Celtic in for John McGinn? If you know the history, the move would make sense

Anyone who reads this irregularly-published blog more than twice a year can tell you that I never shy away from saying, "I told you so".

I make no apology for doing so as I simply have a near-perfect memory for those occasions on which I have been proved right.

A cynic might suggest that's because they are so few in number but that's not true.

In fact, they are too many to count on the free fingers of my hands while I type this.

One of those times was my enthusiastic support for Scott Brown, from the outset. Scott's critics are a lot quieter these days but I still have their names in a sealed envelope in my desk.

But the memories some hold of the days when Scott signed (for ten times the price of Kenny Dalglish) seem to have dimmed.

It went like this. Neil Lennon, the most-targeted player in Scotland - by opponents, fans and media alike - was coming to the end of his historic captaincy of Celtic and Gordon Strachan was openly musing that he would leave a gap that would be extremely difficult to fill and perhaps impossible for one man to replace.

What Gordon meant was that he wanted the talented, battling young engine-room of Hibs - Scott and Kevin Thomson - to provide the foundation for the future of Celtic.

We now know that Celtic's Peter Lawwell allowed himself to be beaten to the punch by Walter Smith, seeing Thomson head off to Ibrox, by his own admission, taking the first offer to get away from John Collins.

Many - not least Derek Johnstone - expected Scott to follow his close pal and team-mate but the player had other ideas. Massimo Donatti - a good servant to Celtic - was recruited by Celtic's clever scouting operation deeming him a player who could do what Thomson did.

Apparently, this cleverness had omitted to account for the impact on both players and Celtic's ability to replace Neil with what might have been to Celtic and Scotland a midfield partnership to be spoken of with the same relish as the centre-backs, Miller-and-McLeish, was to Aberdeen and Scotland fans in the 1980s and 90s.

Personally, I had always quietly admired Thomson, though I much preferred Scott. (I recall an English friend spluttering that Thomson must be a player if I was complimenting a guy who had played for Rangers.)

While I may have digressed, Celtic are coming to another watershed moment, though planning for it with rather more foresight than when Scott was thrust into one of the most unforgiving positions Scottish football could offer and basically told: "Perform!"

Referees and a minuscule sense of fair play permitting, Scott's legs have a few seasons left to run but the void that he will leave will be no smaller than when Neil hung  up his boots for Celtic.

He is Celtic's captain, unquestioned leader, icon and, in this blogger's opinion, still our best player.

So, we do need to plan for that sad day when Scott finally takes his last bow for Celtic.

And it would be utter folly to try to find a replacement at the time. A comparable player would be far beyond the means of Celtic and, even then, by no means guaranteed to make that step  successfully, never mind immediately.

So, we absolutely must plan for a slow transition. And that's where John McGinn comes in.

Forget false comparisons between McGinn and Stuart Armstrong, which many have made. Armstrong has all the technical tools to be a top footballer but had never shown the stomach to be a Celtic captain or midfielder ready to take responsibility for all the good and bad that may happen to the club.

And, aside from that fact, they are players of very different styles.

The more direct comparison with Armstrong would be the vastly-superior Olivier Ntcham, who is a footballer of the highest quality. So much so that I believe that next summer's clamour will be for the signature of Olivier.

To turn a metaphor on its head, Olivier could be described as a velvet fist in an iron glove. He has such a good touch with both feet, as well as superb balance and reading of the game, yet his powerful physique enables him to show these skills when under intense physical pressure.

He shares many of these attributes with Moussa Dembele and these are highly-prized at the top levels of the modern international game.

So, appreciate Olivier while he is here, as I expect Europe's top clubs to be using a battering-ram on Celtic's front door, rather than knocking.

That leaves Eboue Kouassi, for whom I still retain hope. Eboue has made two massive cultural changes in just a few years, going to Russian and then to Scotland before he was twenty.

So, it shouldn't be a great surprise that he hasn't made a major impact in a year-and-a-half.

Eboue is another obvious contender to assume the mantle of Scott but, as with Neil Lennon, replacing our captain may be too big a job for one man (even, if for some different reasons).

So, we come to Hibernians' John McGinn.

Is he as good as Scott? Let me join in with those wailing, "No!", as if any player in Scotland could be, with Scott having swept all awards last season.

Could McGinn be as good as Scott? With similar dedication and excellent coaching, I think it's possible.

I do think that Scott had a bit more than McGinn when he came to Celtic. Then again, I had rarely seen a player with that unstoppable dynamism that Scott possessed, coupled with his instinct to create an attack when, in those days, he invariably rose first from a crumple of bodies and immediately looked to play the ball forward.

But I do see huge potential in McGinn and, given great coaching and top-level experience, I think that he has what it takes to develop into a future Celtic captain.

It's easy to forget that the coaching of Gordon Strachan and Brendan Rodgers, in particular, coupled with Scott's own maturing and intelligence have combined to produce a player who I wouldn't swap for anyone else in the world.

The criticism of McGinn saddens me, not least because of its merciless negativity.

As the great Tommy Burns once said, you should always focus on what a player CAN do for you, instead of what they can't.

John McGinn - the best player in Scotland last season, outside Celtic - can already do plenty of things in midfield.

Learning from Scott and coached by Brendan, I would like to see what else his game has to offer in green  and white.

The Hooped kind, of course.
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Ray Wilkins

I first became aware of Ray Wilkins through football stickers and cards, when he was a Chelsea player.

At that time, I had a real fondness for Manchester United – most boys of my age had an English team and my school was largely divided between the Liverpool and Man United fans.

At the time, Dave Sexton was the man charged with restoring United to the top of the English game.

Ray Wilkins was just one of his key recruits, alongside the likes of Joe Jordan and Gordon McQueen from the Leeds United side of Don Revie.

Later paired with Bryan Robson, the two formed a formidable midfield partnership – Robson being the dynamic “gives-it-and takes-it” box-to-box midfielder, while Wilkins was always the more considered footballer – but tough, as you had to be in those days to exist in the hardest position in the British game.

He went to AC Milan at a time when several players from the English First Division were being wooed by Serie A. It was only natural as the English League was the best in the world at the time, as six consecutive European Cup (before the post-Heysel ban) wins testified.

Ray had two good years there, which was testament to his technical skills, before spell at paris St Germain and then, to my horror, joining Rangers in 1987.

Although Graeme Souness had signed top England internationals such as Chris Woods and Terry Butcher, Celtic fans were already hoping that the sporting gods would see Rangers squander their money, as they often did.

But that was never on the cards with Ray Wilkins.

He had everything needed to shine in the Scottish Premier League and a lot more. Not just his abundant skill and the physicality to allow him to demonstrate that in the most chaotic of environments, he was every inch the professional's professional.

There was never any likelihood that he would be another complacent player looking for a big payday.

More than 80 England caps, his country's captainship and the fact that he played professionally beyond 40 are enough evidence of that.

The season after Ray Wilkins signed for Rangers, Souness recruited the next big Scottish thing, Ian Ferguson from St Mirren.

I recall many a time standing in the jungle when the home fans would celebrate Ferguson's inclusion in the Rangers team. We knew that he would likely disrupt his own team with his determination to stick one over on us, lunging into challenges and howking long-range shots over the bar.

No Celtic fan ever relished having Ray Wilkins on the pitch. We understood that he would be the direct opposite – somehow in the most frenetic of atmospheres always seeming to have time and space on the ball to use it to damage us.

I recall pictures of tears in his eyes at the end of his final game for Rangers before he went to QPR. I was just relieved that he had left them.

He played on, even returning to Scotland to play for Hibernian, seeming to just want to play the game at the highest level possible for as long as he possibly could.

I have no personal anecdotes of Ray Wilkins the man, though I have read the multitude of stories praising him as a kind and decent human being.

But, he was one heck of a footballer and his passing at the age of 61 is also a reminder of another era in Scottish football, one that was hard for Celtic fans of my generation to live through.

Ray Wilkins made that time immeasurably harder for Celtic. But he did so with skill, professionalism and honour in the best – and almost forgotten – traditions of the game.

Few of his ilk remain but football would be better for more men like Ray Wilkins.
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Where's Warbo? And just what's going on at Ibrox?

One of my most embarrassing days as a Celtic fan came in March 1994.

After much fan unrest, press derision and scoffing by our big-spending city rivals, the club called a press conference to say they had pulled a very big rabbit out of a magic hat.

Despite all suspicions that the Board of Directors were dishonest, incompetent buffoons lining their own pockets while Celtic disintegrated, we were told that the most improbable of plans for a £50m stadium had the green light.

Where's Warbo?

I can still hear Patrick McNally's voice replying “Gefinor”, when asked who had put up the funding for the project.

Of course, within days it had become clear that there was no funding, no stadium – only the pathetic folly of men who knew the ball was on the slates.

My youthful self learned a few things then about taking anything at face value when it doesn't seem to fit with the available facts – and that people under the most extreme pressure act differently.

When they know the game is up, they will put their last grand on 32-Red to try to save their house and, of course, the ball inevitably lands on 0-Green.

And, somehow, the surreal events in Scottish football since Anthony Stokes equalised for Hibernian and then David Gray delivered the Hibs their first Scottish Cup for 114 years seem reminiscent of that fateful time in 1994.

That's not to say that the Scottish game has been short on surrealism in recent times. From Whyte to Green to King, the Fit-&-Proper criminal. From the company that was never a club that never died, though the new club and the old club co-existed and King of the new same club suggested reversing the liquidation of the old same club.

From Apocalypse to Armageddon, from football dreams to fighting on the field; we've had all this and so much more.

But on Saturday, the violins started to be played to the strains of Stadivarious c.1994.

So The Rangers lost – nothing new there, nor in the bit of thuggery at the end. And the bleating: well, it's to be expected.

But watching the eerie light from phones pointing to Jim Traynor as he read out his statement explaining that the players couldn't receive their medals because they had been assaulted, something wasn't right.

Primarily, it was too soon after the events. Often that's a sign that something has been pre-planned but clearly not in this case, unless you believe that the actions of thousands of fans was orchestrated.

No, but when there is genuine alarm, events tend to take a different turn. Firstly, the most important thing is to make sure everyone is accounted for and in a place of safety. That will most likely include guests and loved ones of the entire party, so as to reassure the players and staff.

Then there will be a consultation with police, match officials, stadium security, the SFA and, almost certainly, the sponsors, who expect full bang-for-their-buck.

Typically, briefings are informal because the club communications people have to establish the facts and liaise with their SFA counterparts. Holding statements – brief summaries of the club's position that commit to little – are released.

And then, when the dust settles, decisions have been made and order restored, there will be a press conference. A proper one – not one man in a darkened room reading out a statement he has just put together, when he could not possibly have taken all of the aforementioned steps

Add to that that not one club official or player has commented on the game – unprecedented in my lifetime of watching football – and there is room for suspicion that Jim Traynor's statement was not relaying facts or genuine concerns but, instead, was moving quickly (a little too quickly) to create the media narrative.

What was the reason? We don't yet know. Did one of those victimised players or officials have a rush of blood and do something he expected to get into serious trouble for (who was the official aiming a kick at a supporter)?

Did Traynor know that the club was facing disaster due to the loss of potential Europa League revenue and season ticket sales, as some have suggested?

What we do know is that the Ibrox spin machine went haywire in claiming victimhood.

We were even told that every single Rangers player and official was assaulted, which had already been refuted before that statement was made.

What are we supposed to believe – that Kenny Miller, who Anthony Stokes praised for sportingly congratulating every Hibs player in their dressing room – has no words for the supporters after what will surely be his last Scottish Cup final?

That Mark Warburton is similarly derisive of the club's fans after a season in which they have just been promoted?

That not one player has agreed to talk to the media? If that is the case, there are only two conceivable reasons – that they have been warned to shut up or that they, collectively, have refused to say what the club wants them to say.

And then they signed self-confessed, Celtic-supporting, IRA-sympathising, Rangers-baiting, Royal-hating Joey Barton on £100,000-a-month*– and only Davie Weir is there to greet him.

Is this one last despairing move to shift season tickets to try to keep the club solvent? Does the club know that an insolvency event will render his contract meaningless? Or is his salary being paid by Gefinor?

The Ibrox club management have shown themselves incapable of financial governance and, at the same time, made the game ungovernable.

But could the “Big House” of cards finally be about to fall down?

*The original version of this said £100k-a-week. Thanks to the readers who pointed out the typo.
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Stokes lack of ambition befuddles Matt Lindsay

Befuddled: Blame Stokesy

In a world of austerity and belt-tightening, many in Britain are staring at uncertain times.

A cruel Tory government is launching a relentless attack on the poor and vulnerable, with the bedroom tax and hacking cuts to support services bringing misery to many.

But there's always someone worse off, so they say, and at present that someone appears to be Matt Lindsay.

Matt's a curious chap in that his writing is often surprisingly upbeat. Vying in healthy competition with his close colleague, Chris Jack, he has had a laudable tendency towards (royal) Blue Sky thinking, admittedly mostly when predicting halcyon days at Ibrox. (Giving succour to the suckers, you might say).

But in recent days Matt seems to have been turning lemonade back into lemons – and, not for the first time, Anthony Stokes is prompting the disharmony.

Stokesy, it seems could “start a fight in an empty hoose” but he has exceeded all previous expectations by creating conflict in the inner sanctuary of Matt's comfortably-furnished mind.

A mere fortnight ago, he was on fine form, lauding Mark Warburton's capture of two players from Accrington Stanley and mentioning a whole clutch of Celtic failures to boot.

This was Matt in his pomp. Sycophants have come and gone, tilting for his crown but Matt shows a deftness in his lionising of the club currently calling itself The Rangers, urging those with a less nuanced appreciation of the game to recognise the unique qualities of lower-division football.

Stokes:All mouth - no ambition

But in a matter of days, the bachal that is Stokes and Ronny Deila somehow contrived to upset the cart leaving Matt floundering under a deluge of them apples that he clearly doesn't like at all.

On Friday, he was citing Ronny's decision to loan Stokes to Hibs (after agreeing terms with at least two other clubs) as causing “Rangers concerns”, noting “the striker could help to prevent Rangers from winning promotion to the Premiership”.

“The switch has been queried by many in Scottish football,” he wrote without naming anyone who had queried the move outside his own swivel chair, “because Hibs are currently vying with Rangers, who are just five points clear in the second tier table with 16 games remaining, for a place in the top flight.”

Scurrilous stuff and the fact that other clubs should be allowed to strengthen their squads to challenge for the Championship title, is indeed cause for concern.

By today, Matt had found a new one of his not insubstantial broadsides to deliver. The fact that Stokes chose his former club suggests to Matt that Ronny: “had good reason to harbour misgivings” about Stokes.

“The fact the 27-year-old decided to go to a lower league club which is situated within a short commute of his West Lothian home leaves him open to accusations that he lacks ambition and a desire to resurrect his career,” Matt thwacked, apparently forgetting that Championship football is where its at and where the UK's most prolific goalscorer-cum-penalty-taker has his stamping ground.

“Is O’Neill going to be bowled over if he scores against Alloa or Dumbarton?” Matt asked, seeming to have forgotten that victories over such clubs have appeared to have got Matt very excited indeed in recent memory.

In questioning the ambition of a player choosing the Championship Matt sails dangerously close to the rocky waters of denigrating players at other lower-division teams.

Matt concluded that success or failure for Stokes would be disastrous for Deila: “But he is in a no-win situation here. If Stokes does shine at Hibs – and he started his time there in an encouraging fashion at the weekend when he came off the bench and scored in a 3-1 victory over St Mirren at Easter Road – it will give ammunition to those who maintained he should have been featuring all along at Celtic.”

But, something about the flimsiness of that barb seemed to suggest that our esteemed sportswriter had lost heart.

It is difficult to see how this can end well for Matt. Perhaps Michael O'Halloran will yet leave St Johnstone to sign for a Championship club and that might cheer him.

But, of course, much will depend on O'Halloran's ambition.

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The words of shame that Scotland ignores

Today, before a ball has even been kicked, Rangers supporters can clearly be heard on Setanta singing their "Famine's over song" at Easter Road - the one that self-appointed social commentators like The Herald's Darryl Broadfoot and PA Scotland's Ronnie Esplin (who supplies a large chunk of the Scottish press with reports) think do not merit condemnation. These same people who supplied endless columns and reports on Artur Boruc's T-shirt and told us, falsely, that Celtic would face a UEFA investigation for alleged "sectarian" singing after a journalist sent Youtube clips to Europe's governing body, think this latest song unworthy of mention.

In case anyone is in any doubt, here the words are printed in full.

Why don't they go home.

I often wonder where they would have been
If we hadn't have taken them in
Fed them and washed them
Thousands in Glasgow alone
From Ireland they came
Brought us nothing but trouble and shame
Well the famine is over
Why don't they go home?

Now Athenry Mike was a thief
And Large John he was fully briefed
And that wee traitor from Castlemilk
Turned his back on his own
They've all their Papists in Rome
They have U2 and Bono
Well the famine is over
Why don't they go home?

INSTRUMENTAL

Now they raped and fondled their kids
That's what those perverts from the darkside did
And they swept it under the carpet
and Large John he hid
Their evils seeds have been sown
Cause they're not of our own
Well the famine is over
Why don't you go home?

Now Timmy don't take it from me
Cause if you know your history
You've persecuted thousands of people
In Ireland alone
You turned on the lights
Fuelled U boats by night
That's how you repay us
It's time to go home.

Rangers 2008 - Scotland's shame. The Scottish media and football authorities - complicit by your silence.


Update: In Monday's Herald, near the bottom of Darryl Broadfoot's piece calling for a knighthood for Walter Smith and demanding unstinting praise for Rangers (with an ill-considered swipe at the Celtic of Tommy Burns) carried this comment :

"Intense rivalry makes the Old Firm unique. Intense loathing and religious intolerance makes them a national embarrassment.

"For example: the 2200 fans inside the Artemio Franchi stadium were impeccably behaved yet spoiled a magical trip to Florence with a drink-fuelled chorus of Why Don't You Go Home - a reference to the Irish famine - at 3am as the players and backroom team attempted to board the charter home."

Although it is not clear that the term "impeccably behaved" is appropriate, at least, coincidentally, the issue has now been mentioned by Broadfoot, albeit arguably "shoehorned" into a piece of unbridled sycophancy, perhaps as an afterthought. Now, will the issue actually be addressed in the manner of the Artur Boruc's T-shirt which was linked to a death on Sunday night and an assault on Aiden McGeady with Boruc caricatured as a bringer of mayhem? We watch with interest.