best players.

True fictional baddies are also inevitable. This became apparent on Wednesday night, when the news filtered through from Fir Park. The terror was etched on every face at Tynecastle. They had failed to finish Celtic off and there we stood, devilishly smug. Hearts had to come and chap our door. It made for a game of the age’s scenario. A 10/21er up our bit, with our ball. Winner takes all.

The execution was broadcast live, viewed by millions, desperate for the underdog to come out on top. They nearly did. What was so sickening for some though, was the abruptness of the ending. Top until they weren’t, falling at the final, agonising hurdle after being on the summit for 250 days. The winning lottery ticket whipped out your hand by a gale force wind.

14 out of 15 titles is an easy way to make enemies. No one likes a show off.

Ah well.

Defenestraphobia – A fear of windows.

The positive and negative with windows is that you can see through them. They can provide a stunning vista or allow the neighbours a look at your dirty laundry. There is nowhere to hide for the Celtic board this summer.

Not unique to following Celtic but somewhat exacerbated by it, is the intense, neurotic obsession we have developed with transfers. The summer window starts full of hope, naïve and lustful for new heroes, before usually fizzling out into a complicated and regretful episode of a low-budget soap opera.

A never-ending omnibus that lasts the best part of three months, is on every day, very rarely has a happy ending, and without fail, sees your favourite character being killed off (Sold).

The susurration of football, the murmuring. The patter, the pub opinions or the spreadsheet perverts and their pie charts. The collective noise is about to gather very quickly.

It’s going to be a long, hot summer.

I’m sure we’ll get to that though.

In Zaire (You’ll find us there).

May’s newsletter last year was read by 28 people. At the time I had 14 subscribers and was very much in the embryonic stage of trying to cover Celtic on Substack.

We’re now close to 250 subscribers, and I’m constantly amazed by the feedback and encouragement I get. I shouldn’t be amazed though; it’s Celtic. We genuinely are the most obsessive weirdos when it comes to our team.

Writing about Celtic this last year has been more war-correspondent than football blogger. Maybe an insight into being a comedian as well; it’s been a struggle to come up with new, funny ways to call the board daft.

There will be more serious subjects to cover over the summer but this monthly newsletter, is an emotive piece, meant to capture an overarching feeling. Initially, when I started this endeavour, I intended to write football in a more insightful way. The last six months, though, I’ve just been swept away by the drama of it all. I’m sure you’ll understand.

As always, thanks for reading. If you’ve stumbled upon this, or already follow, it is free to subscribe and would be much appreciated.

From Zaire

Mark

Football never really ends. Whilst we may look upon yesterday’s final whistle as the end of a season; allowing us to put a full-stop after it, underline it, and archive it somewhere in the large repository our brain keeps for all things Celtic, it is still more of an addendum, than it is anything definitive. We won the league, but it is one of 5 consecutive leagues. We won the Scottish cup, but it is the fact we have won 43 - and therefor, more than anyone else – that is satisfying.

It’s been a tumultuous, nerve shredding campaign. Pure fever-pitch from the start and even more so at its end. It was Celtic: in shadow and in sun.

The biggest and most successful clubs have a reference to draw from, notes of previous success to look back on, from which they can plot the perilous course ahead.

The most obvious and valuable reference this time, was Martin O’Neill.

Celtic 3 v 1 Dunfermline – SCF – 23/05/2026

There was one change from what has become the recognised line up. A line up arrived at through a long, evolutionary process of elimination, throughout the season.

Tounetki continued in his pattern of starting, not doing enough and then being benched. James Forrest took his place.

Celtic appeared comfortable early on without being penetrative. A couple of botched crosses and speculative attempts were about it, as the Pars made a decent fist of frustrating us.

This all changed in the 19th minute. A neat interchange between Nygren and Engels was cycled to Johnstone, with space to drive into. Instead, he went direct; pinging a long pass over the Dunfermline defence. Tod got himself in a mess, failing to clear first time. Maeda was left with a simple but aesthetically pleasing lob over the keeper.

The difference in athleticism was striking at this point. McGregor and Engels had yards to play in each time they got the ball. Dunfermline looked knackered and were put to bed moments later.

McGregor rolled the ball to Engels in shooting drill like style. The Belgium took it first time. A laced, knuckleball type strike dipped and swerved viciously, low, past the keeper who looked unsighted by two defenders in front of him.

It would be condescending to say it was harsh on The Fifers. This wasn’t the magic of the cup but a peek behind the curtain of the realities of professional football; the clinical differences between the levels.

Neil Lennon made three changes at halftime, in an attempt to repair the damage.

The changes seemed to work, briefly. Tod on the left for the Pars must be the specciest player in the game’s history but he has promise. His combination with Fraser at left back, showed some threat throughout the second half. Both will likely go onto to better things. Chris Kane and his MMA like physique was also introduced, and his contribution was positive and robust.

Dunfermline’s resurgence was admirable if not particularly troubling.

A well worked goal by Iheanacho was judged to be offside, due to a premature run by Yang.

The Nigerian was to have his say though. He may struggle to run but he can certainly dance. Despite limited minutes he has displayed the effrontery becoming of a Celtic striker. He could have smacked this first time but sat down the defender and the goalkeeper with ease, before finishing neatly. It was a lovely goal, befitting of the occasion.

It’s hard not to think about what ifs in his case. Only 29, his pure skill and wit is as evident as his lack of fitness. Finesse, with a hint of farce unfortunately, otherwise you can’t help but think he would run amok in Scotland. A moment near the end summed these fears up. With a 10-yard start on his defender, he was caught easily and looked like he had a pair of Timberlands on, as opposed to the tap dancing, fleet footedness he displays when the ball is at his feet.

The Pars would get their moment and well fair enough. Everybody does against this Celtic team. It was a lax conciliation goal to concede, apposite of the season in general.

The game petered out to the whistle. 43 Scottish Cups for Glasgow Celtic.

Sayonara.

While I stated at the top of this article that football never really ends, this does seem like the end of a chapter for some.

Several important players will leave, as will a spate of peripheral, loan, and out of contract members of the squad. It will equate to a sizeable, organic turnover of players, which could and should see Celtic looking entirely different next season.

It’s not a stretch to say that all three of Celtic’s goal scorers will be plying their trade elsewhere next season. The fact that nothing has been confirmed made this send off a little less elegiac, or melancholy than it could have been.

Daizen Maeda is a leading candidate for Celtic’s most influential player of the 20s. His trajectory has seen him go from Kyogo’s shadow to cult figure, to last season’s exceptional exploits and now to legendary standing. Indeed, despite a relatively poor season, his status has been consecrated further in the last few weeks.

When it mattered most, he materialised. A banner in the crowd read arigato, Daizen.

This Saturday will be Celtic’s 59^th and final game of the season. It will be the 8^th Scottish Cup final we’ve played in the last 10 years. It’s a shot at glory after a testing season, but will also - in many ways - signify a changing of the guard. Bookending an era of success, and hopefully the start of another.

Our attendance in the Cup final has become almost inevitable. In keeping with almost total domestic dominance, it is usually a celebratory occasion; often, the cherry on top at the end of successful league campaign. A processionary prom of sorts.

This one, considering the opposition should go to smoothly, but Cup football doesn’t always work like that. The magic of the cup is such, due to a litany of against all odds upsets. We only need to rewind 12 months, for an example of scripts being ripped up. Aberdeen’s victory on penalties took the gloss off a superb campaign and ultimately, stopped what looked like a nailed-on treble. It also set the tone for a summer of discontent.

There’s an intriguing subplot in the dugout; a master versus apprentice type scenario in Martin O’Neill v Neil Lennon. Lennon’s last ever game for Celtic, was in a Scottish Cup final against Dunfermline in 2007. Football is so rich with these little spin-off headlines. The people involved, always so intrinsic to the magic. It’s also the 6^th time we’ve faced Dunfermline in a final. This podcast below from Celtic Underground sets the scene much better than I ever could. Have a listen.

The Celtic Underground Substack

Celtic and Dunfermline at Hampden

This weekend, Celtic face Dunfermline in the Scottish Cup Final…

Listen now

3 months ago · 2 likes · The Celtic Underground

A league and cup double would represent a remarkable haul, considering the tumultuous, laborious 10 months the club has just endured. It would allow us to usher in, what will ideally be a fresh period of success. It will also be the perfect swansong for some.

Daizen Maeda is a leading candidate for Celtic’s most influential player of the 20s. His trajectory has seen him go from Kyogo’s shadow to cult figure, to last season’s exceptional exploits and now to semi legendary standing. Indeed, despite a relatively poor season, his status has been consecrated further in the last few weeks. When it mattered most, he materialised. It seems accepted that this will be his last game as a Celtic player.

Several important players will leave, as will a spate of peripheral, loan, and out of contract members of the squad. It will equate to a sizeable, organic turnover of players, which could and should see Celtic looking entirely different next season.

This could be the case with the staff as well. O’Neill’s career at Celtic will most likely be consigned to the history books - for a 3rd time - come the final whistle and it will make for a poignant, elegiac layer of emotion on the day. O’Neill has proved he still retains a fiercely competitive and cunning nature. He’s appeared more concise and calculated in the past few days; remaining steadfast in defence of the support and his team amidst strong criticism. He’ll have his eyes firmly on the prize.

Rumours abound of Callum McGregor’s departure aren’t going away. I still believe there’s an Indian summer to come from the captain. Personally, the idea of Celtic minus McGregor seems abstract. Having been so ubiquitous and inveterately successful as a player and latterly as captain, it would be abrupt, unfulfilling if he was to leave this summer.

Now that we’ve got to this point, now that we’ve navigated the storm and found port, Saturday is a day to finish in style, with a flourish.

The final whistle on Saturday, in many ways, will signal the beginning of the next. The slight relief of it being over lasts for a week and eventually turns to a longing for its return, a softly launched realisation that something is missing in the day-to-day rhythm of life.

This summer, more than any other, looks set to be quite the ride.

Celtic, like all football dynasties are built on a willingness to go to the limit. To dig deep when the chips are down, to turn it up to an intensity that others are not naturally comfortable with. This is what we’ve seen in the last few weeks. It started at home to Falkirk, and it became even more pronounced last Sunday at home to Rangers. The fans, the players - under the banner of the club - puffed its chest out. Fortitude swelled; expedited by the calls for a spirit worthy of past glory. The biggest clubs have a reference to draw from, notes of previous success to look back on, from which they can plot the perilous course ahead.

After Tannadice, Celtic had to win all seven remaining games. They did. Hearts’ form was admirable; it just wasn’t enough. Some people just couldn’t take it.

If you’ve never been hated, you’ve never lived.

Every great story needs a villain; were there’s a people’s champion; there must be a heel. Were we have a David, so there is a Goliath. In this case – for many - the bad guy was still standing when the credits rolled.

Celtic were the perfect antagonists. They survived everything thrown at them. A 74-year-old manager taking a bunch of brow beaten miscreants. A resignation, a sacking after 33 days. Off the field frothing fulmination, incessant conflict, even the banning of our own fans. All compounded by long-term injuries to their best players.

True fictional baddies are also inevitable. This became apparent on Wednesday night, when the news filtered through from Fir Park. The terror was etched on every face at Tynecastle. They had failed to finish Celtic off and there we stood, devilishly smug. Hearts had to come and chap our door.

The execution was broadcast live, viewed by millions, desperate for the underdog to come out on top. They nearly did. What was so sickening for some though, was the abruptness of the ending. Top until they weren’t, falling at the final, agonising hurdle after being on the summit for 250 days. The winning lottery ticket whipped out your hand by a gale force wind.

For an extra dramatic twist, there was a cruel flourish at the very last. The uniqueness of the last goal as Celtic players pouring up the park unopposed to tap the ball home, was pure cinema. It just wasn’t the ending a lot of people hoped for.

A prevailing sentiment was that this title means nothing to Celtic, whereas it would have meant the world to the Hearts fans. That’s not how sports and specifically football works. I can see why some would take this wildly naïve, sentimental view, but can you ever really cherish something you’ve never known? You can covet it, but coldly put, you don’t know it. Have never lifted it above your head, draped in your colours.

That’s a feeling you don’t give up easily, which was evident in the unbridled mayhem at the end of the game.

The sub-plots.

I still can’t get my head around the fact that Martin O’Neill is the Celtic manager let alone, steered the club to this title in such dramatic, nail-biting fashion.

I’ve tried to sum this up in concise fashion a few times over the last couple of months but have found it hard to nail down. There’s such a wistful nostalgia to it all. Like a crossing of the streams; a previous life running simultaneously on top of this current irritation. A slow burning latent Deja - Vu minus Larsson, my hair, and The Strokes on repeat.

In his pre match interview on Saturday, his demeanour departed from the humble, the happy to be here type sentiment he’s tried to convey throughout. It should have served as a notice of intent, that he had had everyone on strings the whole time. He appeared almost uncharacteristically cold, laser focused.

The ending of the game was the perfect example of his calculated but also innate cunning. McInnes had spent his cards, while O’Neill had one up his sleeve. It was something like serendipitous that his old hat 3-5-2 would ultimately decide the game and the title.

Some people are on the pitch…

It was the longest 7 and a half minutes of my life. I tried to distract myself and eat time by going to the toilet on the 92-minute mark. It was a calculated gamble.

I struggled to watch and hung about the top of the stairs at 143. Glancing just about everywhere but the actual pitch itself. Content that the clock was ticking by. As Blair Spittal lined up his free kick, the tension was utterly agonising. Crippling.

Thankfully he made a meal of the set piece, and first contact was from a Celtic’s players head, but the dread was not over. The ball fell to a Hearts player 30 yards from goal. It would have taken a moment of a lifetime for him to score but we’ve seen it all before in football. Or at least we thought we had.

Little did we know that we were about to witness one of the most iconic moments in the contemporary history of Celtic. Kelechi Iheanacho blocked the shot from Hearts. It landed at the feet of McGregor, who shunted the ball forward into the path of Callum Osmond.

It took a couple of seconds for the reality to hit home. Celtic had won the league and their 5^th consecutive title. Three Celtic players streamed up the park unopposed like a trifecta of wild horses. Osmond finally stroked the ball into an empty net and a whole season of angst, weeks of excruciating tension and itching anxiety was scratched instantaneously.

The celebrations that greeted the goal; the primal, unexpected, unbridled joy. The trepidation vanquished, the sheer elation of 60,000(minus those in Maroon) created a noise that can’t be replicated anywhere else, in any other stadium in the UK. Often, it’s hard to describe what is so special about Celtic Park’s atmosphere but this was it.

In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.

Hopefully over the next few weeks, we’ll be able to unpack this whole season but for now – until Saturday is out the way – we’re still living out the case. It’s all been a bit of a carry on.

Scottish football has it’s very own Zapruder film this morning. Stills, adjusted frame rates and even doctored images are being circulated in order to prove conclusively, whether or not Celtic’s injury time penalty can match a narrative, or confirm a bias.

Footage of a first half barge in the back of Daizen Maeda, has strangely gone missing.

Controversy and drama, the likes of which we’ve never seen. A title race, the likes of which we’ve never seen. At least not in my lifetime.

We’re now witnessing a climbdown this morning from the frothing fulmination in the immediate aftermath of the game. It was not in fact “Disgusting”, it was a handball. It wasn’t in fact “The worst VAR decision in history”, it was fairly routine for handball decisions. His hand was above his head and touched the ball, is the long and the short of it.

The level of condescension towards Scottish football over the last months, has been truly staggering. The spate of fans and pundits - with no interest in Scottish football - who suddenly, are desperate for Hearts to win the title, for sheer novelty alone, have had their say. David Orstein (The Athletic) was on Sky Sports last night, giving his opinion. Embarrassingly uninformed and lacking in insight, he suggested Hearts should win the title because “They’ve played really good football all season.” An opinion shared by absolutely no one.

Highbrow stuff indeed David. Thanks.

It’s understandable. Hearts are the underdog, the hero in this would be magical fairy-tale, that could still unfold. That Celtic are the natural villain also makes perfect sense.

What seems lost though, to all those casting Celtic as their Bête Noir is that Hearts and Rangers are the flagships of the type of modernity everyone loathes apparently. This is not organic in any sense. Rangers are a sub department of a footballing conglomerate. Another workstream of a corporate fund. There’s another branch in Leeds. Hearts are merely another folder in Tony Bloom’s portfolio. Not mainlined with cash like Rangers but data doped. An algorithm with a maroon top on.

Spare me your wistful, doe-eyed romanticism.

Motherwell 2 v Celtic 3 – 13/03/2026.

Kelechi Iheanacho is cool. Do you not what’s cooler than being cool? Ice cool.

The Nigerian clearly carries a little weight above the waistline but it’s fair to say, he carries a fair amount just below it as well. For the first time in my life, I couldn’t watch. This was pure concentrated pressure in the 95^th minute. Literally the last kick of the game.

The 29-year-old had no such problems; his effrontery even allowed him to look the keeper dead in the eyes, before sitting him down and slotting it in the bottom corner. It was a clear illustration of the quality of the player.

Motherwell’s performance had been impressive. They move the ball as a neat collective. A rotating swarm of players, drifting around the ball, they take turns to pop up and sting you. Coordinated patterns and rehearsed runners caused plenty trouble throughout. They took the lead in the 18^th minute, via Watt’s deflected effort.

Celtic steadied though. Maeda is a man possessed at the minute. Having missed a similar chance earlier, he found himself with the ball on his left foot, left of goal. Whereas he shanked the previous effort, he finished in an unstoppable manner on this occasion. Head down, in stride, bang, far post. It was a lethal finish; his 7^th goal in 5 games.

Shortly before half time, Celtic were inexplicably denied a penalty after Motherwell’s keeper collided stormed out his goal and collided with Maeda in the box. Bizarrely, it was given little attention.

The enigma that is Benjamin Nygren was next to have his say. Having touched the ball out of his stride to set up a vicious shot from 25 yards. An almost knuckleball strike, it flew off his laces, dipping and swerving indiscriminately, before finding the top corner, to give Celtic a priceless lead.

The game stewed intermittently from here. Motherwell’s enthusiasm swelled ominously around the 75^th minute and again, they started to pick Celtic apart. The team looked leggy at this point and offered as much resistance, as a bead curtain.

Sinasalo made a great save at his bottom corner, before a deflected cross struck the crossbar minutes later. Eventually, Celtic’s defence gave way. A sclaffed clearance was turned back towards goal and blocked, the rebound was then saved again by Sinisalo, only for it to fall perfectly for Liam Gordon, 5 yards from goal. 2 – 2 and hanging on.

Hearts were 3-0 up at this point. Celtic would need to win by 3 on the last day. Optimism was blunted by the reality of it all.

Cue the madness, the penalty and unbridled joy from the Celtic end.

To be fair, I don’t have words. I don’t know how I did that. We done it. The fans are still shouting - Kelechi Iheanacho

All’s well, that ends well etc etc. One way or another, it all ends on Saturday.

Tynecastle.

Like in 86, the news filtered through.

A whole stadium crestfallen. The realisation dropped hard on the Hearts players and fans. What was about to be a celebration, had turned to mourning en masse. A winning lottery ticket, whipped away by a gale force wind. There one second, gone the next.

The consequence of the result was lost on no one. Hearts had emptied almost all their ammo into the bad guy, only to see him getting up on his feet again.

Hearts have one bullet left.

It’s disgusting - Derek McInnes

For all the angst that has accompanied this season. For all the existentialism surrounding our dominance and dynasty. For all the toxicity, fulminations and off the field controversy, this Celtic team is now on the verge of glory.

A beleaguered, brow beaten bunch of players/misfits are two wins from modern folklore.

Daizen Maeda took the roof off Celtic Park yesterday. In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.

The celebrations that greeted the goal; the primal, unexpected, unbridled joy. The trepidation vanquished, the sheer elation, that anxious itch scratched in unison by 60,000(minus those clad in black) created a noise that can’t be replicated anywhere else, in any other stadium in the UK. Often, it’s hard to describe what is so special about Celtic Park’s atmosphere but this was it.

Platitudes from Europe’s finest are fine. Anecdotes of great goals and great times bring a smile to your face.

This was pandemonium, pure hysteria and it corroborates the idea that Parkhead, is a fine piece in the pantheon of football stadia. Not necessarily the bones of the place these days, but its soul remains unrivalled.

It was breath-taking, literally. Spinetingling, still.

It was a where were you moment. Comparable to Larsson’s chip, Nakamura’s free kick or Rogic in the Invincible final.

Fairy-tale stuff. Football has this strange ability to, on occasion, be utterly perfect, just when you need it to be.

This was that.

The Goal.

You’ll have no doubt watched it back 4723 times by now. You’ll no doubt see it a million times in the coming years.

The aesthetic beauty of it was matched only by its spontaneity. A cross only half cleared, bounced to Maeda. His improvised touch with his left foot, went upwards and left him with his back to goal, awaiting gravity to do it’s work on the ball. The next thing we knew, was that Maeda was horizontal in the air, attempting an overhead kick with a technicality and audacity, not immediately associated with him.

The trajectory of the ball as it left his foot was confusing, it seemed farcically speculative. It’s flight then started to plateau. Confusion turned to curiosity as the ball suddenly appeared to head in the general direction of goal. It was in the air forever; allowing me time to nudge my pal, as if it to alert him to the fact that something was happening, that this isn’t in fact going nowhere. The moment prior to it hitting the net was surreal. A whole stadium, stupefied into silence, spellbound and bewitched by the ball.

Jack Butland’s reaction confirmed suspicions. He stood there resigned to his fate as the ball and the penny dropped. It hit the net just inside the post and under the bar.

The entire stadium jumped clean out it’s skin. Delirium.

Celtic Football Club (@CelticFC) on X

It’s a moment that will live with me forever I’d imagine. I don’t have a season ticket currently but my good friend, and now probably the godfather of my first born, Ryan Kelly, gave me his ticket as he was away working. I am eternally grateful to him.

Celtic 3 v Rangers 1 – 10/05/2026

These games are relatively non-descript. In fact, the only thing that matters is the score line above. I remember little despite being perfectly sober. In between the ball flying about like a hissing potato, the arms flailing in protest and aching tension, the actual football seems intermittent and somewhat irrelevant.

This is my take from the game despite having just watched it all back. Other outlets may be able to offer more insight.

Celtic played with the feral energy and competitiveness that is necessary to come out on top. There was none of the passive, second guessed play we’ve seen and now that the end is in sight, the players seem focused, the collective is tuned and recalibrated. The plan seems more calcified.

A confident Maeda, a fully fit Engels and the flying Alistair Johnston have added drive and physicality to the team and rejuvenated the redundant right-hand side.

Wednesday night can’t come quick enough.