But for me, that’s it. Done. Let’s forget it and concentrate
on the only thing that matters for the next two and a half seasons – ten in a
row.
By the time Celtic won the last of their nine in a row
titles in 1974, I was too young to be aware of it. It was our second proudest
achievement and something we thought would never be matched. For me, it was an
almost mythical achievement. Then I had to live through Rangers, fuelled by
other people’s money and aided by a previously unimaginable implosion at Celtic,
do it themselves.
I vividly remember driving along the M8 one afternoon in the
summer of 1997 and seeing some graffiti sprayed on an overpass – “Nine in a
row, one to go.”
And on that day, with Tommy Burns gone and Paolo di Canio
and Jorge Cadete eager to follow Pierre van Hooijdonk out the door, it seemed
an absolute certainty that that one to go was a formality.
If you are too young to remember the moment Harald Brattbakk
slotted the ball into the St Johnstone net that glorious afternoon in May 1998,
you can only imagine what it felt like to stop them doing ten in a row. You’ll
never know or maybe even understand just what it meant to 60,000 of us in the
stadium and hundreds of thousands more huddled nervously around radios or waiting
for news on Grandstand. The only way that it could have possibly felt better
would have been if it had happened twelve months earlier.
Well now it can feel better. We’re so close to ten we can
almost reach out and touch it. We can’t take it for granted though, and this
season is too close for comfort. Win the league this season, and we’re just one
away from a second nine in a row and two away from the Holy Grail of Ten.
It’s probably not healthy. Fergus McCann wouldn’t care about
it at all. For him, and most sensible people, it would be all about running the
club as a sustainable business and sticking to the plan, regardless of bumps in
the road.
But I’m not sensible about this. I want that Ten so badly.
One of the most important factors in the winning of leagues
and cups is morale. Perception can become reality and if we let our heads go
down over a Europa League defeat against a Champions League level team from the
world’s strongest league, it helps no one but our rivals.
If we sink into recriminations over what we spend and don’t
spend chasing the unattainable dream of “success” in Europe (however you define
it), it helps no one but our rivals.
If we allow negativity to surround the club going into the
next few domestic matches (and Kilmarnock away is giving me the heebie jeebies
anyway), it helps no one but our rivals.
Last night hurt. We don’t get value for money in signings,
we seem to be like rabbits in the headlights in Europe. Valencia’s wage bill
might not be that much bigger than our own. Maybe we could do better (but I’d
argue we can’t expect to be much better). But I’m not going to get bogged down
in that. We’ve got more important challenges ahead and if we could get away
with it, I’d play the Development Squad in the return leg because we shouldn’t
be risking any injuries for the sake of a lost cause in the Europa League.
For the sake of all the great Celtic men no longer with us,
who had to watch as the Kellys and Whites almost mismanaged the club out of
existence in the early 90’s.
Who had to watch a long line of ridiculously expensive
English and European imports arrive at Ibrox, paid for by the same bank who
almost closed us down for the sake of £1m, while Wayne Biggins did a poor
impression of a striker in a hooped shirt.
Who had to watch as the SFA fined Celtic a record sum for
taking Tommy Burns away from Kilmarnock and later did nothing as Rangers
induced Walter Smith to break his contract with them.
Who had to watch as the SFA extorted a fortune from us to
play at Hampden for a season and wrote it into the contract that we could not
fly the Irish flag there.
Who had to watch as Jim Farry deliberately obstructed our
efforts to get Jorge Cadete on the pitch until he couldn’t do any damage to
Rangers’ trophy aspirations.
Who had to watch our proud nine in a row achievement matched
by a team aided and abetted by our sporting and financial institutions.
For the sake of all those great Celtic men no longer with
us, and for the sake of everyone who lived through those times, I want that Ten
and I don’t care if we get knocked out of Europe before Christmas next year and
the year after.
It might be petty, parochial and inward looking. But I don’t
care.
All I want is that Ten.
Who’s with me?
