The day the music died
The 15th of May Two Thousand and Twenty One.
A date that will live in infamy, at least it should.
D-Day, Christmas Day, Groundhog Day, and today happens to be 55th day.
I must admit I found the early days of Celtic blogs and blogging very exciting. My blog of choice then was extremely popular being both a new toy for the adults, while Tim’s across the world of many different backgrounds and professions learnt how to interact online for the first time, now established practices non existent then.
The breadth of knowledge was staggering, the intelligence on display a tribute to many a father and mother who correctly believed in the value of education.
‘There will be no pulling the wool over these Bhoys eyes’ I recall thinking as Scottish football and it’s weekly scandals were dissected and expertly laid bare.
It took a while, but I was soon to discover that while the rest of the worlds affairs could be correctly analysed, when it comes to your team, all sense goes out the window.
It’s not rational to have your day, week, mood in general dictated by 44 legs and a piece of leather but there you go, sometimes I wonder how much we as a species have really evolved. If your legs were two of the 44, it might make more sense I admit, but they aren’t.
There are folk out there who spend thousands upon thousands following ‘our’ 22 legs no matter which region, country, and even continent they play on.
You’re all clearly leg men 😉
I recall around Valentine’s Day 2012 the website being giddy in the main, with a few voices of caution and a few worried about ourselves. Some (Corkcelt) correctly stated we will get dragged into this, whilst some (The Exiled Tim) correctly and sadly stated they will get away with this.
Overall though, the posters felt glad that a club that had overstepped the mark in many different ways, finally got it’s just desserts. The mood was joyous, karma’s a bitch and revenge is a dish best served cold, just like the jelly and ice cream being sang about.
They were gone, and the rags confirmed it, the sports desks covered it, one bear infamously shedding tears outside the then defunct stadium.
Of course the main culprit had split the scenes just before the event, a knight of the realm is very very unlikely to get fingered for anything let’s be honest, but patsy or not justice seemed ready to be served up across the city.
Yet somehow, we’ve ended up here at this point, almost the opposite from the above. It’s now the Tims who shed tears, feeling cheated, long for actual justice.
Force fed a scam Lord’s inquiry into the affair, witnessed a complete u-turn on the death from the media who had previously yelled RIP to their favourites, we even sadly seen the ‘The’ dropped from before the new entities name, strangely allowing it to trade as before unlike many highstreet brands that bit the dust.
We seen proper liquidators who would sell every asset as a rule arrested in another country then subjected to almost torture while getting the Billy Boys whistled at them, they clearly felt very strongly that the face painter shouldn’t get her ninety odd quid.
We’ve heard the most amazing verbal contortions used in justifying the second most controversial resurrection ever,,engine room subsidiary, imperfectly registered, no sporting advantage, company not club.
And if you want characters this death has delivered them. From the outrageous Charlie Green who must be one of the only men alive who could claim with a straight face live on air 15 percent of the globes population support the Ibrox team but who walked away from his stint with a nice French chateau,,to the Motherwell born billionaire who took the heat for the failure and can’t home home in a hurry,,to Mike Ashley tussling with King over the shirts,,to Regan and Doncaster being clearly brought in to do a job then be cast aside when no longer needed,,to Turnbull Hutton becoming about the only football man in the nation with enough scruples and cajones to call it straight even though it almost cost him his club going up in smoke.
It’s been an eye opening ride, and a damn expensive one for the public if truth be told. The guts of billon smackeroonies down the drain, mostly due to persuasive porn director and an ego, who woulda thunk it.
But we are where we are. We all know the circumstances and how exactly we got here, even if it is far fetched and out with the realms of normal sport.
Today is a culmination, of many minds, plans and plots. Every single action of the major players since Valentine’s day 2012 was taken with the intention that today’s events could actually take place.
In inscribing 55 upon that title trophy, the greatest British sporting scandal ever draws to a sorry close.
The debt was dumped.
The titles weren’t stripped.
Their history remains intact.
Footballing and some business rules were tossed aside.
All to maintain the illusion that Rangers never actually died and the current iteration is actually the same as the original one who was liquidated.
Aka The Big Lie.
Supporters of the other ten teams in the division ‘only’ have to live with the big lie. Being honest there’s not much else they can do, bar walk away. Their club was a genuine victim of circumstance, an innocent bystander with little to no say in any Big Lie’s beginning. Perhaps collectively they could and should have stood together for the betterment of the national sport, but I expect them to have been much more concerned with their own survival in a post Old Firm landscape with uncertain TV income.
The Big Lie always needed both sides of the Old Firm to go along in order to exist, yet there was no polling of any supporter to gauge their views on the matter. Whilst supporters of the Ibrox club (I assume) were more interested in whether they would have any club at all to support, a giddy Celtic support had faith in the boardroom who’s supposed parsimony had fended off an extinction event.
We had the seemingly perfect combination of Scotsman/Irishman at the helm, the latter spectacularly wealthy which helped make resurrecting the easy cash cow of the Old Firm particularly galling, unless he genuinely believes the Old Firm partnership essential for the club.
We will never know, but a quick poll showed that belief almost non existent here.
The simple fact of the matter is a decision was taken by the board on all our behalfs regarding how exactly we would approach the matter of fact that one half of the Old Firm ceased to exist. The rationale behind that decision isn’t known at this juncture, but we do know the club are careful to not show their hand. Not officially anyway.
‘Half of nothing’ said a tweet, very much at odds with Dermots ‘love to play them every week’ ( Superleague mentality if I ever saw one) and Peters ‘just cost us 10 million’.
Throw in the rushed through 4 OF games SKy contract, Res12 and the 5WA and there’s zero doubt the boardroom have sanctioned another iteration of Rangers to (again) become half of the Old Firm.
WE were not consulted, not given a choice. WE weren’t even given an explanation.
WE were given a ‘The’ before their name, for a little while, couple months maybe, before it was ditched by what looked like agreement across all platforms.
Not far off a billion quid and all we got was a ‘The’ for a couple months, foolish me thought plundering was illegal in the civilized world.
As the number 55 and the associated images enter the Scottish football lexicon today, it’s worth noting all that entails being a full time supporter of the national sport from this point,,,
The Champions did this built on debt, again. Even before Covid their books were never clear with accountants resigning the second Dave King got involved.
They could again be a house of cards on their way to another near billion of debt ditched onto the public, and despite the EXACT SAME SIGNS as before they still aren’t tackled by headquarters, supporters, partner in crime.
One liquidation was a travesty, twice would be unimaginable. At least you would think so.
Again, all other 11 teams are forced to put up with one of the leagues giants being either unwilling or unable to adapt to the normal business practices all are adhering to. We’re forced to accept a basket case of a club, again.
We’re forced to forget those RIP Rangers headlines the tabloids must have been horrified but felt obliged to print.
We’re forced to pretend there is not one rule for them, one for the rest when it comes to Hampden, something that has never been so apparent as this season with it’s ‘suspect’ Covid testing and disciplinary procedures.
We’re forced to pretend the referees are actually impartial when a blind man can see there’s one rule,,,
We’re forced to swallow the Big Lie, the 5WA, the No Sporting Advantage joke, the imperfectly registered insult to intelligence.
That’s a lot of forcing, but worst of all we are forced to endure the very sad fact our own club has never come clean about their role in the entire affair.
Throw in more sorry facts like the rags are unable to tell the truth due to fears of sales dying, editorially won’t insult their major customer base preferring a Blues good, Green bad back page,,or maybe the fact the phone ins are fixed and loaded (Lawrie from Dennistoun), never mind the fact we had an accountant playing Football Manager FOR REAL at our club with our money with an ego running unchecked, and you would think they might realize it’s a lot to ask folk to actually pay into.
The Tims however, must accept an extra burden.
Our club being complicit in their revival.
It’s a fact. We did. We helped bring about today, 55th day.
It breaks my heart.
Today was the very day I dreaded once first faced with those predictions of what I perceived as doom. 55th day should have died on the altar of extended egos on Valentine’s Day 2012, yet here we are taken for granted, asked to meekly accept that this title is that clubs 55th only nine years after liquidation.
Clyde and bubble spring to mind.
Today, is the day many great men with real principles who truly believed the Glasgow Celtic was a force for good not only within the actual community but also the footballing community are proved wrong. Money took precedence over morals, sorry.
Today is the day ‘our’ footballing authorities totally and utterly failed us, no ifs, ands, or buts.
Twenty years or so ago I was enthralled with Martin honing a squad that would take scalp after scalp in Europe whilst dominating domestically.
Twenty years or so ago , something special was happening.
I had never been so proud of my club, my own version of the immortal Lions (born well before my days but dad insisted on memorizing the names of his heroes) kicking ass and taking names all over the continent.
Once again I’m reminded of an old song,,,
Once I ran to you, now I’ll run from you.
It’s tainted alright, not sure about the love anymore.
While I fully understand being abroad my dilemma is different than that of the season ticket holder, there is a vast range of opinions surrounding our club of choice, but we should surely all agree on one thing.
We were, always were, different.
From Walfrid to McGrory, to Tommy to Jock, our history reads like a fairytale and indeed Celtic the musical makes a living off that fact, plus it wasn’t that long ago a Hollywood movie was spoken of.
There’s nothing ordinary about Glasgow Celtic, we always had something special here, Henriks famous words rang so very true.
The death of our rivals under this board.
Now if tied to a chair and interrogated what the Tims have in common, whether abroad or at home, labour or conservative, pro Palestine or snooker lover, the answer would be easy.
We as a fanbase have certain principles, always have, always will. Hence The Fields of Athenry being adopted, a song that encapsulates principles.
Hence that Irish flag being flown being flown high or it shall become a GAA park.
Hence the pride in Fergus saving from the ignominy of bankruptcy and potentially death.
And finally hence the pride in the catenaccio being slain so very publicly and in style in Lisbon.
Without principles, we are nothing, simply a club like any other.
And today of all days, 55th day, is the biggest failing of morals and principles at that club I’ve ever witnessed, for it casts a cloud upon us all and the game as a whole.
55 is the most shameful number ever to enter Scottish football, at this point.
It’s almost the ultimate irony this illegal title will be celebrated by an illegal gathering, just another example of how far the national sport has moved from being a normal pastime.
I’ll never not seek out the company of Tims the world over, salt of the earth and a source of great pride and knowledge, plus help if ever needed of course, but today and it’s associated number mark the ending of an era for me.
I’ve selfish reasons to continue an interest in the club, and I’ll never forget the highs and lows the last few decades have given me following the team wherever they played.
But having 55 forced upon me is a step too far, an insult to my own and every football fans intelligence.
Today, the 15th of May 2021, is the day the music died.