Forward with hope

A sense of detachment is the dominant feeling this morning. I’m really only going through the motions of the very basics that keep body and soul together and doing the absolutely mandatory work related activities which will ensure that if nothing else I will still be able to afford my season book for the coming year.

‘We are Celtic supporters faithful through and through……………’

I left the Gorbals yesterday at just gone 12.00, the sky was a light azure and the sun was beaming down.

As I turned onto the M74 the atmosphere became dark, dank, doomladen, and a feeling of foreboding crept upon me as I switched on the windscreen wipers and switched off the beechgrove potting shed.

Having parked up at about 12.30, just a short walk from the ground the weather relented and cleared and once again the green and white favours of the Celtic diaspora regained there freshness as they glistened and sparkled ,and the songs of hope and glory resounded and echoed through the courts and alleys of the oddly beige coloured multi-story flats.

‘We don’t care if we win lose or draw……….’

And then the skies opened again and the rain came down not so much in stair-rods, but more in a primordial flood reminiscent of Noah and his ark. Cats and dogs, rats and mice, sparrows and pigeons all flew around in pairs looking for sanctuary from the deluge while that more resilient species the greater green white and gold Celticus Timus draped in declarative banners literally walked on water and defiantly continued on our expectant odyssey.

‘This land is your land, this land is my land……….’

The south stand at Fir Park was a throwback to those terraces of yore as we stood, swayed, sang, and huddled throughout the game. Just on the half hour we scored through our best player on the day and took what any observer would admit was a well deserved lead. Worryingly however as the game proceeded we missed chance after chance. As each one was spurned and the news of the score-line filtered through from Easter road, two things started to happen. Firstly that paranoia that always accompanies a game refereed by Hugh Dallas started to encroach on my thoughts, and secondly an edginess bordering on panic began to infect the vast majority of the team.

Chris dropped back from patrolling the hole to almost a libero role and we allowed Motherwell to rain in crosses and shots. There was always a chance that one break would come their way and the race was on to beat the clock.

‘For ever and ever we’ll follow the bhoys…………………’

I won’t dwell on the events of the last few minutes other than to say how unsurprised I was at the outcome. We’ve played like this for the majority of the season and the hearts and lungs of a group of Celtic heroes who will forever have a special place in my heart, finally succumbed.

Martin came down and waved to us. Robbo cried. And I stood and applauded, a lump as large as Stan Petrov’s heart welling up in my throat and my eyes brimming with a moist and stinging sadness.

‘By a lonely harbour wall she watched the last star falling…………………..’

It was now that our own mettle and true measure of being Celtic supporters was tested and with only a few exceptions we came up to the mark.

Those who left in disgust at something or other, well good riddance to you.

Those few who kicked and broke the seats, shame on you and don’t come back.

But to those who stayed and clapped and cried with our team, who felt part of our team, who were as one with our team, those who will be there next week at Hampden, those who sang with me in Sharkey’s last night, those who continue to hope and laugh and sing dream, as I promised I raised a drink to all you last night and without doubt you are not only the best fans in the world but undoubtedly

‘You’ll never walk alone…………..’

C’mon the hoops