Pride and praise due

Celtic 2 – 1 Rangers
Celtic: Nakamura 20, Vennegoor of Hesselink 90 +4
Rangers: Novo, 55

After what seemed like an interminable wait, Celtic finally became lions when it mattered most, triumphing in what will be remembered as one of the great games between Glasgow’s top sides.

Buoyed by a home crowd hungry for victory and desperate for heroes to establish, even for one night, the rightful order of merit, Celtic’s men tore at Rangers, scornful of the plaudits showered upon the light blues, irked by four consecutive reverses and exuding the courage and craft that has shaped great Celtic sides of old.

Gordon Strachan’s team selection answered every Celtic fan’s prayer – obvious though it may have been to return the men who had responded so strongly to the home disappointment against Motherwell with their stylish, emphatic win. The captain Stephen McManus stepped up to his task, firing his men with rallying shouts.

Even before the kick-off, some Rangers players were gazing around the Celtic Park arena, looking for all the world as if their house had just crash-landed in Oz. Their initial onslaught was unexpected by most, hoping to catch Celtic cold and winning an early corner. Artur Boruc, in the Celtic goal was unperturbed.

But early on Jean-Claude Darcheville, who has enjoyed reasonable success since his move to Ibrox, looked like a man who could think of a hundred places he would rather be.

The sheer impact of the crowd’s audible volume, the loneliness of the amphitheatre where thousands of Rangers supporters became a muted irrelevance and, perhaps, the realisation that being a lone striker on one of Scotland’s biggest pitches was a task last appreciated by Captain Robert Falcon Scott gave the industrious Frenchman the haunted look of a defeated soldier whose only opportunity for salute would be in surrendering his weapons. He did just that before long, preferring to tie his boot lace off the field while his captain took a corner.

In Celtic’s ranks, was a midfield engine that might, given a chance, evoke memories of Bobby Murdoch and Bertie Auld. Certainly, in the absence of Scott Brown, whose multitude of tackles for the Celtic cause saw him suspended, Barry Robson played a role familiar to him – and on another sense stirred memories of many a fine Celtic player of the past.

Once a boy who might have played for Rangers, Robson is now a mature professional blessed with an almost irresistible combination of all-round skill, athleticism, and the accentuated desire that is so often the hallmark of the player whose chance came after it appeared lost. He, more than any other, set the tone for the match – battering Christian Dailly, whose prolonged shrieks to the referee hinted that his fellow Tannadice former pupil had articulated his point in a way that a thousand words could only talk around.

It should be said that the challenge was unfair, according to the rules, but it fired Celtic fans with the belief that this team would fight, as well as containing an acknowledgement that the early physical assertiveness that is so often a hallmark of the Rangers game can, like most things, be done better in green-and-white hoops.

Partnering Robson, was Paul Hartley who has an intuitive understanding of the “late bloomer” footballer psyche and might well have endured status as a Rangers player had Gordon Strachan not offered him salvation. Before long the two were combining their myriad talents, collective years of frustrations and differing early perspectives to form a unit that would rubbish an opposition superior in numbers but blessed with only one exceptional talent in the shape of their captain.

North and south of the central area would be two players diverse in culture and experience but well-matched in rebounding against vile abuse from their antagonists. The hands of Giovanni Trapatonni will have been raised high in praise of Irish international Aiden McGeady’s dissection of Kirk Broadfoot and Steven Whittaker, whose joint attentions served only to prompt Celtic mirth and leave acres of untended pasture for Lee Naylor, who has recaptured much of his verve.

Nakamura had the support of Andreas Hinkel, rich in attacking skill and speed of passing, but the Japanese star was in an ethereal world of his own when he scored one of the great Glasgow derby goals. Picking up a beautiful inside pass from Gary Caldwell 30 yards out, Nakamura’s predatory instincts took him forward before unleashing a strike of such viperous venom and coil that Allan McGregor in the Rangers goal could only move left and look right in horror as the movement of the ball left him stranded.

Wrecking the plans of Walter Smith who had hitherto effectively used ten of his men as a defensive unit, the goal, beautiful as it was, was scant reward for Celtic’s first-half domination.

In the second period, two substitutes would come to the fore. Mark Wilson replaced the injured Naylor with Nacho Novo disappointing home fans, in denying them another 45 minutes of entertainment from Broadfoot. Nevertheless, Novo is one of those nettle-like players who you may not want in your own back yard all the time but who often irritates the neighbours.

Celtic fans know that to utterly dominate a first half and lead by less than two is to prepare for an ill-deserved equaliser. Novo duly obliged, giving Rangers a goal for their eight second-half minutes of inspiration after a full half of perspiration. A foul by Dailly was missed by referee Kenny Clark before Wilson, lacking match sharpness, committed to a tackle and missed, leaving a gap for Novo to exploit and level the scores.

If that single goal was more than Rangers deserved, it almost discouraged Celtic for a few minutes; passes that were too heavy (or too light) resulting in lost possession or extraneous toil.

And then arose Nakamura. A model of composure as the visitors’ heavy defence crowded out Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink and Scott McDonald, the Japanese star had delivered a lesson in control, vision and use of the ball that suggested a man calibrated on a different time continuum from his near neighbours.

But while his colleagues struggled to create opportunities, a shift, a step and a strike from Nakamura looked set to claim this as HIS derby. Cynical cheating and the worst form of bad sportsmanship by Clydesdale Bank’s player of the season saw Carlos Cuellar sent off for using his hand to deny the midfielder.

That advantage should have been enough for Celtic, especially given that Scotland’s top goalscorer would have a penalty against an injured McGregor in the Rangers goal. In truth, McDonald looked to be wary of the task and struck the ball too close to McGregor, prompting fears of another injustice.

The drama had further acts.

McGregor, who had been hurt saving a McDonald shot, decided his race was nearly run but, clearly determined to spend as much of the remaining minutes not playing football, demanded extended treatment on the pitch. In the meantime, January signing Neil Alexander was summoned and dismissed as Walter Smith demonstrated the extent of his faith in the club’s substitute goalkeeper.

Now Rangers wanted only to stop and stand, to play football for as little time as possible, to see time wasted with bickering and spats.

And then the great gamble. Facing ten men and desperate for a goal, Gordon Strachan replaced Robson, the anger of many fans a vocal demonstration of the high esteem in which Robson is already held. But others have been crying out for just such a move – embrace the task in hand with three strikers.

The former group no doubt include those who can see no merit in Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink, a Dutch international who has scored 19 goals this season. Adding Georgios Samaras to the attack at least made one emphatic statement: Strachan is willing to act with courage at the most crucial moments.

The result was salvation: Gary Caldwell, having his best game for Celtic delivered a pass across the field to McDonald whose header back and across goal found Vennegoor of Hesselink at his determined and clinical best.

The match was won, and the tortuous strain on the losers evident in undignified scrapping after the final whistle.

Has life been breathed into Celtic’s challenge? We may have found a pulse.