Prevailing attitude of hunger


Judging by these quotes, John Guidetti may just be the most excited footballer on the planet right now:

“I’m just going to work my socks off…. do my absolute very best…. give 100%.

“The one thing I hate more than anything is losing. I can’t stand it.

“For 90 minutes I am always giving everything.

“You can always expect 100% from your players and I’m going to give that [note the repetition of this assertion].

“I promise I’ll do my very best to do even a little bit of what [Henrik] did.

“Football without fans is nothing, it’s not worth it for me.”

There is a common theme across a few players who joined this summer, they have something to prove.  Guidetti, Mubarak and Tonev each had a difficult time last season, for varying reasons.  They need to hit the mark, whether it’s through form (Tonev), fitness (Guidetti) or simply being able to play in an environment which is remotely normal (Mubarak).

Scepovic is different.  He arrives with the wind at his back, but the prevailing attitude at Lennoxtown should be one of hunger. I suspect this contrasts starkly with last year’s arrivals.

[calameo code=000390171586f6fbaa2ba lang=en page=122 hidelinks=1 width=100% height=500]
Click Here for Comments >

About Author


  1. Bill McNeill and Bertie Auld can say what they want.



    They are wrong but they can say what they want.



    If the genuinely feel the way they do then fine but I feel this is another unholy alliance.



    Maybe its like we keep being told – we really are all just the Old Firm.

  2. blantyretim is praying for the Knox family on



    im sure mwd was is considerable pain, like oyherdI’d still advise going to the gp.

  3. blantyretim is praying for the Knox family



    12:01 on 6 September, 2014



    Don’t wish to be alarmist but if didn’t feel any pain he’s probably got leprosy as well.



    The important thing is though, he’s done the right thing by asking for advice on here, rather than going bothering all those doctors and nurses and stuff.

  4. macjay1 for Neil Lennon on

    Ray Winstone’s Big Disembodied Heid


    11:57 on


    6 September, 2014



    Dead right.

  5. blantyretim is praying for the Knox family on



    look at me I went and im banged up in bed again after another op…8))

  6. blantyretim is praying for the knox family



    11:59 on 6 September, 2014




    ill leave that to the trust spokesperson/s on here, I don’t know much about them either.





    Ok NP, let’s see if they come out to play?

  7. blantyretim is praying for the Knox family



    12:05 on 6 September, 2014






    Steer clear of doctors.



    Best advice.

  8. Brogan Rogan Trevino and Hogan supports Oscar Knox, MacKenzie Furniss and anyone else who fights Neuroblastoma on

    It’s not like me to apologise for a long post – but sorry for the long post!



    My dad wrote this piece not long before he died and hopefully it conveys what Celtic meant to him and what he passed on to me.



    My family are walking at midnight to raise money for the Hospice in Clydebank where my dad died. He, and we, were looked after brilliantly by the staff there. The girls will walk in my dad’s name, and in his place and for him and all other Bankies.



    If anyone is minded to make a donation then the just giving link is at the bottom of the page but it is really his spirit and enthusiasm which counts and hopefully that comes out in his own words.








    The Penny Special



    The theme of the jungle first registered with me over 72 years ago in April 1941.


    Only a few weeks before, German bombers rained down on my home town of Clydebank, and in the space of 48 hours over 60,000 people became homeless with no roof over their head. Yes, many died over those two nights, but what I saw and recall was that nobody—and I mean no one at all— had a house to live in any more. Not in my town anyway.



    One night you were in your bed, and the next you were a refugee.



    Yet within a few weeks my family were back in our own house ( we were one of the lucky families ) and everyone was doing their best to get on amidst the rubble and devastation.



    The entire community was struggling though and so any form of entertainment or distraction from the dire circumstances was more than welcome.



    That was how I came to be singing to friends, neighbours and anyone else who wandered into what was then known as Harmony Hall in Dalmuir. I was only 13 years old and one of a number of singers who took to the stage for impromptu concerts in an attempt to bring a bit of cheer to a badly scarred population. When singing, we were accompanied by a man called Mr McKelvie on his accordion—and together with his squeezebox we tried our best to lift the collective mood.



    Mr McKelvie was a Partick Thistle fan—in fact he might have played for Thistle—and he spoke away to myself and my friends about football in general and about our team—my team—my beloved, but as yet unseen, Celtic!



    In those days we had had a street team, which played in literally paper thin strips. Many of us worshipped Celtic and would listen for news of our heroes on the wireless – as we had never been to Celtic Park.



    However, all that was to change in April 1941 when Mr McKelvie arranged for myself and some others to make the long journey from Dalmuir West… to Paradise.



    The quaintly named Auchenshuggle Tram Car would take me directly from the terminus at Dalmuir all the way to the front door at Celtic Park, and such was the sheer “Magic” of this journey that I was not too sure if all tram cars ended up at Celtic Park? Was that what tram cars were for? Just to take people to Celtic Park? That is the way it seemed to me.



    And the cost of this huge journey, believe it or not, was just one penny—the famous “penny special”.



    It took an age to cover the iron miles to Paradise and I remember counting the number of pawn shops along the way ( the number 51 comes to mind ). This exercise helped me to pass the time on the shoogly journey and perhaps helped my arithmetic. The number of stops—and pubs for that matter—were too numerous to count — and those were totals that I would never manage to keep.



    Eventually, after what seemed forever on the tram, it was time to get off at what I would come to consider as “my stop”—and there it was—right in front of me—that sacred of sacred places—- Celtic Park and my ultimate destination —- The Jungle!



    I soon realised that it was important to get to The Jungle early so that I could get down to the wall at the front which separated me from my heroes. Once there, you could hear their breathing, see their sweat, see their joy and share their anguish. You could rejoice with them, cheer them on, chide them, humour them and most important of all…… lift them!



    That was the character of The Jungle.



    And what heroes there were for me in those first early days – Delaney, Hogg, McDonald, Divers, Crum, Murphy, Geatons and more – heroes—gods to a man—because they wore that shirt—our shirt—- MY shirt!



    The Jungle was crammed with a marvellous cross section of real people, real Celtic supporters. Most were products of Scotland’s heavy industries – dockers, riveters, welders, hauders on, labourers from the Clyde shipyards, steelworkers and miners from Lanarkshire, building and construction workers, and “McAlpine’s Fusiliers” – the Irish navvies.



    All were there to support our beloved Celtic and to escape from the drudgery of heavy manual labour. They worshipped their heroes and took great pride in the fact that because of their great football skills many of the players had escaped the factories, mines and yards. The bond between the players and the fans in the jungle had to be experienced and remembered—- for life.



    From the Jungle we gazed across to the stand and wondered who were “these gentry” who sat in great style immediately opposite us? We felt that they were too far away from the players and the action. We knew the players’ good points and bad points, could see and sense a players fitness… or lack of it!



    We also knew our referees- oh how we knew them!—and would offer advice on their eyesight, doubted their parentage, and could foretell the outcome of a game just by the way they shook hands with the captains.



    “ That big toe rag has just worked the grip- we’ve nae chance! Just wait and see!”.


    Some of the jungle fans were miles ahead of their time – they wanted early retirement for some very well known referees.



    The refs and the players were all able to hear our comments, of course, and that Glasgow/ West of Scotland humour and mostly good natured repartee was what made the jungle—The Jungle!



    Back to the standites. Who were they? Where did they come from? We thought they must be rich Irish Publicans, Parish Priests, jumped up city councillors, lawyers, accountants and maybe the odd doctor. We believed they were sedate spectators, whereas we were the “real” fans and that the team always knew we would be there through good times and through bad.



    The standites were another breed, were too far away from the pitch, and had no idea of the details that we could see in The Jungle.



    However, time passed, and suddenly a train from Glasgow Central was taking me away from my by now usual spot in The Jungle and what I viewed was my life on a Saturday. Now I was being whisked away to experience the strictures of National Service in England— miles away from the village of Dalmuir West and miles away from Celtic Park.



    For me, following Celtic was back to the wireless which seemed unbearable on that train journey. However a junglebhoy has to make do with the cards he is dealt and for the next few years I would report to a variety of RAF stations throughout England to a variety of Air Field Marshalls and Squadron Leaders.



    My position in the RAF?



    Well, that would be in the Signals Corps – sending signals up and down the country, manning the telegraph wire, in charge of communications— and of course with constant access to a wireless which allowed me to receive special messages from a certain spot in the East End of Glasgow.



    Celtic Park might be far away, but I would always know what was going on, who was playing and how we had played.



    When I was demobbed several years later, The Penny Special had disappeared to be replaced by the “supporters bus”, and now for two shillings a week us junglites would travel to such far off places as Aberdeen, Dundee, Dunfermline, Motherwell, Stirling, Airdrie, and of course…. Ibrox.



    We sang our way around Scotland— “ Sure, it’s a Grand Old team to play for……” — resounded everywhere we went.



    Our bus was the Emerald Celtic Supporters bus from Whitecrook and it left from outside John Brown’s shipyard only stopping at “ Simeone’s corner” to pick up those of us who practically lived in Clydebank’s most famous café.



    Over the years, the faces on the field changed while many of those in The Jungle just got older. However, I was still down at the wall, watching the players and occasionally you would get a word with someone on the field.



    Then came Charles Patrick Tully – and as often as not Bonnie Prince Charlie would chat to the fans behind that wall—what a thrill!



    However, the supporters bus brought an unexpected experience. Once a week there was a draw on the bus and if you won, you were given two seats for the stand! Yes, in amongst the standites, that motley crew I had stared across at for years and wondered who they were and where they had come from?



    As the years went on, the comfort of a seat in the stand in amongst the surprisingly normal standites became more and more attractive.



    Little did I know back then that one of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s team mates would change my life forever. We just knew him in those early days as “Knee” Stein. By the time Jock arrived at Celtic Park I was organising the Whitecrook Emerald bus, and was able to see for myself just how many buses were going to Celtic park— it seemed to me there were thousands! Whatsmore, if our bus was anything to go by there were not enough buses as ours was always full.



    So, when “ Knee” Stein came back to the club as manager and brought about the winning of the league title at Fir Park Motherwell on a summer’s afternoon in 1966 – ending a 12 year wait— I celebrated with all the other fans and dreamed of my team playing in the relatively new European Cup.



    Before a ball was kicked in that competition I had two unusual thoughts.



    1. Celtic could win this! Celtic have a habit of winning unusual competitions and cups. They won the Empire Exhibition Cup and the Coronation Cup, so why not the European Cup?



    2. The second thought was that I had watched literally thousands of Celtic fans follow the team by climbing on board endless numbers of buses and coaches over a number of years. What was vexing me now was—would those same supporters board a plane to follow their team? Of course they would, I reasoned. It took thousands of buses to fill Celtic park—it only took a couple of buses to fill a plane.



    I was convinced that Celtic fans would fly to watch their heroes—and if you can organise a bus—how hard would it be to organise a plane?



    But all of that was to come and is another story altogether.



    Over the years and decades, I will have watched literally hundreds of Celtic players—perhaps thousands. As a piece of pure fun, I wondered about who would be my all time favourite eleven? An impossible task of course, but just for fun, here are my conclusions.



    Over those years I watched them all play—bar just one— and despite there being many many great Celtic players over the decades this is my team—MY Celtic.






    Willie Miller—Just the best goalkeeper Celtic ever had. Nicknamed the Cat – he was the undoubted star of an under performing team at the time.



    Right Back


    Danny McGrain – simply the greatest fullback ever!



    Right Half ( an old fashioned term I know )



    Malky McDonald – What a player McDonald was—in any position and


    Possibly the best footballer I ever had the privilege to see.



    Centre Half



    Willie Corbett – a rock of a centre half who bossed all around him.



    Left Back



    Tommy Gemmell – the most unique right footed left back- and oh what


    Goals he could score- and what an engine!



    Right Wing



    Jimmy Johnstone – the wonder winger who did everything with a football


    and who could beat a man several times over. Most importantly, Jimmy


    gave his team mates a rest and drew opponents all over the place.



    Inside Right



    Jimmy Delaney — a complete footballer of the highest calibre



    Inside left



    Bertie Auld— crafty, clever, hard as nails and a general. A Footballing Brain


    And gallous with it.



    Left Wing



    Charlie Tully— a wizard, an entertainer—Cheekie Charlie, Bonnie Prince


    Charlie who could terrorize a defence and entertain a crowd .


    And as for strikers for this lot to serve?



    James Edward McGrory and Henrik Larsson – about both of whom I need say


    absolutely nothing — their names and record say all that needs saying.



    If I had to choose a substitute or two I would start with someone that is perhaps a surprise.



    George Connelly had everything—absolutely everything and is as close to Malky McDonald as I have seen.



    Davie Hay and Bobby Murdoch would be in every squad.



    Bobby Hogg was a great defender and Joe McBride could have been even greater than McGrory had he not been injured.



    I could go on and on……. Lennox, Evans, Collins, Fernie, Lubo…….



    I have followed Celtic all over the world, on planes, buses, boats and trains.



    I am now 86 and for all of those 72 years it has been exciting, but nothing will ever beat the sheer thrill of climbing on board that first Penny Special.



    Except perhaps getting off the same tram at my stop and heading for the Jungle!







  9. Snake you may believe that those who vote no are wrong. But that’s just your belief. I think you are wrong for voting yes.



    That’s all fine but stop trying to find some sinister reason why people will vote no.

  10. How I intend to vote in this referendum has nothing to do with political parties, peer pressure or the so called celebrity endorsement….rather what is best for Scotland and my kids future….

  11. blantyretim is praying for the Knox family on



    magical. Well sen your father wrote it…


    hope the weather is kind for the walkers, we have st Margarets out here and they do a wonderful job in trying times..



    god bless.

  12. Neg anon2



    I should have qualified my first post by saying it was my belief but I thought it was obvious enough that I didn’t need to.



    I am not looking for anything sinister. I can see people I respect lining up beside people I don’t particularly care for. That upsets me.



    Now I think both you and I and most people here have no interest in this united front garbage with another Glasgow team and its associates on a range of other issues, I don’t see this as any different.



    We hear on a daily basis how most Celtic fans don’t want anything to do with the other lot and they don’t like being labelled as Old Firm, well I am sorry but this gesture is as old firm as you can get for me.



    I am not angry, just very disappointed.



    Coincidentally Barry Ferguson the man who gave the vicky to Scotland and Walter Walkout on the National team are not people I want anything to do with nor could I respect their views on Scotland with a record like that.



    I respect Billy and Bertie for what they have done for Celtic and for Scotland. They have done far more for our reputation than the other two men I mentioned.



    As for Frank McAvennie, the only thing I’d listen to him about is where the burds are.

  13. First post chaps,on the first anniversary of my first time lurking.



    With regards to keeping our new signings hungry,could I suggest taking them to the Metropolitan restaurant in Merchant Square for their meals.



    I took two of my boys and the wife,s uncle in there before the Maribor game.


    We all ordered pulled pork and mashed potatoes.


    10 minutes later the waitress returned and told us the mash had run out.


    However,we could choose between boiled,crushed or roasted potatoes.Or chips.



    When I realised that she wasn’t,t kidding I asked politely if there was a health and safety issue with the potatoe peeler?



    She asked us politely to leave.



    Is this normal for a city centre restaurant or is this particular one of a different “persuasion”.?



    Anyway w.a.t.p. oops sorry HH…….(almost blew it,first crack).

  14. Monaghan1900



    09:55 on 6 September, 2014



    FFin’ ideas men are going to pull them through:



    “Have been watching Wall Street and was wondering if this would work .


    The [Sevco] fans both personal and through [Sevco] First must have about 15-20% of the shares . What if we all sold them at the same time on Monday . Share price plummets and some of the investment trusts take fright and sell . Share price goes down to 10p . Week later we rebuy the shares at 10p-15p .means our percentage increases , gets rid of some faceless investors .


    Worse case money sitting for a new share issue.”






    More Gordon the Gopher than Gordon Geko.

  15. Lads, reposting as Paul put up a new article…



    CQN Saturday Naps Competition



    Lads, for those who are in the CQN Saturday Naps competition, please go back and post today’s selection at the end of the previous article :



    “There’s only one John Guidetti”



    All the best, fleagle1888