Walking back to happiness

Tuesday at last and here in the Gorbals, if not exactly sunny, at least it is starting to look fairly bright and dry.

I’m not sure exactly what I will do today, but I definitely need to stay away from any more Guinness as the horrors of Sunday’s events were magnified a thousand times by the panic stricken paranoia and neurosis of alcoholic cold turkey.

Big T and James have just passed by my front window, probably heading up the shops for a paper. I bought myself a paper this morning, although I did take the coward’s way out since it was the Scottish sport avoiding Guardian. Still as someone somewhere once said, ‘even the longest journey starts with the first step.’

And that is exactly what I am going to do, take that first step.

My favourite walk along Ballater Street, down along the Clyde at Glasgow Green football club, back up onto the Dunn Street and cut across onto Nuneaton Street.

Just around the street’s elbow, there it is!

Paradise! Celtic Park!

This holy ground of ours is a bit special you know. It has a personality of its own. It beckons and welcomes you almost waving to you to come in and feel good. It smiles at me as each step takes me closer and it reminds me of through it’s own memories of the many great and wondrous games and players who have adorned that glorious rectangle of God’s sod.

My hearty will beat slightly faster as I near that monument to football history, and I will again hear in my mind’s ear the call of the crowds, the songs of the faithful, the roar of anticipation, and the crescendo of triumph that have been such a great companion and comfort through more years than I care to remember.

I will think of Willie Maley, Jimmy Quinn, Johnny Thompson, Jimmy McGrory, Charlie Tully, Jock Stein, Billy McNeil, Jimmy Johnstone, Paul McStay, Henrik Larsson, and oh so many other legendary players of the past. But more than that I will think of those to come, perhaps the Aiden McGeadys, Ross Wallaces, Scott Cuthberts, or Rocco Quinns.

I can see them next season or the season after that turning, twisting, passing and playing in that archetypal Celtic Way. I can see them playing for the children of today, tomorrow, and for generations still to come, when I will be sitting (hopefully) on a cloud above playing my harp and drinking a heavenly Guinness.

‘Silly old git’ I hear you say!

For writing it down? Aye your probably right, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.

So I’m off now and guess what, the sun has come out!

It’s great to be a Tim