MEANWHILE, across the Clyde on the south side of the city, our chums’ owners from San Francisco are just a tad bemused.
The 49ers’ brigade have just watched their multi-million pound investment mercilessly turfed out of the Champions League, totally humiliated 9-1 on aggregate with their hopes of an immediate £40million payback left under the rubble of performances from a team struggling to attain mediocrity.
They are still waiting for their first Premiership win after four tries, dropping eight of a possible 12 points and already six points adrift of the country’s champions.
Players are going in the huff and refusing to play, piling even more intense pressure on a manager who now has the haunted look of a resident on Death Row, biding his time before he inevitably goes to meet his Maker.
And yet it’s the team elsewhere in Glasgow who have commandeered the back pages of the national press as a pyramid of bad news piles up at Parkhead.
CONGRATULATIONS FOR THE 55th TIME…Celtic players celebrate their fourth successive title following their 5-0 win over Dundee United at Tannadice on April 26.
This is the same club that has won FORTY-THREE honours in the 21st Century, bidding for their fifth successive title, their fourteenth championship in 15 years and a record 56th crown in their illustrious history.
Just for good measure, you can also chuck in five trebles over the same period.
No matter which way you look at this sequence of silverware, it is a phenomenal achievement.
And yet there is serious unrest at the club with the supporters, the lifeblood and beating heart of the entire organisation, in a mutinous mood. Naturally, it doesn’t help the tenor when your own aspirations to perform among Europe’s elite have also bitten the dust.
The guys in Govan have struck in rich, just like their dear old grandpappies back in the mad scramble of the Klondike in 1897 when there was a stampede for gold in them thar hills in Yukon.
Celtic, on the other hand, appear to have somehow acquired the Sidam Touch (that’s Midas in reverse).
All is clearly not well. It wasn’t that long ago that Brendan Rodgers was adamant almost to the point of vehemence that he would not be walking away from the manager’s job.
THUMB’S UP…a rather grim-looking Brendan Rodgers after the snore draw at Ibrox.
“No chance. Absolutely no chance. No chance.” Those were the eloquent words utilised by the Irishman to drive home his point. Now some misguided souls would have you believe he will be standing on the touchline at The Emirates around noon on Saturday when his Nottingham Forest team take on Arsenal.
Rodgers has been criticised for criticising the board. Probably not a particularly ingenious way of going about your business if you wish to live in harmony to achieve your goals.
Especially when you still have nine months to run on a lucrative contract.
You and I have been reassured there is no rift between the directors’ box and the dug-out. There was a time in the dark and distant past when the British Prime Minister, a chap by the name of Neville Chamberlain, waved a wee piece of paper in the air and declared to the masses: “Peace in our time.”
That rather bold – and sadly totally erroneous – statement was made after he had had a powwow with a Charlie Chaplin lookalike in Munich in September 1938.
A year later, Britain was at war with Germany.
Okay, a rather extreme analogy, I know, but it demonstrates the carnage that awaits if peace does not break out between the main players in this saga; the board, the manager, the staff and, of course, the supporters.
There’s a lot of intelligent and thorough discourse to follow in the coming crucial days; all involved will have to bring their A game to the discussions.
For the sake of Celtic, sort it out, guys.
Before it’s too late.
ALEX GORDON
