Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

John Lydon, 1978

Cast your minds back to December 2008. Celtic were Scottish champions and coasting to the SPL title. We played the R-word in January, establishing a 7-point lead in the SPL table. We were heading for a fourth title and bemoaning two title blips under Martin O'Neill that had spoiled what should have been a historic run of championships. All was right with the world, right?

Well, not quite. Few of us were actually fooled into thinking we had a good team. Complacency had appeared to set in at every level of the club.

Gordon Strachan had already submitted his notice (as suggested here), despite lies to the contrary. As with almost every man who knows he is marking time in a job, his demeanour changed. He was that bit less angry and more dismissive.

His ideas - when he appeared to have any – increasingly looked tired and predictable. The performances on the pitch were reflective of an attitude that everyone seemed to be guilty of – going through the motions in a slightly disinterested expectation of eventual success.

The team on the park was leaderless, gutless and lacking any spark of creativity or passion. The players turned up, regularly failed to win and went home, only to take the same approach week after week.

The fans were unhappy but there was little that could be recognised as a consensus. Some said the football was boring. Others said they were unrealistic and should be thankful of the inevitable title, however it was achieved. Some questioned the board's fiscal policy. Others told them they were the sort of people who brought Leeds Utd to financial ruin. Some feared for the future. Others told them the club was in the best hands but that average Celtic fans were too ignorant to understand the strides being made at boardroom level. Some were angry, some were bored and, frankly, some didn't seem to give a damn.

But we had one consolation. We were going to win the title because our nearest rivals were an abysmal team, almost totally bereft of talent, and in such a financial hole that there was damn all they could do about it.

Then came the long, cold January of 2009. It is a time that will live in ignominy in the history of Celtic. Rumours abounded that Celtic directors had reneged on promises to improve the team in the summer. The arrival of Willo Flood had all the impact of Neil and Christine Hamilton turning up at a charity event as surprise celebrity guests.

The rest is so much history – the title was lost, the manager vanished, he was replaced with someone who had just had his team relegated after the manager of Burnley turned us down (only to later be lured by the bright-lights-big-city of Bolton). And, yes, we were told lies about that too.

Well, the chickens have come home to roost. On this blog, I expressed concern about the sort of managers Celtic had approached, not even considering someone like Davie Moyes who was clearly interested. But, in truth, I suspected that they would get away with it.

I had a hunch that a new manager would see players more motivated, kick a few backsides, inject a few ideas and comfortably outclass the other teams in Scotland. Shouldn't have been too hard, should it? To outclass St Mirren? Or the Scottish champions who had actually got weaker than that side we were lolling past just 14 months ago?

For those of you who deplore the blame game, look away now. It's high time to indulge in recriminations with gusto.

I blame the Coolmore Mafia's Dermot Desmond, a man with an ethical business record that makes David Murray look like Richard Branson. Brian Quinn has not been forgotten.

I blame Dr John Reid, who spent a lifetime betraying and backstabbing political colleagues to get what he wanted, who had no qualms about killing children in an illegal war, yet has shown no stomach to fight for Celtic.

I blame Peter Lawwell and Eric Riley, partners in crime who have made huge sums of money while Celtic have declined.

I blame the players – nearly all of them – who have shown no sense of understanding that it is a privilege to play for Celtic.

I blame Tony Mowbray, who I urged to resign with dignity several weeks ago, and who appears to lack the most basic footballing intelligence.

I blame the Scottish football establishment and their friends in the media who perpetuate the myth that, just because we are playing badly, we are not entitled to impartial officiating, while another team that is playing badly is gifted points and has players let off scot-free after committing assaults just because of who they are.

I blame the Celtic supporters, who in five years under Martin O'Neill started to think of winning trophies as something that just happened.

I blame the insidious campaign of propaganda and disinformation masquerading as “independent” comment on a certain blog and I blame the adherents to that blog's “party line” who smugly derided fans who just wanted to adhere to Celtic's traditions, including trying to win things. They are perhaps the worst of all. They have embraced decline and declared themselves to be financial geniuses in doing so. Rest assured, the volunteer men who built the first Celtic Park with their bare hands did not do so for the likes of them.

A club and a support divided? So be it. Draw the battle lines, prepare for idealogical warfare. We must root them out, whatever the cost. We are not even serving in heaven, but in hell.

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Mowbray a victim of ill-advised planning

The superior man, when resting in safety, does not forget that danger may come. When in a state of security he does not forget the possibility of ruin. When all is orderly, he does not forget that disorder may come. Thus his person is not endangered, and his States and all their clans are preserved.

Confucius

Well, we finally concede a goal and play a competitive game, with our Champions League hopes already severely undermined.

To some, this would appear to be an appropriate time to warn of the fate of other managers who lost their first game for Celtic – how some fans will never forgive Tony Mowbray.

If we read the Scottish tabloids – and those of us who try to avoid that embarrassing illness of the media world are ill-placed to comment on their responses – we might castigate Marc-Antoine Fortuné for a night of spurned chances.

But Celtic fans are already showing that, despite the worst wishes of our critics, we are capable of reacting proportionately to disappointment.

For Marc-Antoine, Wednesday night will surely not figure highly in his list of career highlights. He showed us what we were led to expect – he is willing, athletic and appears to have a finishing capability to match his scoring record. This, we were fully warned of before he signed the deal but we can reasonably expect that a few more matches will improve his effectiveness.

Landry N'Guémo continued to demonstrate that he could serve as a potent weapon in midfield, if he is careful with his distribution but then Massimo Donati, arguably the best technician left at the club, somehow managed to pass the ball to Dinamo players, scorning the vindication of a rare first-team selection. Those of us who have defended Donati are now starting to avoid people in corridors, recalling past “just wait and see” conversations.

But if we are going to single out individuals, let them be Shaun Maloney and Aiden McGeady. Quite frankly, it is time for these two laddies to act like men, to produce the goods for 90 minutes consistently. Instead, for too much of their careers, they have been playing like kids in front of their grandmothers, expecting words of praise and consolation, regardless of their ineptitudes.

“Some nice touches” and “effective for a while” are not phrases with which to heap praise on Celtic players. These two need to talk to someone like Bertie Auld and ask for private tuition in how to combine football with expediency in order to be effective. Hell, they could start by having a word with Peter Grant – by common consent not the most naturally talented Celt ever but one whose standing our two starlets look unlikely to challenge in their careers.

But in the case of Tony Mowbray, it would take a hard heart not to sympathise with him in his disappointment. True, he made a baffling decision in bringing on Danny Fox late in the game but a least he attempted to be proactive with his substitutions, quite rightly demonstrating to Fortuné and Scott McDonald that they will only play if they are doing so well. And it was refreshing to see him attempt to influence the game rather than waiting for something better to happen with a failing formula.

However, it would be wrong to fail to (again) point the finger at the real culprits – those who arranged a ridiculous pre-season schedule that was viable only in the case of winning the league title that they neglected to pursue professionally. Anyone with a modicum of sense would know that if there's one thing to avoid, it is playing a Champions League qualifier before even a domestic league game.

That can only be done by investing properly to win the SPL. Sending a team off to Australia in the aftermath of that gross negligence was utter folly – but then it had been pre-booked at the height of their naivety.

The outstanding image from last night was not of any player but of Messrs Reid, Desmond and Lawwell, sitting shiftily side-by-side in their directors' box that might equally have been a high court dock.

They may have sharp lawyers but the public are still likely to consider them guilty.






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Goodbye, Gordon – and thanks

Gordon Strachan's departure from Celtic should not fill anyone with joy. His commitment to Celtic in the most trying circumstances and his three SPL titles coupled with two last 16 places in the Champions League amount to an enviable legacy.

He also invested in youth, meaning that his successor will not be afflicted with an ageing squad of has-been legends, as was the case when Strachan took the job.

However, his final season was a grave disappointment and he gave the impression of a man whose thoughts were elsewhere for much of that time.

He is not totally to blame – his “friends” Peter Lawwell, Dermot Desmond and John Reid are complicit in this season's failure. They have attempted to play the supporters like a fiddle and, unfortunately, succeeded in doing so with Strachan to the extent that he castigated those who derided their failure to invest in the squad.

I predicted the departure of Strachan in November, partly on observing that a certain supporters' blog was suddenly lukewarm in its articles on the manager. That particular site has clearly been used as a mouthpiece for Lawwell, something illustrated most clearly by its ability to pre-empt the Celtic official media channels in announcing Strachan's resignation.

That represents a betrayal of Strachan and the club – as does the naked propaganda in advocating under-investment while touting the benefits of finishing second. When the same blog is being used to prepare fans for the sale of the more talented high-ticket players, it is time to draw a line.

Strachan leaves at a bad time but with his reputation as a manager and man of integrity intact.

Those he leaves behind and their quislings cannot say the same.





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