Tom Boyd – the ambassador's reception is understandably mixed

26^th August 1998. It would be an exaggeration to say that Celtic fans' three months of joy – following nine years of pain – had come crashing to an end. The preceding weeks had been more traumatic than that.

Wim Jansen had walked, throwing as much dirt as he possibly could in the direction of Fergus McCann, Jock Brown and “Brown's man”, Eric Black.

Murdo McLeod had volubly spat the dummy in the same direction after he had failed to be anointed Jansen's successor and a search for a replacement manager – with Gerard Houllier, John Toshack and a host of other “big names” splashed across the sports pages had resulted in the appointment of Dr Jozef Vengloš.

Predictably, the sort of people who could confidently state that Celtic would appoint Artur Jorge, greeted the appointment with derision, labelling it “a farce”, “an embarrassment”, “a shambles”. You name it – they said it of the process through which Lubomir Moravcik would eventually be enticed to the club.

Croatia Zagreb 3-0 Celtic, Champions League

Any residual euphoria or belief that Celtic's troubles were behind them were duly Scotched that night, with an abject performance. It was a display worthy of a protest with a hapless captain allowing Silvio Marić the easiest of opportunities to open the scoring before giving away a penalty to dispel all doubt before half-time.

Bad night for the captain: and Celtic went two goals down

A tough night, which even very good players endure sometimes. You might have expected that captain to apologise to the fans, tell them that the team's performance, as well as his own, had not been good enough.

You might have imagined a strident defence of the manager and a promise to the supporters that this would not be repeated.

But, no, because what we got – to the further delight of the Scottish sports media – was a string of “no comments”.

But that was understandable. After all, the players who had just let down the club so badly were unhappy with the first ever Champions League bonus payment which would have been due to be paid to any Celtic players.

Years of several of the same squad having been party to some humiliating performances by Celtic had apparently been wiped out by one league title that had become so rare that it was deemed to be as precious as a Faberge egg.

The Jimmy Johnstone Faberge Egg

Vengloš was left alone to face a howling, gleeful press pack with the twin weapons of a crushing defeat and an excuse to attack Fergus McCann. Vengloš was as decent a man as you could have wished for: dignified, knowledgeable, experienced and respected in the game.

It was a shameful episode in the history of the club. Vengloš would face a torrid season of cruel attacks including the fiasco of signing a player from that very Zagreb team, Mark Viduka, who promptly got on a plane to Australia and tried to wriggle out of the move.

There were credible stories of players, whose technical abilities didn't match Vengloš's aspirations for the team, actively undermining him.

There has never, to my knowledge, been an accusation that the captain was one of them but I struggle to recall any robust defences of Vengloš, the like of which Scott Brown has laudably offered for Ronny Deila.

Oh, and the captain? He went on to be a “legend” by the name of Tom Boyd.

Boyd was, overall, an excellent player for Celtic – let's be absolutely clear about that. And, more, he has often been one of the few ex-players to challenge the negative press narrative surrounding all things Celtic.

Arriving two years before McCann, Boyd's career covered the ridiculous through to the sublime when Larsson, Sutton and Moravcik were running fine teams ragged and taunting city rivals.

But our newly-appointed club ambassador seems to look back on those days through a curiously selective lens, when using them for perspective against which to judge current “hysteria”.

“You only have to go back to the days when I first came to this football club and we couldn’t even finish in second place. We don’t have a divine right to win every game; to win every league.”

The latter comment is one of many straw-man arguments put forward by those who brook no criticism. I have yet to hear any fan claiming a “divine right” to win – only a constant ambition to do so.

Boyd seems to forget that it was sack-the-board “hysteria” that finally drove out a self-serving and incompetent board of directors and contributed to him winning the many honours he enjoyed at Celtic.

“Criticism doesn’t help out on the pitch. Players start to hide and don’t show for the ball. The most important thing is that the players and management get encouragement and unity.”

I'm sure I recall Billy McNeill making similar pleas and the anguish caused to a true Celtic great, who could also see that change was needed at the club, even while the anger of the fans was creating an often-toxic atmosphere in the ground, which could only have affected the players.

“Maybe defensively, Celtic haven’t been as good but there are a number of reasons for that. Last season, there was a settled defence with Virgil van Dijk and Jason Denayer,” Boyd goes on as if the fans don't know that we cashed in on one defender, knowing that the other wasn't our player.

That's a defence of Ronny Deila but not of the management of the club. And this is part of the issue that so many fans have with the comments from Boyd, a man of whom there was scarcely a negative word said before his latest intervention.

Celtic seem to be determined to go to war with a growing section of the club's fans, leaving them casualties in pursuit of a corporate plan. In doing so, there is room for suspicion that they are seeking allies from amongst the club's most respected servants to create division, despite Boyd's ironic call for unity.

Celtic fans don't need the club to tell us who our ambassadors are. We have always known – they have earned our trust sufficiently for us to believe they speak for the good of the club as a whole, 

starting with the fans and the team; not simply representing the executive view that they are "really spoiling us".

McNeill, Auld, McGrain, Burns, Aitken, McStay, Larsson, Moravcik and, yes, even Strachan – all ambassadors without having needed a title. In fact, the club ought not to think that by turning an accolade into a position of official authority, they can take ownership of it as a tool for the marketing and communications departments.

If the ambassadors get some sort of payment or benefit, good luck to them. If that impinges on their ability to speak out when things are wrong, they risk becoming people whose words the fans will view with increasing distrust.

Peter Lawwell: Is he really spoiling us?

Some ex-players, such as Sutton, Walker, McCleod and Provan are have had their reputations irreparably tarnished for unfairly abusing the club.

Other's reputations may suffer the same fate if they take potshots at fans who care about the club, all to please people who appear to be letting us down with a “plan” that is highly suspect.

“People were craving competition in Scottish football. Do people really want that? If the minute you get a close competition you then say, ‘crisis’ for a club sitting at the top of the league, do you really want the competition?”

The implied accusation of hypocrisy amongst the “lifeblood of the game” – the fans – should be duly noted.

Tom, there are two ways to achieve competition – encourage a raising of general standards or let the best team deteriorate – and it is insulting to the intelligence of fans to suggest that they cannot distinguish between the two or see which of the two options is currently in effect.

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Sometimes players go a bit left field

“NOW that Tommy’s gone, maybe all the young players Tommy has coached over the years will think about what he’s said to them and take it on board. If they’re intelligent enough and think about the knowledge Tommy gave them, hopefully they will take something from it.”

Danny McGrain

“HE did the right things, he looked after his diet, he worked hard at his game as he just wanted to further himself all the time. The red hair wasn’t purely superficial as he had a wee sharp temper as well, which was excellent as I like people with spirit and Tommy had spirit in abundance. But he was a good example to youngsters because he was dedicated. He didn’t have to tell them a lot as they saw it in him and he was a well-disciplined boy off the park. He was straightforward and honest and upright with it and that was probably Tommy at his best. He treated people as he expected to be treated himself.”

Billy McNeill

So what if I had only just turned 12? I was young enough to read the papers, smart enough to recycle what they – and their TV counterparts – had to say. And that was enough to convince me that the imminent marriage of a precocious talent would work wonders for his maturity and development into a top-class professional.

I remember my father, who devoted less time to digesting the collected wisdom of the popular press, looking at me with an incredulity that bordered on astonishment, with a smidgeon of panic thrown in. Fortunately, these were the days when that sort of parenting was summarised with myriad variations on the question, “What nonsense are you talking now?”

“He’s 24 – bit of a hot-head but he could be a great player. I reckon, now that he’s getting married he’ll settle down and get into less trouble.”

And you know what? I was right. I never again saw that talc-white chest with the wee red nipples topped off with orange paint – because I never again saw him rip off the Celtic shirt in anger at some referee’s (or manager’s) decision.

Now I have to say right now that Tommy did me – and about a couple of million others – proud. But once upon a time some people doubted that he would turn all that skill, talent and potential on the left of midfield into the sort of outcome that would make us sing with joy while he played and look weeping into mirrors, wondering where such a great part of our lives went when he was, unbelievably, taken from us.

It has been said recently that Tommy Burns was the “buffer” between Aiden McGeady (22)and Gordon Strachan.

I never had any advice from Tommy – but if I had, I would have listened.





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He was all we could ever have wished for

There is something about football that makes fools of men. We walk into stadiums full of excitement or apathy, anticipation or dread and we leave them crushed, infuriated, triumphant, joyful – we never know which beforehand.

We cede control of our emotional destiny, placing it in the hands of a few people we don’t know and we can’t control and who may or may not give a damn. And then we come back for more.

But more precious and more fragile is the hope and trust of the young. When we are children, we need heroes like we need sugar, play and love. We don’t yet know how to live, we watch to learn and try somehow to copy those in whom, in our naïve wisdom, we have invested all of our trust.

Years teach us our errors and in discovering the flaws of those we admire we come to accept imperfections in those close to us and in ourselves. But just sometimes those disappointments don’t arise. On very rare occasions we find that one of those we held in such high esteem really has been all we hoped, they haven’t changed or scorned our admiration.

In a world of empty promises, we take comfort that something good remains true. It is, perhaps, the shred of reality that justifies faith. Such men are harder to find than gold dust in a stream – and far more valuable.

When one of those people passes, so too dies something in those who beheld them with awe, an idly happy part of childhood left vulnerable to the cynical practicality of life and death.

We know that our sadness is nothing to the pain of those close to them, those who really have a right to grieve, but we shed an indulgent tear just the same.

There is one less man whom we know understands when we are suffering. One less whom we know wants what we want. One less to speak for us or to turn to. It is part of a sometimes fearful realisation that we are in a constant state of change in a world we cannot control.

We readjust ourselves to the knowledge that the smiles and the laughter of so many glorious memories will forever be followed with a sadness and a solemn whisper: “too soon; too young”.

At 4am on Thursday, 15th May 2008, the Celtic story changed too, and the hearts of all who believe in it. A boy from the Calton who had become the bearer of a million dreams, the champion of a people’s ideals, closed a beautiful, glorious chapter in Celtic history called Tommy Burns.

He was all we could ever have wished for.