It was always going to be like this, Stevie


It was always going to be like this, Stevie.  You have the resources to comfortably be better than Aberdeen, but you don’t have the experience to put those resources to effective use.  You were knocked out of the Scottish Cup, not because you or your players didn’t try hard enough, but because you are new to management and it is not all about “wanting it” in an ever-louder-higher-pitched voice.

Celtic will eventually lose a cup game, the randomness of chances scored and conceded guarantees it.  When they do, you have as much chance of benefiting as anyone else, but you will need to be good enough to outsmart decent managers with a fraction of your budget, and you are not there yet.

Your employer needs to come up with an apparently viable strategy to win the league each season ticket renewal time.  The City trader with the brain the size of a planet failed, as did the exotic European with a hotline into desirable, cheap and untapped player markets.

You are there because the best talent in England, if not the world, will batter down your door in order to play for you.  That was the ‘elevator pitch’ last year.  It is not because they think you are a great coach, they know you are not.

If you want to succeed, stop bringing in midfielders from Dundee and sign the next Steven Gerrard.  That is why you are in the job and if this cannot be done, you will fail.  In the meantime, all you will achieve is to turn your fans into a cash cow for the rest of the league.  Which is nice, but is ironic, given your own club’s financial perils.

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  1. Ha, football pitches that can be seen from the road, kids stuff ;-)


    Middle of France, left hand side going south, a Jumbo jet just resting in someones garden.

  2. glendalystonsils on

    THE EXILED TIM on 13TH MARCH 2019 10:37 PM



    Don’t know…….but it must be some length of garden if you can land a jumbo jet in it! -))

  3. Rees Mog, the real hard liner, the rabid brexiteer who has moved all his business interests from britland to Dublin, why would that be then, faith, aye right.

  4. GDT


    The first time I saw it I sort of gave it a miss, the second time I passed it I decided to have a closer look, aye a fairy large garden and no much chance of taking off, seems like it’s deed, an amazing feature right enough.



  5. glendalystonsils on




    I saw a programme on telly a while back , a guy bought a plane and turned it into a very nice home . Don’t know if it’s the same one.

  6. I think T May is a patriot. Only end game here can be no Brexit and all roads leading that way. Been stalling for time for months. Taking one for the Country.

  7. She has put a crap deal on the table that will never get through and then her Party whip voted against his own three line whip which takes no deal off the table. Do that maths.

  8. macjay1 for Neil Lennon on

    CORKCELT on 13TH MARCH 2019 10:34 PM


    Macjay , The House of Commons doesn’t share your optimism.






    The House of Commons would seem to be denying the will , democratically arrived at , of the British people.


    Two years of delaying tactics .


    A Prime Minister whose heart wasn`t in it .


    Justice delayed is justice denied.



    Behaving like socialists . That`s what the punters want , but we know better .




    People power in the offing ?


    Led by Nigel Farage ?



    It could get nasty .

  9. David, She is putting it up again for the 3rd time on March 20th. Possibly might pass next time. Rees Mogg & Co might just reckon it’s May’s deal or another Referendum.

  10. macjay1 for Neil Lennon on

    THE EXILED TIM on 13TH MARCH 2019 10:40 PM


    Rees Mog, the real hard liner, the rabid brexiteer who has moved all his business interests from britland to Dublin, why would that be then, faith, aye right.





    ” Rabid ” .


    You mean like the British people who voted to leave ?

  11. CORKCELT on 13TH MARCH 2019 11:02 PM


    David, She is putting it up again for the 3rd time on March 20th. Possibly might pass next time. Rees Mogg & Co might just reckon it’s May’s deal or another Referendum.






    ERG saying it will never get through. Nobody can be this incompetent and be allowed to stay in power. End game here to me seems clear. Play daft and run down the clock.

  12. David, Other option, do a deal with Corbyn and get a Norway plus deal. EU have already indicated that they would be favorably disposed to that type of deal. Brits difficulty is Freedom of Movement but that could be sorted,

  13. CORKCELT on 13TH MARCH 2019 11:13 PM



    Cant see it. As far as I’m aware EU unwilling to renegotiate and cannot be seen to have backed down. Also could not see that deal getting through Parliament. Next step must be to extend Article 50. Then more of the same. Too early to yet to go for Referendum 2. Wait till after March 29 when essentially in extra time. Too dangerous for Corbyn to call now.

  14. That is me done tonight, Bit of a journey tomorrow up to Drogheda so bed for me. Good Night & God Bless All.

  15. Just emptying out and deleting a couple of whimsical blogs I used to keep posts in, especially ones with photos. Time moves on and I have two fully blown ‘off the wall’ websites (not blogs) under development/ in testing. Well one is ‘off the wall’ and the other is more like a Humpty Dumpty accident! Anyway while I’ve been clearing out the evidence of the fanciful cul de sacs of my brain, I’ve come across the occasional entry that at the time seemed to go down quite well.



    So in the interests of future generations, I’ll leave them here ….that’ll teach the young upstarts a lesson!



    And so to the first one and my role on this earth as the ‘Guardian of Celtic and Football’ appointed by ‘The Cognos’ and the night Alloa Athletic became the unwitting pawns of satanic emissaries.



    It was 21st September 2016………Celtic Park ………………….and virtue trembled………………






    Alloa, Armageddon and Admani



    Granted the power to intervene in the ways of puny man, we of the Cognos live a life of hard choices.



    Take over the workings of this sad and flawed universe when it is threatened by dark forces and we will reap a reward of seeing the erstwhile pleading face of evolution gone sadly wrong, once more beaming in contentment.



    But misjudge the threat and stick our noses and fingers in where they are neither needed nor wanted and we will not only suffer the loss of our super powers forever, but may also be cast into the pit of snakes.


    And all to be done under the monastic vow of eternal silence known as ‘keepitshut’.



    “So” I know you are thinking “How come you are telling this now? Surely you are breaking with that vow and the pit of snakes beckons!”



    Let me tell you this.



    Because of the events of Wednesday night I have been given special dispensation to reveal the existential threat to civilisation in general that everyone must understand and face.



    What follows will explain all.








    As shot after header, pass after chip, as if touched or guided by some unseen hand or force-field deflected over bar, around post or looped unthreateningly into the arms of the Alloa goalkeeper the crowd’s initial disappointment transmuted to amazement, disbelief and finally black humour.



    But let this be clear – It came as no surprise to me!



    All day my little silver and garnet manly ear-ring in my left lug lobe had been bothering me, and ever since I had got to my seat the slightly irritating sting had started to sear like a welder’s torch. Trust me, whenever that happens it is a bit like Spider Man’s sixth sense, you can be sure trouble lies ahead. So I was already on high priority alert for anything that seemed abnormal or in any way outré!



    I prepared thoroughly going through the secret ‘sock sequence’ and ‘pint drinking’ routines. This after all was going to be no ordinary 90 mins, no normal battle of two teams of supremely honed athletes giving every bead of sweat in a match of skill, muscle, grit, imagination and inspiration. I sniggered at the expectations across the known football world, that Glasgow’s coliseum was about to witness little unsuspecting Alloan Christians being ripped in an orgy of gristle, ligament, blood and bone by the lions of Lisboa.



    This sort of knowledge can be a burden, but as I may have mentioned before I am the first son of a third son from Appin and the offspring of his love of an itinerant woman of Irish blood. This allows us spiritual membership of the ‘Cognos’ and the gift of one super-power (to be used in the cause of protecting humanity). Through the magic of the ear-ring, potential threats are conducted to my psyche. But only I can judge if my power to alter the space time continuum should be used.



    Anyway, my ear-ring was rarely wrong and I was expecting the football, the teams, and the cup to become irrelevant; a mere sideshow in the wider and potentially cataclysmic confrontation that lent the air a telepathic crackle and tang only apparent to me and the other initiates in the society of Cognos.



    The thing was…..till the dénouement, till the bitter end I would not know whether I was right or wrong. Would I have judged the threat correctly and restore life’s boat to an even keel, or would I hear the jangle of the jailer’s keys and the squeak of the gates to the serpentine pit?



    My ear-ring wasn’t wrong? But was my judgement correct? Was it really possible that Celtic versus Alloa was to be the opening salvo in the end of days, the final war, Armageddon? And just who was my protagonist?


    How could I get this insight? How could I decide to use my super powers? Under threat of a pit-like existence consorting with snakes and serpents, how could I be sure that the death strewn path to the green rolling hills of Megiddo had really opened and the trumpet had blasted its signal to attack?



    It is a burden not lightly borne, but one that Cognos and souls such as I willingly accept.



    And so I sat there pretending successfully to be a mere human, each passing tick of the clock straining the valves on my personal frustration-ometer and each missed attempt or stray pass burning into my earlobe like a cow’s arse under a branding iron.



    But the scales of intervention still tipped towards ‘NO’.



    I scanned those around me undergoing their own trials.



    For some the approaching menace of extra time, penalties or even worse a cataclysmic winner for Alloa, had triggered a hypnotic trance where they had obviously returned to a previous life in a land called Despair. Others, spitting, eyes bulging and heads spinning exorcism-like, screamed, chanted and pleaded in that tongue of the damned, the language of Angst. Still more lost coordinated control of their limbs as they leapt, bent swayed and contorted like tifo puppets caught in a vortex.



    And then see-saw of decision tipped.



    Sinclair is through, clear target in sight, ball leaves foot homing in on bottom corner….ffs! Off it goes like a boomerang chasing a kangaroo to almost massacre the weans gathered at the corner flag; Broonie clear header, he rises, he connects, ball heading for top right of bag….WTF..someone has just broken the bricky’s record for erecting an invisible and impenetrable wall; Tom Rogic into box, past the last player, screamer lined up…….aw naw! tripped by the unseen cloven foot of evil.



    The crowd, was now in a Haitian voodoo frenzy. My ear was melting and in danger of running down my chin like a big snotter on a bid for freedom.



    There was surely no doubt now.



    Somewhere in the ground an emissary of Beelzebub was at work.



    I decided…action this minute…..damn the consequences!



    As Ryan Christie picked up the ball on the left side of the pitch, his foot swung to meet the leather about to propel it in all likelihood somewhere into the upper reaches of the pit of snakes….sorry directors box.


    Fortunately in concert with his swinging leg, I moved my right hand across to my left ear and touched my magical ear-ring while whispering the secret incantation of Cognos.



    Faster than light, the ball was now under the control of my telekinetic super power!



    It swooped across field impelled on the path built from the sweep of my eyes, landing like a Jocky Wilson dart at the feet of James Forrest.



    James now became attached to my mental antennae.



    He drove across the box on super charged and invisible roller skates (created in my mind’s ‘roller-skate with ‘ball control’ attachment’ making facility) and then – and this was the clever bit- at the last possible second, I swapped his left leg for his right, and with a secret smile I told that leg to ping as it hasn’t pung before and drive that ball….”Drive that ball James” my silent scream….screamed ….and lo, that ball was thus driven…in reverse, diagonally, into the unguarded bottom right hand corner of the net.



    It is fair to say that joy was unconfined.



    But a sense of guilt lingered.



    “Had I been right to intervene? Had I falsely convinced myself of the crooked hand of Hadean forces. Had the earlier terrible football been just a coincidence of bad-luck, over confidence and a shitey pitch?”



    My ear still burnt, and listen as I did, I heard no sound of the gates being unhinged.



    And then it happened again.



    One nil up, cruising and all of a sudden Celtic defence turned into a remake of Andy Pandy meets the Wooden-tops and Flower pot men.



    Wibbly wobbly legs became possessed by wibbly wobbly brains and I knew….I KNEW….that an evil puppet master was pulling satanic strings.



    “Back to the fray, Matt” I called heroically.



    Power back in gear I grabbed that ball, got it to Moussa and ‘Yah Dancer… My ear stopped burning! ….Game Over!’



    As the final whistle blew, the bloke in front of me landed again from his celebratory flight to the stars and made for the vomitory. The crowd started to thin, but a fair number stayed to applaud the team and allow the mess in their trousers to solidify.



    Two lads behind me were having a furious row over whether the score should have been 12-0 or 13-0. I would have joined in but I had weightier matters on my mind.



    “Who or what was the agent of darkness that had so nearly caused the rip in the dimension of justice and good?”



    I looked around me again, trying to pick up clues from demeanours, conversations and auras visible only to the Cognos.



    My suspicions were piqued when the fella who had left after his flight of fancy suddenly attempted re-entry, squeezing against the departing tide, his eyes darting in a panic, obviously having left something of value.



    He made his way back to where he had been sitting and whispered, audible only to the Cognos. .”Right you, come on, we need to get a move on”



    The petit young girl of about 10 or 11 who was the target of his demand, sat immobile.



    “You forgot me” she said, in a voice reminiscent of a petit young girl of 10 or 11, but with an undertone of bass baritone detectable only by the Cognos.



    “I didn’t forget you. I went to the toilet”



    “Naw you didn’t. You forgot me ….AGAIN!” …The beat of a hidden (but not to Cognos) threat was still there.



    “I’ll tell ma maw” she continued.



    “Pizza” he said.



    “And a new phone cover” she bargained.



    He was now fully under the control of this mirage of a petite young girl of 10 or 11 with a timbre of doom to her delivery.



    She stood, turned to pick up her programme and with a lift of her head, she stared at me.



    A sudden brazier of hellish coals erupted in my ear, her eyes glared white hot with figurines of black dancing goats whistling on pans pipes.



    A deep throated roar (audible again only to the Cognos) was followed by a voice from below bellowing “I am Adamni and I shall return. I shall wipe the Cognos off the face of history”.



    And then they were gone, her leading the now enslaved male by the leash of triumph.



    “Enjoy your Pizza” I said to the empty spaces “I’ll be waiting”.



    As I made my own way back to the serenity of the Gorbals and Sharkey’s I played the events over in my mind. Then it struck me.



    “Adamni…..mad min….maidan…..dim ana….I a Damn ….mid man….DAMIAN!



    The game against Kilmarnock could be interesting….be there and help me save the world.



    I’m off to prepare myself with my secret Guinness routine.





    Well, that’s it for the moment as I have to get to a secret meeting of the Cognos….where we are going to sort out Brexit!!



    Hail Hail




  16. Corkcelt.



    Your my type of mentality.



    It’s a better one than that eejits.



    Keep it lit.

  17. Jabba ‘s only deflection mode is Sheep fans singing ‘sectarian ‘ songs about Hunny G,… couldn’t make it up…

  18. Article suggests it was Leicester who wanted the deal done and DIDN’T want to wait till the summer, well that’s not what we were told.



    £9M for the management team , would’ve been seen as a great deal by our board whose mantra appears to be business first and football a distant second . Finances prosper at the detriment of our prospects for success on the park .





    Celtic inserted the figure into the four-year deal Rodgers signed as manager in April 2017, with the transfer fee for the Northern Irishman believed to be lower in the summer.



    But after sacking Claude Puel, Leicester identified Rodgers as their No 1 target and plans to appoint him ahead of next season were brought forward.



    With Rodgers also taking assistant manager Chris Davies, first-team coach Kolo Toure and head of performance Glen Driscoll to the King Power Stadium, the total cost of the deal for Leicester was £9m.



    His departure from Parkhead after nearly three years in charge angered many of the club’s supporters, but Celtic feel the deal agreed with Leicester represents brilliant business.












    A song which nearly broke my heart


    A tramp lay dying in the park.


    I knelt beside him to hear him speak


    And the words he spoke, they were oh so weak.


    He told me a story of long since past,


    Of a sailing ship with its long grey mast,


    Of his captain’s cap with it’s shining braid


    And the wonderful voyages that he’d made.


    “Silent Annie” was his great ship’s name.


    Like a token of love he spoke her name.


    She sailed ’round the Horn, aye, more that once.


    She could cut through the waves like a sharpened lance.



    “Believe me,” he said. His eyes filled with tears


    Like a drunk on a corner, trying to remember his years.


    He reached out his hand and I took it in mine.


    “I believe you,” I said, and he gave a sad smile.


    “I remember the day when they towed her away.


    Her sides they were sore from the sea’s angered spray.


    They said she’s unfit for to sail out once more


    (And they towed her more inward from her own sandy shore)?


    And as they broke my Silent Annie. I watched with a sigh.


    I remembered her beauty when I was a boy.


    She was my one love, my life’s only dream,


    When we sailed out together as captain and queen.”



    It started to drizzle, and I felt my hand tight


    And he squeezed even harder as he ended the fight.


    And a crowd they had gathered, and they watched with dismay


    As some ambulance men came, and they took him away.


    So I got to my feet, and I walked through that park.


    The sun it was gone, but it was not yet dark.


    My body was wet, and my clothes were not many,


    But my mind was aroused by the ship Silent Annie.



    ~Finbarr Furey

  20. MACJAY1 @ 11:00 PM,



    The House of Commons would seem to be denying the will , democratically arrived at , of the British people.



    Well, MacJay… here’s where you get to the crux of the matter.



    If you know your history…



    …you see in the UK, the House of Parliament is Sovereign.



    That’s it in a nutshell… That’s where democracy starts and finishes.



    The Democratic System in the UK means that Parliament and only the Westminster Parliament can make these decisions.






    The Monarchy



    The People



    The Civil Service



    The Military



    The Electorate



    Can take no decisions… the idea that ANY British Referendum, without the absolute authority and backing of the Westminster Parliament is democratic


    is a nonsense.



    In the UK… Westminster Parliament is sovereign.



    That’s It!!!



    Hail Hail




    The pockets of our greatcoats full of barley…


    No kitchens on the run, no striking camp…


    We moved quick and sudden in our own country.


    The priest lay behind ditches with the tramp.


    A people hardly marching… on the hike…


    We found new tactics happening each day:


    We’d cut through reins and rider with the pike


    And stampede cattle into infantry,


    Then retreat through hedges where cavalry must be thrown.


    Until… on Vinegar Hill… the final conclave.


    Terraced thousands died, shaking scythes at cannon.


    The hillside blushed, soaked in our broken wave.


    They buried us without shroud or coffin


    And in August… the barley grew up out of our grave.


    Seamus Heaney





    Finally on youtube. Regarded by many to be the best version of the late great Tommy Makem’s signature song. This recording was played at the Tommy Makem memorial concerts at the Irish festivals summer 2007, shortly after Tommy died on August 1, 2007. The poem at the beginning is “Requiem for the Croppies.” Feb 6, 1983, At the National Concert Hall, video companion to the album of the same name.

  22. macjay1 for Neil Lennon on

    CHAIRBHOY on 14TH MARCH 2019 12:20 AM



    Democracy is the will of the people , NOT the will of Parliament .



    Definition :


    a system of government by the whole population or all the eligible members of a state, typically through elected representatives.

  23. Macjay, Democracy isn’t everything it seems. Spain, Catelonia, how about Chilie and even Venezuela? You right wing neo-Nazis don’t like Democracy nor the vote whenever it doesn’t suit you



  24. Good morning CQN from a wet and windy Garngad



    Any word on Tom Rogic, Ryan Christie and Ollie Nitcham??



    Hail Hail



    D. :)




    It would seem that the Brexit creators -elected and unelected right wingers with a dash of fascists – have their own ‘backstop’ to ensure uk leaves, whether its parliament or (now) people to it not.



    The last time an imperfect, unloved but democratic institution was so undermined by anti democratic forces was Weimar Germany. And that worked out well, eh?



    Good morning btw



    HH jg

  26. SATURDAY 14TH MARCH 1981




    Again, another uneventful somewhat boring day. My weight is 58.25 kgs, and no medical complaints. I read the papers, which are full of trash.



    Tonight’s tea was pie and beans, and although hunger may fuel my imagination (it looked a powerful-sized meal), I don’t exaggerate: the beans were nearly falling off the plate. If I said this all the time to the lads, they would worry about me, but I’m all right.



    It was inviting (I’m human too) and I was glad to see it leave the cell. Never would I have touched it, but it was a starving nuisance. Ha! My God, if it had have attacked, I’d have fled.



    I was going to write about a few things I had in my head but they’ll wait. I am looking forward to the brief company of all the lads at Mass tomorrow. You never know when it could be the last time that you may ever see them again.



    I smoked some cigarettes today. We still defeat them in this sphere. If the Screws only knew the half of it; the ingenuity of the POW is something amazing. The worse the situation the greater the ingenuity. Someday it may all be revealed.



    On a personal note, Liam Og (the pseudonym for Bobby Sands’ Republican Movement contact on the outside), I just thought I’d take this opportunity tonight of saying to your good hard-working self that I admire you all out there and the unselfish work that you all do and have done in the past, not just for the H-Blocks and Armagh, but for the struggle in general.



    I have always taken a lesson from something that was told me by a sound man, that is, that everyone, Republican or otherwise, has his own particular part to play. No part is too great or too small, no one is too old or too young to do something.



    There is that much to be done that no select or small portion of people can do, only the greater mass of the Irish nation will ensure the achievement of the Socialist Republic, and that can only be done by hard work and sacrifice.



    So, mo chara, for what it’s worth, I would like to thank you all for what you have done and I hope many others follow your example, and I’m deeply proud to have known you all and prouder still to call you comrades and friends.



    On a closing note, I’ve noticed the Screws have been really slamming the cell doors today, in particular my own. Perhaps a good indication of the mentality of these people, always vindictive, always full of hate. I’m glad to say that I am not like that.



    Well, I must go to rest up as I found it tiring trying to comb my hair today after a bath.



    So venceremos, beidh bua againn eigin la eigin. Sealadaigh abu.



    (Translated, this reads as follows:)



    So venceremos, we will be victorious someday. Up the Provos.

  27. Morning All – Drizzly Yet Mild In The Chilterns…



    MACJAY1 @ 1:18 AM,




    “Democracy is the will of the people , NOT the will of Parliament .



    Well… maybe in some utopian idyll it is… unfortunately we live in the UK.



    So for us it’s the will of Parliament I’m afraid.



    It suits the powerful and rich to have a small group of easily manipulated, morally bankrupt individuals taking the decisions and making the laws.



    They certainly don’t want that will of the people nonsense…



    Hail Hail

  28. “Democracy is the will of the people ”


    From where is `the will of the people` born?


    Is it still democratic if said people have been brainwashed?


    Does `democracy` mean anything when the majority of those exercising their `democratic right` don`t know what they are voting for?




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