I didn’t comment on reports earlier this week that the SFA would allow Rangers International to complete an internal investigation into alleged links between Craig Whyte and Charles Green as I thought this was the appropriate course of action.
The SFA acted correctly: they wrote to Rangers International expressing concern over the matters in hand, and received assurances that their questions would be answered by an independent panel. Last year the football authorities were slow to enforce compliance with predecessor club, Rangers, but we can hope they apply a little more pressure this time.
News, released last night, suggesting after it was established Craig Whyte had been struck off as a director and would therefore face disciplinary proceedings, he had dinner with SFA chief executive, Stewart Regan, and president, Campbell Ogilvie, is far more concerning.
Mr Regan assured us that Mr Ogilvie, who he admitted was “heavily conflicted” by matters concerning Rangers, would remove himself from matters concerning the club he was previously a director of. This is meaningless if both parties met to discuss disciplinary matters with Mr Whyte before formal proceedings were underway.
What is increasingly clear is the co-dependency between so many characters in this play, including Regan and Ogilvie. They exist to keep each other in a job. This co-dependency will be jeopardised by the one man so many are attempting to paint as the only villain of the piece. Craig Whyte has them all taped and will not go down quietly.
It will be a frustration to many that the bottom half of the Scottish Football League clubs have held out for a bigger share of the trickle-down pie. Odds on a schism opening up between community and full time clubs have to be high.
Many thanks to everyone who has ordered (below) Willie Wallace’ autobiography, Heart of a Lions. It goes to print this week and will be with us soon thereafter.
[calameo code=000390171179f475cf1c0 lang=en page=6 hidelinks=1 width=100% height=500]
629 Comments- Pages:
- «
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- ...
- 17
- »
@BroganRoganTrev: Celtic Fans– can we get this trending – The Only Way is Billy- Seville Special http://t.co/v4CVOqE9Cy … … and http://t.co/5AinSdGNW8
Some days I really do f&*&^%g despair. Would love a two week retreat in a monastery somewhere.
Nothing to do with Sevco, Celtic or anything else, just letting off steam. Feels better already.
Oh aye, and a Scottish Cup Saturday to look forward to. Scotlands Immigrant clubs battling out for silver ware. Canny be bad. My mammy said so! Better no go in to extra time cause I have to go out at 5 o clock!!!!!!!!
CatharsisCSC
LiviBhoy
Fergus in to run the SFA?!
‘They’ would never let it happen – the seen fenian hand!
Btw, Turnbull Hutton has been very quiet recently!
HH!!
Where o where is our James Connolly?
Where is our Larkin?
Where is our McLean?
Does the world not produce towering leaders who can inspire men and women to work for a better world?
Or does it just strangle their qualities at birth with mountains of gadgets and consumables to keep them quiet?
Oops, I’m off again.
When’s that cup final escapism happening?????
tallybhoy,
Could it be that our ever inquisitive meeja have stopped asking his opinion ?
Robert Tressell
The SC Final is on Sunday.
HH!!
Por Cierto
16:55 on 22 May, 2013
*********************************
As I have said to you before what input could Glasgow City Council on the sectarian signing policy at Rangers, the District Council have no control over National legislation and it has only been made illegal by the Labour Party with new legislation on “Protected Characteristics” that discrimination against a distinct Racial Group ie Catholics in the employment market.
The Glasgow Council have no locus in employment law, you already know that as I have told you before but you repeat the same propaganda for the SNP, whose Leader think RFC were “bone of our bone” and a great institution that needed his intervention. Number 1 rule for politicians never enter a fight you cant win after you go public with it.
Alex Salmond is a buffon
St John Doyle
Alex Salmond is buffon.
Alex Gianluigi Salmond.
His party would never let him stay as leader with that moniker.
HH
Neil canamalar Lennon hunskelper extrordinaire
17:02 on
22 May, 2013
Every single sectarian attack which has happened in recent times has happened whilst being part of the UK. Is that keeping the scum ‘in check’. Are you implying that in an independent Scotland there will be a significant rise in sectarian attacks?
Scumbags commit sectarian attacks because they’re scumbags and they’ll do it regardless of who’s in power and regardless of Scotland’s place within or without the UK.
If you’re argument is about investigations and prosecutions falling significantly for such attacks, I see that as unlikely given that the judicial system is likely to be unchanged.
It’s not a fear of increased sectarianism that will dissuade me from voting Yes.
TallyBhoy – sweet mother of pearl nobody told me. Time was i was a walking fixture list. I’m too busy. Too too busy.
Is that coz of the CL final no fitba on same day embargo???
RalphWaldoEllison remembers ALS victims Jimmy Jonstone & John Cushley
17:14 on 22 May, 2013
****************************************
I worry for wee Eck as his Party are keeping him a cupboard/closet during the indyref campaign as he is a liability with woman voters, I see he got out of the cupboard for a couple of hours yesterday to comment on the economy but I am sad to say he is away back to the cupboard until a month before the indyref
Hope the cupboard has more cider than BT’s gang-hut as Alex likes a wee swally
A piece on David Beckham written by Frank Defford of NPR in the USA.
“The most unforgiving criticism in sport is directed at any athlete who fans believe is celebrated too excessively above his true talent level — especially those stars who are gloried because they’re such pretty people.
To wit: As David Beckham retires, so much attention is being devoted not to how good he was but to how good he was not. I never saw that emphasized with a fine athlete before. Likewise, while celebrity athletes are hardly new, in Beckham’s case, he is so outlandishly notorious that it’s been just impossible for many people to allow for the fact that he, like any good product, could be judged independently for his value on the one hand and his marketing on the other.
Becks came as quite a contradictory package. A huge, rich star, he was, nevertheless, a disciplined, hard worker dedicated to his craft. His teams won four championships in four countries. He was not only a sports celebrity but a social crossover — the acclaimed metrosexual. His wife — Posh Spice, the most visible of what the British sports press wonderfully call WAGs, wives and girlfriends — is the exemplar of whatever is the opposite of “shy and retiring.” But your Mr. and Mrs. Beckham nevertheless managed a fairly scandal-free tabloid life.
Moreover, in contrast to his sexy, rakish image, Beckham’s game was, in fact, standard, lacking much in the way of stylish invention. Yes, we all know he could bend it, but it was his ability to, in soccer parlance, cross that made him so exceptional. That is, the most glamorous athlete in the world didn’t fit the hot-shot attacking mold. Beckham was, at the end of the day, an associate, a sideways guy. And like that, he was sort of equal parts vanity and wonder.
Perhaps in time his reputation will be nudged to the margins, where he will primarily be recalled more for being what we commonly refer to as a “character” — talented, yes, but remembered rather more the way Yogi Berra and Charles Barkley are in America.
But really, that wouldn’t do Becks justice. He is a spectacular figure, one of those phenomena that inexplicably pop up in some part of every culture every now and then when the time is just right and the ingredients are all perfectly brewed. Understand, he was not an original. No, David Beckham has simply been more of everything that he had to be to bend himself into planetary eminence.
Sometimes, some things just come to a boil.”
Cup Final Display Info
For Sunday’s Cup final the Green Brigade have set up a display which requires the participation of the Celtic support.
This has been another time consuming effort which will hopefully be worth it come kick off time on Sunday.
Like all previous displays we ask that fans please wait until the teams start to emerge from the tunnel before using their materials and not before then.
The objective of the Tifo is for it to be in full flight when the players are walking out of the tunnel, hopefully giving them some extra inspiration like a few players commented on after the Barcelona Tifo last November.
Last season unfortunately at the league cup final the Tifo went too early and it was over and done with by the time the players came out. We need to avoid this at all cost.
Certain seats will have instructions on them along with different materials. These seats are crucial to the success of the Tifo. Please follow the instructions and play your part on the day.
There will also be materials that may be held aloft etc. This will only be for a few minutes and will not be on show when the teams kick off so we thank you in advance for your patience and cooperation.
Unfortunately due to a few issues going on just now we will not have a section as such at the game. Hopefully the full support plays their part and stands and sings for 90minutes and this urges the Bhoys on to a great double for the season.
Please pass this post around the Celtic forums and twitter, facebook
Should be good.
Went to the funeral of a good man and Celtic fan recently and the choir sung this lovely hymn while they took him out of the church to his final resting place.
In honour of Jim, Faith of our Fathers
I had not heard it in years but I remember hearing it often in the 70’s I believe it was sung by fans at games
A great hymn in a time of hun sectarian adversity
neil canamalar
Yes – the inquisitive SMSM.
Inquisitive when it comes to digging up dirt about Celtic FC – management, players, directors, fans…
Then when they can’t find anything they just make it up.
The club need to FINALLY try and do something to put a stop to this!
Apologies if I sound naive!
HH!!
El Hadji Diouf takes a tanking ….all together now 1.2.3.awwwwwwwwwwwwwe !
HH
Tbj,sannabhoy
Great idea about seats
For the kids.
HH
SJD..
People in glass houses
Googybhoy
You guys should get a percentage from sale of photos of the tifos at CP.
Tifofoto CSC
St.John.Doyle
What not even to condone a sectarian employment policy being operated miles from the City Chambers, was this not deemed to be worthy of comment, no matter what political persuasion you may hook up to. No the facts are they, and every other politician and political party, ignored it as it was something that would cost them votes. I am not fighting the Nationalist corner, far from it, but it really irks me when people try to make parochial party political points about something that is an indelible stain on our nation, instead of getting out there and doing something about it.
It was comments like this, 11 years ago now!, that were needed back then, and you are right, they are needed even more now and the ACTION to get it done.
“Modern Scotland must challenge bigoted attitudes and bigoted behaviour wherever they are found.
“I want Scotland to be a society where we respect cultural differences and celebrate our rich and diverse religious traditions. I want all Scots to be proud of the Scotland we live in today.
“We need to put sectarianism in the dust-bin of history. Scotland must play a full part in Europe and the global economy, so we cannot allow ourselves to be dragged down by the deadweight of religious hatred and sectarian bigotry.”
December 2002 the First Minister, Jack McConnell.
I mean about scottish labour leader not the cider. …
:-D
St. John Doyle
When did Alex Salmond describe RFC in that way?
Whatever talent David Beckham was given he made the most of it; he must be given credit for this.
solmick ,
cheers ,
we are 1 week away from our 3rd anniversary and have taken almost 2000 kids to Celtic games (we don’t always get full uptake – but we’re working on that for next season) .
This season we have the added glamour of one of the CL qualifiers – not something we could afford normally and have a few ideas up our sleeve to freshen things up for the kids .
Stay tooned .
Sanna (sannabhoy@thekanofoundation.com)
SSN
Cammy Bell says “signing for Rangers is a nightmare come true”
Mark Hatley said Cammy Bell would be like a new signing.
One or two might wonder who the real RWE is and why the moniker. I read this short story a few years back and was stunned to find out it was written by a black American man who’d endured the worst kind of racism. He wrote it in the first person from the perspective of a young white boy. It was never published until after he died, so contentious was his crossing of the “color line”.
I identified with it particularly, because my great grandfather survived a loyalist lynching in Belfast. He lost an eye and had numerous other injuries. When he recovered he found a job over here and digs in Duntocher. He sent for his wife and my maternal grandmother who was eight at the time.
Apologies for the length.
…….
A Party Down at the Square, by Ralph Waldo Ellison
“I don’t know what started it. A bunch of men came by my Uncle Ed’s place and said there was going to be a party down at the Square, and my uncle hollered for me to come on and I ran with them through the dark and rain and there we were at the Square. When we got there everybody was mad and quiet and standing around looking at the nigger. Some of the men had guns, and one man kept goosing the nigger in his pants with the barrel of a shotgun, saying he ought to pull the trigger, but he never did. It was right in front of the courthouse, and the old clock in the tower was striking twelve. The rain was falling cold and freezing as it fell. Everybody was cold, and the nigger, kept wrapping his arms around himself trying to stop the shivers.
The one of the boys push through the circle and snatched off the nigger’s shirt, and there he stood, with his black skin all shivering in the light from the fire, and looking at us with a scaired look on his face and putting his hands in his pants pocket. Folks started yelling to hurry up and kill the nigger. Somebody yelled: “Take your hands out of your pockets, nigger; we gonna have plenty heat in a minnit.” But the nigger didn’t hear him and kept his hands where they were.
I tell you the rain was cold. I had to stick my hands in my pockets they got so cold. The fire was pretty small, and they put some logs around the platform they had the nigger on and then threw on some gasoline, and you could see the flames light up the whole Square. It was late and the streetlights had been off for a long time. It was so bright that the bronze statue of the general standing there in the Square was like something alive. The shadows playing on his moldy green face made him seem to be smiling down at the nigger.
They threw on more gas, and it made the Square bright like it gets when the lights are turned on or when the sun is setting red. All the wagons and cars were standing around the curbs. Not like Saturday, though, the niggers weren’t there. Not a single nigger was there except this Bacote nigger and they dragged him there tied to the back of Jed Wilson’s truck. On Saturday there’s as many niggers as white folks.
Everybody was yelling crazy ’cause they were about to set fire to the nigger, and I got to the rear of the circle and looked around the Square to try to count the cars. The shadows of the folks was flickering on the trees in the middle of the Square. I saw some birds that the noise had woken up flying through the trees. I guess maybe they thought it was morning. The ice had started the cobblestones in the street to shine where the rain was falling and freezing. I counted forty cars before I lost count. I knew folks must have been there for Phenix City by all the cars mixed in with the wagons.
God, it was a hell of a night. It was some night all right. When the noise died down I heard the nigger’s voice from where I stood in the back, so I pushed my way up front. The nigger was bleeding from his nose and ears, and I could see him all red where the dark blood was running down his black skin. He kept lifting first one foot and then the other, like a chicken on a hot stove. I looked down to the platform they had him on, and they ha pushed a ring of fire up close to his feet. It must have been hot to him with the flames almost touching his big black toes. Somebody yelled for the nigger to say his prayers, but the nigger wasn’t saying anything now. He just kinda moaned with his eyes shut and kept moving up and down on his feet, first one foot and then the other.
I watched the flames burning the logs up closer and closer to the nigger’s feet. They were burning good now, and the rain had stopped and the wind was rising, making the flames flare higher. I looked, and there must have been thirty-five women in the crowd, and I could hear their voices clear and shrill mixed in with those of the men. Then it happened. I heard the noise about the same time everyone else did. It was like the roar of a cyclone blowing up from the gulf, and everyone was looking up into the air to see what it was. Some of the faces looked surprised and scaired, all but the nigger. He didn’t even hear the noise. He didn’t even look up. Then the roar came closer, right above our heads, and the winds was blowing higher and higher and the sound seemed to be going in circles.
Then I saw her. Through the clouds and fog I could see a red and green light on her wings. I could see them just for a second; then she rose up into the low clouds. I looked out for the beacon over the tops of the buildings in the direction of the airfield that’s forty miles away, and it wasn’t circling around. You usually could see it sweeping around the sky at night, but it wasn’t there. Then, there she was again, like a big bird lost in the fog. I looked for the red and green lights and they weren’t there anymore. She was flying even closer to the tops of the buildings than before. The wind was blowing harder, and leaves started flying about, making funny shadows on the ground, and tree limbs were cracking and falling.
It was a form all right. The pilot must have thought he was over the landing field. Maybe he thought the fire in the Square was put there for him to land by. Gosh, but it scaired the folks. I was scaired too. They started yelling: “He’s going to land. He’s going to land.” And: “He’s going to fall.” A few started for their cars and wagons. I could hear the wagons creaking and chains jangling and cars spitting and missing as they started the engines up. Off to my right, a horse started pitching and striking his hooves against a car.
I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to run, and I wanted to stay and see what was going to happen. The plane was close as hell. The pilot must have been trying to see where he was at, and her motors were drowning out all the sounds. I could even feel the vibration, and my hair felt like it was standing up under my hat. I happened to look over at the statue of the general standing with one leg before the other and leaning back on sword, and I was fixing to run over and climb between his leg and sit there and watch when the roar stopped some, and I looked up and she was gliding just over the top of the trees in the middle of the Square.
Her motors stopped altogether and I could hear the sound of branches cracking and snapping off below her landing gear. I could see her plain now, all silver and shining in the light of the fire with T.W.A. in black letters under her wings. She was sailing smoothly out of the Square when she hit the high power lines that follow the Birmingham highway through the town. It made a loud crash. It sounded like the wind blown the door of a tin barn shut. She only hit with her landing gear, but I could see the sparks flying, and wires knocked loose from the poles were spitting blue sparks and whipping around like a bunch of snakes and leaving circles of blue sparks in the darkness.
The plane had knocked five or six wires loose, and they were dangling and swinging, and every time they touched they threw off more sparks. The wind was making them swing and when I got over there, there was a crackling and spitting screen of blue haze across the highway. I lost my running over, but I didn’t stop to look for it. I was among the first and I could hear the others pounding behind me across the grass of the Square. They were yelling to beat all hell, and they came up fast, pushing and shoving, and someone got pushed against a swinging wire. It made a sound like when a blacksmith drops a red hot horseshoe into a barrel of water, and the steam comes up. I could smell the flesh burning. The first time I’d ever smelled it. I got up close and it was a board, with pieces of glass insulators that the plane had knocked off the poles lying all around her. Her white dress was torn, and I saw one of her tits hanging out in the water and her thighs. Some woman screamed and fainted and almost fell on a wire, but a man caught her. The sheriff and his men were yelling and driving folks back with guns shining in her hands and everything was lit up blue by the sparks. The shock had turned the woman almost as black as the nigger. I was trying to see if she wasn’t blue too, or it was just the sparks, and the sheriff drove me away. As I backed off trying to see, I heard the motors of the plane start up again somewhere off to the right in the clouds.
The clouds were moving fast in the wind and the wind was blowing the smell of something burning over to me. I turned around, and the crowd was headed back to the nigger. I could see him standing there in the middle of the flames. The wind was making the flames brighter every minute. The crowd was running. I ran too. I ran back across the grass with the crowd. It wasn’t so large now that so many had gone when the plane came. I tripped and fell over the limb of a tree lying in the grass and bit my lip. It ain’t well yet I bit it so bad. I could taste the blood in my mouth as I ran over. I guess that’s what made me sick. When I got there the fire had caught the nigger’s pants, and the folks were standing around watching, but not too close on account of the wind blowing the flames. Somebody hollered, “Well, nigger, it ain’t so cold now, is it? You don’t need to put your hands in your pockets now.” And the nigger looked up with his great white eyes looking like they was ’bout to pop out of his head, and I had enough. I didn’t want to see anymore. I wanted to run somewhere and puke, but I stayed. I stayed right there in the front of the crowd and looked.
The nigger tried to say something. I couldn’t hear for the roar of the wind in the fire, and I strained my ears. Jed Wilson hollered. “What you say there, nigger?” And it came back through the flames in his nigger voice: “Will one a you gentleman please cut my throat?” he said. “Will somebody please cut my throat like a Christian?” And Jed hollered back, “Sorry, but ain’t no Christians around tonight. Ain’t no Jew-boys neither. We’re just one hundred percent Americans.”
Then the nigger was silent. Folks started laughing at Jed. Jed’s right popular with the folks, and next year, my uncle says, they plan to run him for sheriff. The heat was too much for me, and the smoke was making my eyes to smart. I was trying to back away when Jed reached down and brought up a can of gasoline and threw it in the fire on the nigger. I could see the flames catching the gas in a puff as it went in in a silver sheet and some of it reached the nigger, making spurts of blue fire all over his chest.
Well, that nigger was tough. I have to give it to that nigger; he was really tough. He had started to burn like a house afire and was making the smoke smell like burning hides. The fire was up around his head, and the smoke was so thick and black we couldn’t see him. And him not moving – we thought he was dead. Then he started out. The fire had burned the ropes they had tied him with, and he started jumping and kicking about like was blind, and you could smell his skin burning. He kicked so hard that the platform, which was burning too, fell in, and he rolled out of the fire at my feet. I jumped back so he wouldn’t get on me. I’ll never forget it. Every time I eat barbecue I’ll remember that nigger. His back was just like a barbecued hog. I could see the prints of his ribs where they start around from his backbone and curve down and around. It was a sight to see, that nigger’s back. He was right at my feet, and somebody behind pushed me and almost made me step on him, and he was still burning.
I didn’t step on him though, and Jed and somebody else pushed him back into the burning planks and logs and poured on more gas. I wanted to leave, but the folks were yelling and I couldn’t move except to look around and see the statue. A branch the wind ha broken was resting on his hat. I tried to upshot and get away because my guts were gone, and all I got was spit and hot breath in my face from the woman and two men standing directly behind me. So I had to turn back around. The nigger rolled out of the fire again. He wouldn’t stay put. It was on the other side this time. I couldn’t see him very well throughout he flames and smoke. They got some tree limbs and held him there this time and he stayed there till he was ashes. I guess he stayed there. I know he burned to ashes because I saw Jed a week later, and he laughed and showed me some white finger bones still held together with little pieces of the nigger’s skin. Anyway, I left when somebody moved around to see the nigger. I pushed my way through the crowd, and a woman in the rear scratched my face as she yelled and fought to get up close.
I ran across the Square to the other side, where the sheriff and his deputies were guarding the wires that were still spitting and making a blue fog. My heart was pounding like I had been running a long ways, and I bent over and let my insides go. Everything came up and spilled in a big gush over the ground. I was sick, and tired, and weak, and cold. The wind was still high, and large drops of rain were beginning to fall. I headed down the street to my uncle’s place past a store where the wind had broken a window, and glass lay over the sidewalk. I kicked it as I went by. I remember somebody’s fool rooster crowing like it was mooring in all that wind.
The next day I was too weak to go out, and my uncle kidded me and called me “the gutless wonder from Cinncinnati.” I didn’t mind. He said you get used to it in time. He couldn’t go out himself. There was too much wind and rain. I got up and looked out of the window, and the rain was pouring down and dead sparrows and limbs of trees were scattered all over the yard. There had been a cyclone all right. It swept a path right through the county, and were lucky we didn’t get the full force of it.
It blew for three days steady, and put the town in a hell of a shape. The wind blew sparks and set fire to the white-and-green-rimmed house of Jackson Avenue that had the big concrete lions in the yard and burned it down to the ground. They had to kill another nigger who tried out of the country after they burned this Bacote nigger. My Uncle Ed said they always have to kill niggers in pairs to keep the other niggers in place. I don’t know though, the folks seem a little skittish of the niggers. They all came back, but they act pretty sullen. They look mean as hell when you pass them down at the store. The other day I was down to Brinkley’s store, and a white cropper said it didn’t do no good to kill the niggers ’cause things don’t get no better. He looked hungry as hell. Most of the croppers look hungry. You’d be surprised how hungry white folks can look. Somebody said that he’d better shut his damn mouth and he shut up. But from the look on his face he won’t stay shut long. He went out of the store muttering to himself and spit a big chew of tobacco right down on Brinkley’s floor. Brinkley said he was sore ’cause he wouldn’t let him have credit. Anyway, it didn’t seem to help things. First it was the nigger and the storm, then the plane, then the woman and the wires, and now I hear the airplane line is investigating to find who set the fire almost wrecked their plane. All that in one night, all of it but the storm over one nigger. It was some night all right. It was some party too. I was right there, see. I was right there watching it all. It was my first party and my last. God, but that nigger was tough. That Bacote nigger was some nigger.”
…..
http://aj-classnotesdiscussion.blogspot.com/2011/03/party-down-at-square-by-raph-ellison.html
HH
Here’s a thought……
Vote NO and guarantee the continuation of the SNP!
Robert Tressell
Yes – apparently there is a game at Wembley on Saturday.
Couple of German teams – Borussia Munchen and Bayern Dortmund, I think.
HH!!
blantyretim
17:41 on 22 May, 2013
Mark Hatley said Cammy Bell would be like a new signing.
Why has his son Tom not signed for Spivco?
blantyretim
17:34 on 22 May, 2013
****************************************
I didnt think you would have an issue with the Cider, I would be worried if the Labour Leader was sneaking into your gang-hut that would be a story :-))
Celtic Mac
17:34 on 22 May, 2013
*************************************
It was reported quite widely during the RFC demise just search for it on google or 1 of the guys on here maybe could get it for you quicker than me
l Hadji Diouf has been beaten up by a group of youths in Dakar after saying “You’re all poor. You’re nothing.”
@DeadlineDayLive: El Hadji Diouf has been beaten up by a group of youths in Dakar after saying “You’re all poor. You’re nothing.” (Source: Echo)
Normally my first emotion would be sympathy for the victim. But them again…….
GB Cup Final Display Info
For Sunday’s Cup
final the Green
Brigade have set
up a display which
requires the
participation of the
Celtic support.
This has been
another time
consuming effort
which will
hopefully be worth
it come kick off
time on Sunday.
Like all previous
displays we ask
that fans please
wait until the
teams start to
emerge from the
tunnel before using
their materials and
not before then.
The objective of
the Tifo is for it to
be in full flight
when the players
are walking out of
the tunnel,
hopefully giving
them some extra
inspiration like a
few players
commented on
after the Barcelona
Tifo last
November.
Last season
unfortunately at
the league cup
final the Tifo went
too early and it
was over and done
with by the time
the players came
out. We need to
avoid this at all
cost.
Certain seats will
have instructions
on them along with
different materials.
These seats are
crucial to the
success of the
Tifo. Please follow
the instructions
and play your part
on the day.
There will also be
materials that may
be held aloft etc.
This will only be
for a few minutes
and will not be on
show when the
teams kick off so
we thank you in
advance for your
patience and
cooperation.
Unfortunately due
to a few issues
going on just now
we will not have a
section as such at
the game.
Hopefully the full
support plays their
part and stands
and sings for
90minutes and this
urges the Bhoys on
to a great double
for the season.
BT
Are you going over to the final on Sunday or is the club about as far as you can go
Unfortunately due to a few issues going on just now we will not have a section as such at the game.
Celtic putting the boot into the GB again?
weeminger,
My whole argument is about lack of investigation in fact institutional support, which stops at the border, there is no institutional support for sectarianism to the same degree we have, that is what was meant by kept in check, put it this way, it was a UK govt that legislated for anti racist/sectarian conditions whilst Scotland supported and still does the sectarian divide.
100 years of sectarian discrimination existed in Scotland and it was an open secret, your champions are still trying to cloud.
Scotland has another 50 years at least after they ban sectarian marches, before it will become anywhere near mature enough to self govern.
Anything else will end in tears and bloodshed.