Few people noticed at the time but ten years ago today, a little-known blog entered Celtic cyberspace, making a splash like a teabag in the North Sea.
It was never intended to become significant, popular nor respected and it has lived up to those lofty founding aspirations.
However, somehow, it has survived a decade with hiatuses, and one long-term interruption. It may seem surprising that something so small should have been attacked, even from within the Celtic community, but that is just one part of the story.
In truth, that story is not especially remarkable. But at the top of this blog for all those years has been the motto: “Yet another personal view on Celtic Football Club.”
The blog was never intended to claim to speak on behalf of Celtic or Celtic supporters. I had seen the individuals and organisations claiming that legitimacy and always been dubious about their credentials as well as, occasionally, their intentions.
It was intended to be my personal view on my club – as stated in that first post – and that is what it has been. Never more than one stalk of barley blowing in the field of green.
And this reminiscence will be personal, too.
Those ten years represent a fair chunk of my life, and the attendant emotions and experiences in that life have had their parallels in my relationship with my club; our club.
It started with hope and anticipation and went through joy and despair, laughter and anger, sense and senselessness, victory and defeat, gain and loss in all its senses.
In the rich body of words recording and opining on Celtic's journey, it barely registers. Yet it has occasionally made an impact, too, in unexpected ways.
Background
By 2006, Celtic cyberspace had already been a rich world of news and views. Celtic fans led the way in terms of embracing the internet and the club's supporters probably still outstrip the fans of any
There had been paper fanzines before – Not the View, Once a Tim and Bhoyzone – and at least two of their editors had gone on to take jobs at the club, effectively silencing their publications.
But on the internet, it was the pioneering Etims, which had set the standard. Etims offered an early
Elsewhere there were forums and Usenet but Etims established an editorial structure of news, polemic and (often frankly absurd) rumours. It's worth noting that they did this long before most of the established media even knew what the internet was.
By mid-2006, Celtic Underground had begun – “the site that's not trying to get a job with the club” – as a reaction to those independent sites that seemed to be trying too hard to curry favour with the plc.
At one time, I considered asking if they wanted me to write for them but concluded that they wouldn't need me and that I somehow prefered to be a lone voice, speaking to fewer readers than I might otherwise enjoy, than be part of a collective which I nevertheless valued and respected. (I seem to recall some vague invitation at one point but I'm fuzzy on the details.)
I guess I sensed that my inner curmudgeon was best given an outlet in a space insulated from decent folk.
Names and namelessness
I assumed the handle, One Star Means More, as a reaction to the idiocy of a club that had never won the European Cup putting five stars on its shirt, as if that somehow outshone the one star that ours represents.It was a nod to the days when I used to read strange nicknames attached to sporting queries in the Saturday Evening Times, as well as the newspaper writers whose bylines represented personas, rather than individuals. Most often these were to be found in the racing pages, like Scotia, for example, but also in the Sunday Posts Hon.
I never pretended towards their levels of attention but there was something I have always liked about the nameless writer.
That has been criticised many times – more of that later – but always by people unhappy with something that has been written, especially when they know they have no answer or are just plain wrong.
It is also a practice that newspapers have often used with house bylines, though it has become fashionable in the mainstream media to condemn those “faceless, anonymous” writers online.
There was another reason.
Identifying personalities with their output is not always a good thing.
It can lead to too close an attachment of the person to their words. The writers can become precious and defensive, seeing criticism of their words as a personal attack. They also tend to face accusations of self-interest or being on an ego-trip – even personality cults (sometimes justly), often having their personal lives used to undermine the work they create.
A flick through Celtic's independent media would see instances of all of those things.
A few people know who I am and they find me just as outspoken/truculent in person. Occasionally, some of those have even implied that they could “out” me, idiotic though that was. Yes, there were occasions on which it could have made my professional work mildly uncomfortable, had I attached my name to the pieces, but no more than that.
If those few threats had any impact, it was simply that I stopped signing my first name to emails.
Ideals
I've always preferred to think of Celtic's ideals as being something to be preserved in as pure a form as this cynical old world will allow.Queen's Park held on to their amateur status and became a club almost forgotten, though its place in football history is immense. I've never wanted that for Celtic but neither did I want the club's values and identity to be subsumed into an exercise in corporate branding.
I know brand managers and I admire their creativity. But Coke, Pepsi or Strike Cola have brand differentiation. They all sell cola and they all exist to sell the most cola at the highest profit.
Celtic play football but represent things that other clubs don't. It is rooted in our story of helping the poorest and most disadvantaged in society.
The founders of the club, including those volunteer labourers who built the first ground with their bare hands dug in the ground for a lump of coal and found a rough diamond that has been polished by countless hands to make it shine and sparkle, occasionally dazzling.
The acceptance, the inclusiveness – they seem like thoroughly modern 21st-century ideals. The belief in football as sport and entertainment for the fans and the betterment of the sport in general.
I'm not so naïve as to say that our club lives up to those ideals at all times but it saddens me every time I see us drifting away from that ethos best defined and embodied by Jock Stein.
"We did it by playing football; pure, beautiful, inventive football. There was not a negative thought in our heads."
“Football, without fans, is nothing.”
I still despair when I see Celtic teams play a negative game, though I understand the professional necessity sometimes. (Celtic did the same in the away leg of the European Cup semi-final in 1967, against Dukla Prague, the one decision Jock regretted about that campaign).I cringe when I see a Celtic player cheat or go in to hurt an opponent when hard-but-fair should be a clear enough rule for anyone.
Yes, there have been times when we've been let down on the field – too many of them. There have been a few occasions that the same can be said of the fans.
And the Celtic bloggers, too.
Dark shades of green
Once, from the wild blue yonder, I received an email from a would-be blogger asking for some advice on setting up his own. I shared such tips as I could and wished him well.I noticed that he didn't even say thank-you, never mind sharing reciprocal links, as some blogs did in those days – where are you, Lord of the Wing? He went on to become quite successful before turning his blog into a clickbait outlet, seemingly chasing the advertising revenue that page impressions could offer.
Too many have followed in his footsteps. Yes, independent bloggers can churn out the same rewrites and hastily-written copy that the mainstream writers do. But they lose something by doing so and the readers notice.
Another Celtic writer had a donation button. I made a small contribution – a whole fiver! I noticed that he, too, didn't say thanks and I sent him a politely-worded message, noting that, while such oversights are understandable, some acknowledgement might encourage further contributions from others.
He noted my point – and still didn't say thanks!
But that was all trivial. The lowest point this blog experienced came after another polite request to another high-profile blogger was met with snippy hostility.
The request was: “Please don't allow people to post the entire text of my articles in your comments section, especially when I have a small charity fundraiser. You don't share links and that's fair enough but you censor out other copyrighted material, so you should know better.”
He rallied his troops and emailed me back noting that “you don't use your real name on the blog”.
I began receiving unpleasant comments in defence of the other blogger – did I say something about personality cults?
24 hours later, the Facebook page associated with the blog had been disabled due to the fact that my own name was not used at that time.
In truth, I had long had my doubts about where this guy was coming from but, really, was Celtic cyberspace so competitive that blogs could seek to deprive each other of building their own audience through their own writing?
And would we really go so far as attacking each other's long-built-up sources of outreach?
My suspicions of that other blogger's motivations were strengthened at that time. The views I began to hold have become more popular.
But, to my shame (and his satisfaction, no doubt), I couldn't take any more, especially making this process a personal battle. It wasn't what I started it for. I chucked it. For three years.
I've never been one to run from bullying, which is exactly what this was, but I had other things going on in life and that was demoralising.
I'm ashamed because it was one of the very few times in my life that I had known I was in the right and let a self-serving cynic win through dirty tricks. I've always been the guy standing up for the underdog, often to my detriment.
For the record, no such attacks ever came from fans of other clubs – criticism, a few insults, sure. But people can become used to being deified and can start assuming that status as their right.
I had been onto him for some time – sussing out his intentions – and he clearly didn't like it.
But let's end that chapter.
The best
I still believe in Celtic fans and admire the Celtic bloggers who contribute something different, new, personal, sincere.Tictactic, for example, is on my list of things that I simply must make a point of reading regularly. It's brilliant and has few parallels on the net.
Tir Na Nog, as the name suggests, brings legends from the land of our youth.
Personal, longform articles, sharing memories in such a generous way that we can feel part of them.
And, The Clumpany, continually poking a finger in the blind eye of the Scottish mainstream media, always hitting the mark.
Witty, irreverent – sometimes writers just strike the right tone and Clumps does just that.
There are others, many of them excellent, but these are the ones I would like to highlight, which brings me to another point.
Internet morons
New media has shown that the difference between an established writer and an “internet moron” is simply one of opportunity.Read through the dross that appears in your daily news titles and ask yourself when was the last time you read something that really increased your knowledge or was a pleasurable read?
Ask another question: what credentials qualify these people to spout their buckshot views towards you, claiming special credibility in the process?
Reading through my own blog, I was amused by how many times Darryl Broadfoot had been mentioned. Then again, he was in a job that he was grossly underqualified to do in a publication that I still read at the time.
By “underqualified”, I was referring mostly to his “Greek saga” writings, not his suitability as head of communications at the Scottish Nylon Blazers Society.
Think of the writers, the reporters. When can you think of something that seemed to be of any value or enjoyment, compared to your favourite independent writers? My guess is that such occasions as there are, are rarities.
Overwhelmingly, those who denigrate indymedia are simply not offering anything like the quality of product that countless individuals outside the mainstream are able to produce. I've met many of them. Deep down, they know it.
Could you finish this, please?
What – you mean I've spent ten years writing this and you don't have ten years to read what I have to say about it?Well, yes, this blog has been a personal indulgence, as many blogs are. I have always written what I wanted to write when I wanted to write it.
But I've tried only to write when I thought I had something that some other people might want to read.
I never wanted it to be in competition with other blogs and, far less, the sort of clickbait that may well bury this post so that few, if any, read it (and, in the name of the wee man, there are some masterful clickbaiters out there).
I have written emotionally; indulged in hyperbole, far more often than measured comment. I've made predictions that were sometimes accurate, often not.
I've posted things that were just silly and things I thought were worth saying, to find that very few others shared my view.
But I've been grateful for the opportunity. I've actually written for quite a number of publications and, despite the adverts, never sought nor found profits from this blog. I've considered adding a “Donate” button but, perversely, I'd probably find one pint collectively bought by 100 people to be more enjoyable than real money (though I never rule out real money!).
But the main reason I write this blog is that I want to. And I want to because I believe in Celtic.
I believe in football.
Football is just a silly game and it is ridiculous to think of it as having any value when the world is afflicted with poverty, terror and war.
And yet it does have value all over the world.
In the slums of Rio and Buenos Aires, in the most afflicted parts of the developing world, football is embraced, hopefully, joyfully, despairingly.
Like the community that Celtic was founded to provide for.
It is the game that everyone can play, if they have an approximation of a ball and a piece of ground to kick it across.
Football is corrupt. It is run by billionaires and millionaires. Clubs are owned and operated by men who may no longer drive their jags wearing camel coats and gold watches while puffing fat cigars because they now have drivers, climate control and other drugs of choice.
But football, like no other sport is egalitarian. You don't need an executive box, a season ticket, any ticket – you just need to profess your love and support for your team. Bond yourself with all those of like mind, and you are one with them.
In 2016, every Portuguese is a European Champion, much like every Celtic supporter – wherever they were, whoever they were – was a European Champion that night of 25th May, 1967.
That, to me, is what defines football.
The process of life is one that challenges preconceptions, deeply-ingrained values and those beliefs we would like to hold but doubt, nevertheless.
My observation of Celtic has led me up the mountain, down the valley and to the edge of the cliff.
I remember discussing with a close friend and Celtic man whether the corporate direction of the club would finally make us unable to call ourselves Celtic supporters.
But then I realised that the fans have always been the ones to direct the club back on the right path. It's a hard fecht but, if we give up, who will stop Celtic from becoming a club like any other?
Times change and values with them – over ten years, certainly.
But I am still inspired by Celtic.
Some people know me as a cynic. But I still harbour a hope that I know to be unrealistic: that Celtic may one day, again, rise to greatness on the European stage.
I still choose to believe that maybe the supernatural powers of the game will enable us to do this playing football, pure, beautiful, inventive football.
You may disagree and you may be right.
I believe in Celtic fans. Not that calling yourself a Celt means that you are a better person than anyone else but that genuinely adopting the values of the club will mean something,
I've worn my Celtic shirt in many places in the world and found the quiet nods and the fist salutes from strangers that come with it.
All over the world, people still recognise Celtic as being something special. That reputation will only continue for as long as new generations reinforce and enhance that sense of being something that the football world can respect.
The fans are Celtic. And that's great. I believe I could go anywhere and find a welcome from a Celtic community. People I identify with. I hope that continues.
And for reading this blog, for your patience, your interest, your comments; your love and passion for and belief in the club that I love, am passionate about and believe in ... thank you.
We share a lot – hopes, dreams, passion, love, disappointment, anger, grief and more. Proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
We are Celtic, together.
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