It's Over Rather Than Penny Arcade is Now Rangers' Roy Orbison Classic Of Choice

THIS WEEKEND has been a seminal one in writing the history of the 2020-21 SPFL season. After St Mirren's epic first win over Celtic at Celtic Park since 1990, it is a case of WHEN not IF Rangers clinch league title number 55.

 

 

Title 55 - now When rather than If

To clinch that iconic tenth straight title, Celtic would have to score 18 points more than Rangers in 12 games – assuming they win their two games-in-hand – not even Neil Lennon or the most-myopic member of the Celtic Family can see that happening. For Celtic to win the league, Rangers would need to simply stop winning, while they themselves would have to find the consistent winning form which has eluded them thus far.

If this did happen, there would have to be the most-extreme “Stewards' Enquiry” in the history of sport – it will not happen. And, there is another potential headache on the horizon.

The best points tally Celtic can achieve this season is 91 points, and reaching that assumes they win all 14 of their remaining games. Rangers are already on 72 points, so, (again assuming Celtic go on a winning run which is unprecedented this season, and Rangers too keep on winning) they could be set to reach their theoretic target of 92 points – by winning the meeting of the two clubs, at Celtic Park, on 20 March.

OK, it may well be that fans are still being denied admission to games when that fixture comes around. It might be that dropped points elsewhere by one or both teams means the Rangers winning the league at Celtic Park scenario no longer applies – but, if it does, it's an unnecessary added headache for the football authorities and the police.

Then there is the elephant in the room – what happens with Neil Lennon?

With Alex Dyer parting company with Kilmarnock, following Saturday's surrender of a two-goal half-time lead to loss to St Johnstone, the calls of “Lennon Must Go” from the less-patient members of the Celtic Family – and the rival calls of Lennon Must Stay” from the other side of Glasgow, have intensified.

With a new CEO coming in, in the persona of the SRU's Dominic McKay, probably a new Director of Football and almost-certainly a replacement for Lennon, Celtic have a raft of personnel changes to make off the park, little or no wriggle room to get new players in this transfer window and a bourach of bother, largely of their own making, to sort out between now and next season.

Speaking of McKay; my old mucker, Aristotle Armstrong – the Scottish Rugby Philosopher has been sparring with Dom for a number of years. I asked him what the Celtic family can expect from the new man, and he told me: “Dom's a St Aloysius boy, which makes him Celtic Family aristocracy, he's a fan. He will be very good within the corporate field, where he has excellent contacts – he will keep the big money coming into the club.

“He will be out of his depth in football politics, but, he will learn quickly and bring-in guys with the knowledge he lacks. He was the pick of the bunch of the top men at Murrayfield and will be good with the media, I think, he will be a very good CEO for Celtic.”

It appears as if Lennon is now: “A dead man walking,” just about the main bet available in today's expanding betting market is: predict the date when Lennon and Celtic part company.

Do Celtic pull the plug now, or wait until nearer the end of the season?

We certainly live in what the Chinese refer to as “interesting times.” Scottish fitba – it might be mince, but, it is always entertaining.

What about the one man who did suffer at the weekend – Alex Dyer, who lost his job as Kilmarnock manager, following a very-inconsistent season capped by a really-bad loss to St Johnstone.

A large section of the Killie support had been calling for Dyer to go for a number of weeks, now, these critics have got their way. I have always felt that Dyer, while a terrific coach, was better-suited to a role as a Number Two, rather than being the main man, as Manager. He will, I think, not be out of the game for long and I wish him well.

There will not be the same overkill over Dyer's successor as over the Lennon situation, but, I feel Bill Bowie and the Rugby Park board will move quickly to fill the gap. Gary Holt, for one, would crawl across broken glass for the gig, but, he is Marmite to a large section of the support.

Meanwhile, Director of Football James Fowler has experience as a team manager and as a former player would be well able to hold the fort in an interim basis pending the appointment of a full-time manager.

Being a manager in the Scottish Premiership is an uncertain job. Only Derek McInnes at Aberdeen has been in-post for longer than two seasons. He has been Dons' boss since March, 2013. Second longest-serving boss is Rangers' Steven Gerrard, appointed in June, 2018. The only other manager with over two years in-post is Brian Rice at Hamilton Academical, who celebrated two years in-post last month.

Counting the next Killie boss, no less than half of the Premiership bosses have been appointed during this season. Perhaps, a spell of calm and consistency on the jobs front is called for.

A Rare Entertaining TV Game

I NO LONGER watch a lot of televised football. With both CR7 and Messi now, sadly, on the downward slope of fantastic careers, there are not a lot of individual players I want to watch.

Also, much of what passes for top-line football today is boring, three diagonal passes forward, two square passes sideway, one backwards pass, repeat ad nauseum.

That said, I did, on Sunday, take the time to watch and enjoy the

Manchester United v Liverpool FA Cup tie. That game deserved to have the missing 75,000 fans, because here were two teams whose managers have remembered what their clubs stand for. Both teams were sent out to try to win by entertaining, and in the end, United won it by the odd goal in five.

Up here, we did see a superb team goal from Ryan Jack, in Rangers' hammering of Ross County, but, without fans, Scottish fitba is very much a case of cauld kale, or re-heated purritch.

Still, that will not worry the fans of St Johnstone and Livingston, who reached the League Cup final with semi-final wins at the week-end. The Perth Saints' 3-0 defeat of Hibernians has maybe saved more wear and tear on the Hampden copy of Sunshine on Leith, come finals day, but, it was something of a surprise, and a serious blow to Hibs' morale.

 

picture courtesy of Jeff Holmes
 

Meanwhile, the David Martindale (above) dream continues, after Livi's win over the Paisley Saints. There is a line in Jilly Coopers' 'Riders,' (I think) the first and best of her “Rutshire Chronicles” series; which has anti-hero Rupert Campbell-Black (the part Hugh Grant was born to play, but never got ther chance), reflecting on retiring from top-level sport, how difficult it is, and how it's all about the timing of the departure. If Livi go on to win the trophy, I think on the field at Hampden, clutching the trophy, would be the perfect time for Martindale to announce his retirement from managing – I seriously doubt if it could get any better than that. But, that will not happen. Still, live the dream David, live the dream.

Speaking of keeping the dream alive. What about a legend from another brand of football – the American, grid iron variety. At the weekend, Tom Brady led the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to victory over the Green Bay Packers, to win the NFC pennant and clinch their place in what will be his tenth NFL Superbowl, and hopefully on his way to a seventh championship-winning ring.

That's the equivalent of a tenth Champions League final as a player. It came in his 44^th year – at that age, he should be playing golf with Donald Trump, not out there as a target for big, mean linemen almost half his age, determined to knock his head off.

The Buccs are part of the Glazer Family's sports organisation, along with Manchester United. Mind you, I don't see Paul Pogba being out there orchestrating things on the park when he is 43.

BLESSED as I am with: “A wonderful voice for silent movies,” I was never going to have a career in sports broadcasting. I did one Kilmarnock game for BBC Shortbread back last century – and pulled a classic midweek evening “draw nae fitba” at Rugby Park. I was never asked back and have no regrets – it wasn't for me – I prefer writing about to talking on-air about the game.

Commentating is a whole different ball game; as is the role of “The colour commentator.” The colour commentator is usually a former player, employed to use his or her experience to enhance the viewer's game experience.

In many ways, it's a harder role than that of being the main talking head, and for that reason, there are not too-many good one around. I have always felt the best commentators, most of whom are sadly dead: Kenneth Wolstenholme, David Coleman, Brian Moore I, Peter Allis, Dan Maskell, Bill McLaren, didn't need a colour commentator, they were vocalising Van Goughs.

 

 

Indeed, today, there are only two colour commentators for whom I have much time – Brian Moore II and Peter Wright, (pictured above), two former British Lions who have seamlessly transferred their roars from the front row of the scrum to the front row of broadcasting.

But, I did have a wee twinge of sympathy for Alex Scott, the former Arsenal Women and England full back, now bringing her 140 caps plus on-field experience to the TV gantry and studio. Covering the Chelsea v Luton Town cup tie at the weekend, she said, at the end, that Blues boss Frank Lampard would doubtless be happy with the three points – totally forgetting this was a cup tie, rather than a league game.

You see, that's the thing about writing rather talking about a game. The writer has the chance, before pressing send on his or her lap top, to go over the piece and make late changes. Then, if they are lucky, the piece lands on the screen of that endangered species of journalist – the competent sub-editor – who will catch any boobs the hard-pressed scribe missed.

In live commentary, once you've spouted pish, there's no safety net, it's out there and you can be ready for an appearance in 'Colemanballs.' So, grin and bear it Alex, grin and bear it.

Deacon Blue Will Never Write A Song for Neilly

A FELLOW “Soccer Scribe,” who lives near him and moves in the same social circles as Neil Lennon assures me: “Away from football, say in our local pub, wee Neil is an absolute gem.” I believe him.

I have another football acquaintance, a former Junior football great, as both player and manager. This guy's day job was quite a ways up the banking food change; he tended to work in the millions of £s strata. His one-time boss was another football friend, going back to school days, who rated his abilities in the banking sector highly – while admitting, they could never be friends since they came from opposite sides of one of Scottish football's most-bitter divides.

Now the Junior Great once confessed to me: “I've got two heads – my football one and my banking one, and, as long as I remember to put the correct head on every morning, I'm fine. However, should I ever put on my football head, when I should be wearing my banking one – I'm toast.”

 

 

Maybe Wee Neil, when dealing with the press, should take off his football head and wear his social one – then he would avoid own goals such as his rant against the world for the justified criticism of the club's Dubai trip. Dignified it wasn't.

Back in the days of Jock Stein and the Lisbon Lions, if Celtic had a problem, or if they needed to pull the troops together and perhaps sort out a few problems, they would head off to Seamill for a few days, bond better as a team, iron out the wrinkles and generally, come back and take-out their problems on some unsuspecting “diddy team.”

These days, even if Seamill Hydro, the club's bolt hole of choice, has taken itself up-market a bit, not even your journeymen Celtic player would choose to go there – no, no, they think themselves better than this – Club Class to Dubai and back, five-star luxury while there, these are the expectations of men unfit to lace the boots of the decreasing number of surviving Lions.

They are over-paid, over-rated, over-coddled, under-achieving, spoiled brats, managed by a man who is clearly under-pressure and making mistakes – such as tripping over his petted lip this week.

This season's league title is now Rangers' to lose – they have yet to prove they have the bottle to see out the campaign. Rangers' current 21 point advantage might appear huge, but, if you take it down to the lowest common denominator, it's not that great.

In the campaign thus far the comparison looks like this:

• Rangers have averaged 2.75 points per game

• Celtic have averaged 2.14 ppg

• Rangers have averaged 2.5 goals per game scored

• They have averaged 0.3 goals per game conceded

• Celtic have averaged 2.19 gpg scored

• They have averaged 0.76 gpg conceded

IF, as we must assume they will, Celtic win their three games-in-hand, the gap at the top reduces to 12 points, 6 of which can be further nullified by Celtic wins in the two remaining fixtures between the sides. Thus, in theory, we have a six-point gap, to be eliminated over 12 games down the home stretch.

Of course, Celtic would have to find a mental toughness and a sense of purpose which has been largely missing this season, while it would help their cause if Rangers were suddenly to demonstrate a frailty which has been largely absent from their play thus far.

The odds remain heavily stacked in favour of Rangers, on current form, they are the hottest of favourites, but, the game is far from over and Neil Lennon complaining that: “Boo-hoo, the world is against us and we're poor wee, put-upon lambs,” is the wrong look, at the wrong time.

It's pathetic and most-definitely not the sort of thing you would ever have heard from Jock Stein.

THE CLASS OF '92 - in particular David Beckham, Nicky Butt, Ryan Giggs, Gary and Phil Neville and Paul Scholes hold a special place in English football folklore. The players, other than Giggs, who opted to play for Wales – the Land of His Father, were lauded as part of a “Golden generation of English talent,” although, in retrospect, they were perhaps more silver gilt than gold plated – but, being over-rated by their sycophantic press is a permanent plook on the face of English football.

Butt, the least-lauded of the sextet, has most-closely followed the tradition path of switching from playing to coaching, while the others, thanks to their higher media profiles have been less-closely associated with the game.

It might be said, they have rightly tended to steer clear of pure management, although all have “dabbled” - other than Beckham, who went straight into football club ownership. Maybe all these media portrayals of the boy from East London as being: “a bit fikk,” were Beckham demonstrating his actual intelligence.

This week, Phil Neville stood down from management, as he relinquished his role as England women's coach. He was sent on his way with a particularly “catty” going over from a Guardian women's football writer, with a terrifyingly impressive background as a layout sub-editor and a degree in Architecture from the University of Brighton.

Still, I suppose, Phil can live with the criticism from such an “expert.” Her pathetic piece, I feel, merely underlines, the arrogance and sense of entitlement we have long come to expect from male English football writers now extends to those of the other gender who cover their women's game.

Beckham had the right idea, go straight into ownership, it's easier being the top man than the one who carries the can and often has to meet unrealistic expectations.

Here We Go - Roll Up For The Transfer Silly Season

IT'S JANUARY, and you know what that means? The bright, shimmering stars of the Scottish mainstream media can now get down to their favourite part of the job – thinking-up transfer gossip, which just might be true.

For the next three and a bit weeks, we will be regaled with stories of which players will be arriving at Celtic Park and Ibrox, and who will be leaving. We will see unbelievable transfer fees quoted, for some hugely-over-rated and under-talented players, while the chat rooms and fans' forums on social media will be awash with – well with mostly pish.

Add the current managerial vacancy at Motherwell, to keep the pot boiling, allied to the attempts of several journalists to get Neil Lennon sacked at Celtic, and it's going to be a busy month on the periphery of the game.

Meanwhile, the fans are still locked out of the grounds because of this bloody pandemic, the kids – the game's future, cannot play and Scottish fitba, with the speed of a glacier, edges closer to going down the stank completely. I despair.

AS I mentioned in my last post, I have given up writing obituaries for the mainstream media, although I will continue to write them for this blog. So, at the dawn of a New Year, I thought it timely to look back on those we lost in 2020, including some stellar names from Scottish football.

The year 2020 had barely began when we lost the Grand Old Man of Scottish football, with the death, aged 96, of Bobby Brown. At the time of his death, Bobby was the oldest Scottish internationalist, a wonderful goalkeeper, the manager who master-minded the 1967 Wembley triumph and, a thorough gentleman.

We then, in short order, lost former Celtic and Scotland full-back Dunky McKay, who passed away in his Australian home, another great full-back, who sadly was never capped – John “Spud” Murphy of Ayr United, and another uncapped cult figure, with the Honest Men and Clyde, Muirkirk's own Danny Masterton.

Sunderland and Scotland hero Billy Hughes was another loss early in the year, while 2020 also saw us saying good bye to two of the brilliant Motherwell “ancell Babes” of the early 1960s, Scotland caps Pat Quinn and Willie Hunter.

Down here in the heartland of Junior Football, we lost a couple of class acts in 2020. First to go was Glenafton Athletic legend Danny “Puskas” McCulloch – a man who made goal-scoring seem easy, while, right at the end of the year, wee Davie McIlroy, a legend with Kilbirnie Ladeside and Ardrossan Winton Rovers and a well-respected school teacher, also heard his final whistle.

Aberdeen-born, Hull-raised Alex Dawson, a prolific goal-scorer with the post-Busby Babes Manchester United, then the legendary “Black Prince of Deepdale” with Preston North End was another to go in 2020, as did another Aberdonian recruit to Old Trafford, John Fitzpatrick, who passed away days before Christmas.

David Hagen, one of the legendary “Lost Boys,” from the Junior World Cup in 1989, lost his battle against MND in 2020. We also lost two great defenders from either side of the Old Firm divide, with the passing of former Scotland hero Tam Forsyth and the uncapped Celtic “fan on the park' Pat McCluskey.

Former Headmaster Tom O'Malley, whose love for Hibernian took him to the Chairmanship of his club, also passed away last year, as did Kilmarnock and Scotland goalkeeper Campbell Forsyth.

Finally, in December, we said farewell to a brilliant but uncapped convert from rugby, Bobby Wishart, a Herioter, a Scottish League winner with Aberdeen and Dundee and a member of the first Scotland Under-23 team. Above all, however, Bobby was a total gentleman.

The year ended on a real low note with the passing of two absolute managerial legends – Dundee United's Jim McLean and the man who managed more clubs than Jack Nicklaus – the legend that is Tommy Docherty, the first man to play-for, captain and manage Scotland, and a man who left a legacy of one-liners and quips.

As if Covid wasn't bad enough, to lose so-many greats in one year made 2020 a really hard one.

FALTERING and failing they may be, but, you have to admire the Scottish media's ability to come up with gratuitous shite to divert the public's gaze from real scandals.

I give you, “The Celtic Dubai Stooshie,” with Scottish politics' “Mr Angry,” Deputy First Minister John Swinney perhaps trying to undermine Tory Murdo Fraser's core orange-tinted support, by having a go at Celtic for flying out to Dubai for a few days.

In normal circumstances, say we had a mid-season shut-down, I would have no problems whatsoever with any Scottish team buggering off to Dubai or indeed anywhere for some warm-weather training. But, this trip, in the midst of a pandemic – well it makes no sense whatsoever.

I feel it is yet another instance of Wee Peter showing his disdain for everyone else, by sanctioning this unnecessary trip – merely because he can. In this instance, I'm with Wee Liam – the “Token Tim” in our backward Ayrshire village – where 1690 of the population of 1700 fly Union Flags outside their doors and participate fully in “The Marching Season.”

Liam thinks, rather than going off to Dubai, the squad should be made to dig ditches around Lennoxtown as punishment for their less-than-stellar form this season.

FINALLY, can I wish Darren Fletcher well in his new role with the first-team squad at Manchester United. Having cut his coaching teeth with United's Under-16s, the 80-times capped former Scotland captain has now been promoted to work with the big boys. I feel Fletch could have a big future in management.

Scotland could get an early bonus from this, since Fletch will be working on a daily basis with Scott McTominay, who can only benefit from Fletcher's great experience.

Covid - A Wasted Chance To Put Scottish Football On A Better Course

I MORE-OR-LESS stopped blogging on football during 2020 – it seemed so pointless given the bigger and more-immediate problem of the Covid-19 pandemic. Also, while the game virtually shut-down during the worst of the epidemic, I always sensed given the history of Scottish Football, the high heid yins along Hampden's sixth-floor corridor would, like my old mate Chris Iwelumo against Norway, somehow contrive to miss the open goal Covid handed them.

My hope for 2021 therefore, is that, eventually, better late than never, common sense will prevail and – while it will take some time to implement the changes – we finally see the changes which will make Scottish football fit for purpose in the 21^st century.

Because, we simply cannot go on as we are and have been for years – disappointing the best fans in the world through repeated failure to qualify for the big shows: the European Championships and World Cup Finals.

There was great celebration when we secured our place at next summer's Euros – only our third successful campaign out of 14 – a thumping 21% success rate in qualifying.

Of course, if you overlook the fact we have not qualified for the Big Show – The World Cup finals, since 1998 – our qualifying rate there – 9 successful campaigns out of 18 – a thumping 50% - is wonderful.

Overall in fact, we have qualified from 12 of 32 campaigns – a not-so-golden

37.5% success rate.

In the 20^th century, we made 13 attempts to qualify for the World Cup Finals – succeeding 9 times – for a 69% success rate. This was glorious stuff, when compared to our 2 successes from 9 campaigns – a 22% success rate.

However, those heady days of last century are in the distant pass. In the new millennium, we have had 0 success in 5 World Cup qualifying campaigns, and 1 success in 5 European Championship qualifying campaigns – a 20% success rate, which transfers to an overall 10% success rate.

It might well be, given our relatively-small population and the fact we are merely a possession of Greater England, that in football, Scotland is punching above its weight. But, I would say, in my lifetime, we have slipped considerably from where we were.

However, the sad reality is, when it comes to Scottish football – the international team doesn't matter, it's all about local rivalries and bragging rights, and I don't see that state of affairs ending any time soon. I am not confident about what 2021 will bring.

Random Musings

I SUPPOSE, since it has taken the English government over half a century to give Ron Flowers and Jimmy Greaves their MBEs being part of England's 1966 World Cup-winning team (funny that, I didn't know they'd ever won it – they never mention that success); I suppose David Marshall, (pictured below) could well be deid before he gets recognised for that penalty save, and what it means to Scotland.

At least, the Tartan Army will never forget it – a genuine highlight of a shitty year.

 

 

SCOTTISH RUGBY is at the moment in the midst of something of a signing storm – because the nation's two full-time professional teams – Edinburgh Rugby and Glasgow Warriors have got into the habit of hiring non-Scots, and in many cases, South Africans, to fill vacancies in their squad, while young Scots are reduced to if not by-stander status, to holding tackle bags in training.

Of course, Edinburgh and Glasgow are wholly-owned by the SRU, so hiring non-Scots cuts right across their duty of care as the governing body, supposed to encourage and grow the oval ball game.

Our leading football teams do not have that obligation on them, but, it still nags at me, that they seem keener on signing cheap non-Scots, rather than encouraging our own home-grown talent.

I'd like to see the SFA taking a leaf out of England's Rugby Football Union (RFU) and insist each match-day squad was 70% Scotland-qualified. This would, in effect, be a return to the Three Foreigners Rule.

I would vote for that – but, I can think of at least two clubs who would be dead against it.

SPEAKING of whom. Since I refuse to contribute to Uncle Rupert getting ever-richer and accruing riches to squander on the Texas Trollope, I had to listen to the BBC Shortbread broadcast of yesterday's big game.

The highlights – the 50^th anniversary tribute to the 66 who died in the Ibrox Disaster of 1970, for once the guys at Pacific Quay got something right; and, Mickey Stewart's analysis. Actually, Mickey, Wee Doddsie and Packy Bonner are, individually and collectively are a good team of talking heads, whose experience and expertise adds to the coverage package.

Listening to the first half, which was pretty-much a game of shootie-in for the Celtic team, I got to half time convinced – Rangers will win this. Long experience of covering football has taught me, when you have all the pressure and cannot convert opportunities into goals, it is going to come back and bite your bum at some point.

The red card definitely swung matters Rangers' way and after that, it was only a matter of time before Celtic's ever-fragile rear guard gave them the chance to score the winner.

Celtic now need a few favours, if they are to achieve their ten-in-a-row goal. Even if they win their three games-in-hand, they will still trail Rangers by ten points, with only two meetings with their bitterest rivals to come. Say they win them too, they will still be four points adrift – so they need some favours from the other clubs if they are to win the league.

Thus far in the season, Rangers have accrued 2.8 points per game, while Celtic have been chalking-up 2.3 points per game. That's half a point per game of a difference. For Celtic to prevail in the title race, this position over the first half of the season would need to be turned on its head over the remainder of the campaign.

Rangers pretty much collapsed between the winter shut-down at the end of December last season and the curtailed end of the season – I cannot see this season's Rangers outfit falling apart as they did last season. But, with Scottish fitba, you never know – and that has to be the hope driving-on the Celtic Family.

SOME OF my fellow Kilmarnock fans are none-too-happy with the Assistant Referee who indicated goalkeeper Danny Rogers had carried the ball into his own net to give St Mirren a late equaliser yesterday.

It was one of those incidents which goal-line technology or VAR would have sorted-out, but, the powers-that-be in Scottish fitba, from their redoubts on Edmiston Drive and London Road will freely donate a kidney sooner than allow technology which might eliminate “honest refereeing mistakes” from the Scottish game – so, we supporters of the diddy teams will have to suck-up incidents such as yesterday's and get on with things.