LAWWELL MAY FOLLOW LENNON OUT OF PARKHEAD

BY ANDY RITCHIE

I WAS spot on when I was the first to reveal that Neil Lennon would be leaving Celtic.

Followers of No Grey Areas were tipped off weeks ago that Lennon was poised to quit. Now I believe a second high profile figure may soon follow Lennon out of Celtic Park – chief executive Peter Lawwell.

The majority shareholder Dermot Desmond wants Roy Keane as Lennon’s successor and I believe that could hasten Lawwell’s departure.

Why do I think that? My gut instinct is that Keane wouldn’t be Lawwell’s preferred choice. Keane doesn’t strike me as the sort who is prepared to compromise and take instructions. I also get the distinct impression that when he sets his mind on doing something, he’s unshakable.

Lennon was Lawwell’s man. Keane is Desmond’s and I suspect there would be an inevitable clash of personalities.

It’s no secret either that Lawwell has been touting himself for high-powered chief executives roles with Premiership clubs. He was keen on the Arsenal job and there have been one or two others.

So, watch this space, and remember who told you first when there are further changes at the top at Celtic.

To be honest, I do think Lawwell really wanted to do more to try to persuade Lennon to stay. I believe he had already made his mind up that next season would be Lennon’s last and it suited him when the manager announced he was quitting.

No great effort was made to persuade Johan Mjallby to stay and it was made clear that other changes were required in the coaching staff, including Garry Parker leaving.

I reckon Lawwell thought the treble was a gimme, given how little pressure there is on Celtic at the moment domestically.

Lawwell expected a clean sweep of honours and losing to Morton in the League Cup and going out of the Scottish Cup to Aberdeen constituted major disappointments.

So, no great effort was made to keep Lennon. Significantly, there has been no gnashing of teeth or wailing from within in the wake of the announcement.

At least that was the feeling I got and I am sure Lennon read all the signs and reacted accordingly.

But if he’s honest with himself, he’ll probably reflect that he should have acted sooner when his stock was at its highest in the wake of Celtic beating Barcelona and qualifying for the last 16 in the Champions League.

If Keane does get the job I expect he’ll shake the place up and the fact that there are no credible challengers to Celtic’s dominance in the SPFL and Rangers are still stumbling around in the wilderness would probably make the transition fairly straightforward.

But while Desmond would be quite happy to see Keane in charge, I don’t think Lawwell would share that feeling.

Lennon was Lawwell’s man and he had to put up with a lot. Keane does not fit into the same category, in my opinion.

But, let’s be perfectly frank, the Honey Monster could move into the Celtic dug-out at the moment and be expected to win the treble.

But,  judging by their initial reaction to the news, whether the fans feel the same way about Keane is a different matter entirely.

NO GREY AREAS MAKES NEW SIGNING

NO GREY AREAS has made an exciting new signing...17-year-old freelance sports journalist Ben Palmer.

Ben’s Blog will be a regular feature and is the young voice of the website.

So, who is Ben Palmer?

Brought up in Buckie, Morayshire, Ben began covering sports from as wide a geographical area as Wick to Wigtown – before he was the legal age to drive.

A keen golfer, Ben hopes to one day cover both golf and football on a regular basis, but says his sports mind is not as narrow as may seem. His passion is greater for writing on sports of all varieties, rather than just watching his two preferred.

He started sports writing at the tender age of 13 – covering the Highland League – but has continued to climb the metaphorical ladder and has written for an array of Scottish national newspapers, including The Press & Journal, Sunday Mail and The Times.

So far in his career he has won “The Herald and Daily What News Schools Journalist of the Year 2012” and was also selected as part of the Future News event in Glasgow, 2014. This event rounded up 100 young journalists from across the Commonwealth and taught the fundamentals required in modern day journalism.

Having only just completed his Secondary education at Buckie High School – at which he was Head Boy in his final year – Ben is about embark on a four year University course before, hopefully, sculpting a career writing the back pages of newspapers.

Meantime, don’t miss his weekly blog, starting with his frank assessment of the state of Scottish football at the top level.

BY BEN PALMER

LA LIGA  and the Barclay's Premier League. Arguably the two top leagues in world football quality wise; certainly from an economic dynamic.

Questions have been raised on the ethics in either of these leagues recently. Man City look set to be fined 60 Million Euros for breaching the Financial Fair Play regulations, whereas Spain's crippling problems with racism continue to increase.

Beneath the blurred surroundings in which these leagues are played though, is still the fundamental trait mandatory for the top football leagues in the world: excitement.

Atlético Madrid won their first league title since 1996 – on the last day of the season in a winner takes all affair with Barcelona – and Manchester City won the English edition in similar circumstances, defeating West Ham. Not quite in the Hollywood style climax La Liga enjoyed, but a fitting finale nonetheless.

Essentially, these two leagues continue to flourish, continue to captivate and ooze excitement year after year. The spectators of each are lavished with sheer quality continuously.

In Scotland, however, we are being told that we have just experienced the most exciting season in years. That seemingly positive comment is merely a sad indictment of our nation’s number one sport.

The game, according to some, is blossoming, all because neither Celtic nor Rangers partook in a cup final.

Sure, it's great that we've been treated to St Johnstone winning the Scottish Cup and Aberdeen the League Cup - two formidable tasks - but the assessment that this is portraying this past season of Scottish football as being exciting is laughable.

The début Scottish Premiership season was a sham. Celtic being engraved as champions could have been done last summer, and Hearts were always condemned to relegation having to toil through a season with a bunch of teenagers and a 15 point deduction.

The main trophy in Scottish football never even had realistic potential to conceive excitement. The two most important positions in the league table had been determined before the leaves had started to drift off the trees; the period in the season where a team’s potential should become recognised.

Whilst Dundee United displayed sprinklings of their now recognised youthful zest, it didn't really matter at all in the context of the league – they would never win it.

Their developing of young Scottish talent did plant a seed of hope for the game as a whole, but their parabola of a second half of a season – rounding off with a Scottish Cup final defeat - means that we must wait longer to see it produce the desired results.

Admittedly there was tension, excitement for a pessimist, at the bottom end of the league. Hibs downfall and tussle with Partick Thistle and Kilmarnock for the relegation play-off place grabbed attention.

But does that mean a season of Scottish football has been exciting because one of the biggest clubs in the country has sunk in a manner of Titanic proportions? Absolutely not.

Teams tussling for the league title is exciting; teams having a hope of escaping relegation is exciting; our clubs battling it out in Europe is exciting - Hibs having a bunch of incompetent footballers does not constitute exciting.

With this, I am not saying Scottish football is in an inescapable cul-de-sac. It is the proclaiming of this past season as the most exciting in years that I must refute.

Scottish football has perhaps enjoyed a better year; Aberdeen fans being thrown back to the 80's was a fun period, and Motherwell's steadiness is reassuring, but we must let the game reach its peak before we jump on our stallion and shout from the roof tops.

Will we remember the dogged battle Hibs have fought in 10 years time? Probably not. Will we remember La Liga's most thrilling conclusion in a decade? Absolutely.

Let's just settle ourselves down and leave the superlatives to the games that deserve it. With the progression we are currently making, it may not be long before we merit it ourselves.

THE END IS NIGH FOR LENNON, BUT GRIFFITHS SAFE FOR NOW

By Andy Ritchie

THEY are taking bets on Leigh Griffiths being booted out by Celtic, but the smarter money is on a much bigger name being gone before the start of next season.

I’m referring to the most important man at the club, the manager, Neil Lennon.

If Lennon has sense, and he’s got plenty as far as I can judge, he’ll have reached the conclusion some time ago that he has very likely achieved just about as much as he can at Celtic Park and that it’s time for a fresh challenge.

In fact, Lennon may even be regretting not having made a move a year ago when his stock was trading higher following the team’s Champions League successes.

There hasn’t been a queue of club chairmen from England battering down the doors to entice Scottish managers south in recent years, which is a sad indictment of what they think about the general state of our game, and Lennon is clearly aware that he will have to sell himself to an extent.

So it didn’t surprise me to see him appear on Match if the Day 11 the other week, when he gave a polished performance talking purely about the playing side rather than about all  the other aspects that come with being an Old Firm manager.

He managed to sound astute and appeared more at ease discussing tactics, formations and playing styles, so if Lennon’s ploy was to try and advance his case, it worked a treat.

The timing was spot on and those chairmen and owners contemplating managerial change over the course of the next few weeks cannot help but have been impressed at the way Lennon came over.

I imagine there is going to be a bit of movement in the Premiership before the World Cup kicks-off.

The dogs in the street are already barking out that there has been at least a degree of contact between Norwich and Lennon, but the Canaries won’t be the only club in the market for a new manager.

Newcastle cannot possibly be happy with Alan Pardew after everything that has gone off on Tyneside and all is clearly far from well in the Aston Villa camp.

Not only have you got the situation with two members of the senior coaching staff under investigation for alleged bullying, results under Paul Lambert haven’t been great either.

The most attractive option is a Premiership club where Lennon’s personal terms would be far more lucrative than if he was managing a Championship side, so much may depend on which teams are relegated.

But I believe that whatever is eventually on offer to him, Lennon has reached the stage where he feels he’s done enough at Celtic Park and that the grass is greener on the other side.

And I’m prepared to stick my neck out and predict that Neil Lennon will no longer be the Celtic manager come August.
But I believe Griffiths will still be with my old club when Celtic begin their defence of the SPFL title.

Contrary to the apparently widely held belief that Griffiths is facing the axe, I don’t think he is even close to being sacked - at least for the time being.

Yes, Griffiths is an idiot. No, chanting racist abuse is not acceptable.

But he is clearly not the sharpest cookie. He also appears easily led when drink is involved.

But a Hibee having a pop at the Jambos and vice-versa is nothing new, and calling someone a refugee hardly constitutes a hanging offence.

I’ve had 50,000 calling me a lazy, fat bastard, so does that mean if I am able to identify the guilt I am free to sue them? I’ll better put in a call to Donald Findlay, just in case.

The SFA has done its best to inflate the situation while Celtic have thrown a fire blanket over what was a drink-fuelled outburst deserving of a heavy slap on the wrist, a club fine, and a warning to Griffiths as to his future conduct.

But if there is a next time that might turn out to be a very different matter as he would be judged to have thumbed his nose at those who are trying to help save him from himself.

Others, players and managers, have committed worse acts and escaped relatively unscathed, but the SFA looks to have turned the Griffiths affair into something of a crusade.

They should have left it up to his club to deal with Griffiths and Celtic, in turn, should order him to find suitable accommodation in the west away from the temptations of life in the capital and the influence of his mates.

If Griffiths can screw the nut, he’s good enough at domestic level to score 25 goals a season. But the real testing ground is Europe and whether he’s good enough to do it at the next level.

Meanwhile, I wasn’t one of those surprised by St Johnstone’s achievement in reaching their first ever Scottish Cup final.

I had a sneaking feeling beforehand that they would dump the Dons due to Aberdeen’s a lack of youth and energy in the middle of the park.

St Johnstone is a team who keep snapping away at the opposition and in Steve May they have some who is always liable to score.

Barry Robson and Willo Flood were running on empty after an hour and as soon as Saints equalised there was only one team going to win, in my mind.

It’s good that we have two teams from the Tayside region in the final for a change and it should turn out to be a decent enough spectacle.

Dundee United beating Rangers in the other semi-final was no surprise either. Even playing at only 50 per cent capacity, United were able to turn over the opposition with relative ease.

And I am sure that didn’t come as a shock to anyone who had watched Rangers the week before in the Ramsdens Cup final.

THE SHEER MADNESS OF THE BLOCKHEADS AND BOOMTOWN PRATS

BY JIM BLACK

IT is official...the inmates have taken over the running of the asylum!

In a scene reminiscent of “One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest” those responsible for planning the opening ceremony for this summer’s Commonwealth Games proudly announced that it will cost a mere £21million to show Glasgow off to the world.

That’s just seven million pounds more than the original estimate – a measly 50 per cent increase!

Given that the Games are still fully four months away and certain individuals involved in the overall planning would not recognise the truth if it jumped up and bit them on the backside, we can be assured that £21million will become twenty-something million before Celtic Park hosts a show the likes of which has never been witnessed in the east end of the city.

Perhaps by July 23 they will also have thrown in several more buildings to add to the five Red Road towerblocks that are to be demolished as part of the spectacular.

Apparently billions of TV viewers are already perched on the edge of their seats salivating in anticipation of a never-to-be-forgotten experience!

At least that’s the figure being trotted out by Dr Bridget McConnell – she didn’t actually earn the title. She was given honorary doctorates by Aberdeen and St Andrews Universities – Chief Executive Culture & Sport Glasgow.

In that role, which she has held for 10 years, Dr McConnell leads a staff of 2,600 with an annual budget approaching £100million, in the delivery of cultural and sports activities on behalf of the city.

She was also an integral part of the Bid team which won Glasgow the Commonwealth Games and is charge with delivering a substantive legacy for the Games.

In case you weren’t already aware of exactly who she is – and you could certainly be forgiven for not knowing – Dr McConnell is also the wife of Jack McConnell, formerly the country’s First Minister. No nepotism there, then? Perish the thought.

Wee Jack incidentally has the title Baron McConnell of Glenscorrodale. Maybe once his wife is finished splashing the cash it will be changed to “Baron Hardup!”

After listening to Dr McConnell twittering and simpering to John Beattie on Radio Scotland’s lunchtime news and debate programme the other day I was forced to change stations part the way through the broadcast for fear that I would suddenly develop a new type of Road Rage!

What little I could bear to listen to, I learned from Dr McConnell that the cost of Glasgow’s opening ceremony will be only a fraction of the obscene amount spent by London’s Olympic chiefs. Cheap at twice the price, she seemed to be suggesting in an arrogant, patronising fashion.

She omitted to add that the population of London is roughly twenty times that of Glasgow’s and the Olympic Games are 50 times bigger than the Commonwealth Games in terms of their worldwide appeal.

Still, you can’t keep a good ego down and while the watching world – at least those parts that can be bothered – sits agog at the sight of demolition squads at work, Dr McConnell and her cronies will be preening themselves like never before.

Self aggrandisement, smug smiles and condescending clap-trap all round before they no doubt head off for a slap-up banquet at the council taxpayers’ expense, as a reward for their sterling services to the city.

Poor old Glasgow, meanwhile, risks being a laughing stock.

What the hell’s wrong with the participating teams marching into the stadium, as used to be the case at such sporting occasions, and marching out again? It is supposed to be about sportsmen and sportswomen, after all.

If Dr McConnell felt an overpowering need to spend £21million, why didn’t she suggest it was given to the poor and needy, the homeless and the pensioners who risk hypothermia every winter through lack of heating?

And If the Red Road flats are such a blight on the city’s image, could they not have spent the cash on major renovations and housed some of those who have lived in virtual squalor for years instead of handing them over in such a rundown condition to asylum seekers?

And when it comes to sensitivity, Eileen Gallagher, independent director on the Glasgow 2014 board, wouldn’t know how to spell the word.

“Audacious and very Glasgow,” she crowed in reference to the flats being razed to the ground as part of the bizarre curtain-raiser.

“This bold image will create an unforgettable moment in time to mark how Glasgow continues to strive for better,” she added.

Try telling that to Margaret Jaconelli, evicted from her home to make way for the bulldozers.

But to hell with Margaret and the other “small” people who are not privileged to inhabit McConnell’s or Gallagher’s worlds.

When you’ve got a party to go to and somebody else is footing the bill, the feelings of others are inconsequential.

TALKING about having fun spending other people’s money, BBC Scotland has invested a wedge of the licence fee on the riveting spectacle that is the Queen’s Baton Relay around the Commonwealth.

Fronted by a chap called Mark Beaumont, whom, I confess, I had never heard of prior to watching occasional glimpses of newsreel brought to us exclusively and at no small cost by the Beeb, it must be the most expensive, most pointless lump of wood in history!

But I have been cheered by one piece of news concerning the forthcoming Games. Apparently ScotRail or is it FirstRail –no matter they come down to the same thing; largely incompetent and disinterested in the public’s wellbeing – are going to be ferrying commuters in their thousands to the Games’ venues free of charge, apparently.

Good luck, travellers. It’s been my experience several times of late that our Rail Network struggles to ensure the smooth running of one Saturday evening train from Edinburgh to Inverness!

Does all of this give the impression that I am anti-Commonwealth Games? I hope not.

I truly hope they are a major success as a sporting spectacle and that those who embrace the occasion for it’s true worth enjoy every moment.

But I have no time whatsoever for the fat-cats, the freeloaders. and the arrogant, self-important bureaucrats who know what’s best for the rest of us – whatever the cost.

SIMPLY SAVAGED BY SFA SHEEP

By Andy Ritchie

WE - meaning Scotland’s youth team - were about to go off to sunny, sunny Spain and I was having multiple orgasms at the very thought of it.

Hey, I was only 16 and therefore full of fun and devilment. A round-robin youth tournament lay ahead, but first I was intent on basking in the imaginary limelight.

So, when a photographer from the Scottish Daily Express approached those of us who played with Celtic and Rangers, asking if he could snap us with our reading material, we were up for the cup.

A couple of the guys had chosen Shoot magazine to accompany them on the trip. Me? As we were having a bit of a carry-on, I’d gone straight for the top shelf and got myself a copy of Playboy.

Just when the photographer was about to go to work, an SFA official called Ernie Walker arrived on the scene and called me over. He asked me how my parents would feel if they saw me reading a lads’ magazine. Just as important, he asked me how Celtic FC would feel.

He reminded me that I was representing not only them but the Scottish nation. You could call it an impact talk. He uttered only about three sentences, but the message hit home immediately like a bolt from a crossbow.

I hate to imagine what would have happened if Ernie hadn’t been on the scene at Glasgow Airport that day. There I’d have been, back page on the Express, making an absolute backside of myself.

But I was lucky enough to come across an administrator who knew his way around potentially embarrassing situations.

The question that ought to be asked now is this: where are such like-minded administrators in today’s world?

Press the fast forward button and pinpoint one of today’s embarrassing situations. Stop at Leigh Griffiths, a few long-necked Budweisers on a none too lazy Sunday afternoon and you’re on the money.

When he received his summons to appear at the SFA for that video, I immediately thought of Ernie Walker.

Ernie, of course, went on to become secretary of the SFA for 13 years. How would he have handled that situation with Leigh and his singing Hibs supporting pals? Somewhat better, I would suggest, than Vincent Lunny. Ernie certainly wouldn’t have needed a compliance officer to bring people to order.

Lunny is the c.o. of the ruling body. Here’s a guy who seems to appear every time something like this happens. He must spend hours trawling the websites to find out things about fitba players.

What’s this man doing? Is it a real job? Couldn’t he be doing something better and more constructive than picking through the bones of a lot of nonsense.

Don’t for one moment think I’m attempting to vindicate Griffiths. I’m not. He should get the proverbial boot up the backside for what he did - there are no two ways about that. 

But this officious rigmarole seems OTT. I think the SFA are just being petty. It does smack of someone trying to justify their existence.

The punishment should have come from within the player’s club. Hopefully, getting rapped over the knuckles by his own hierarchy would mean a lot more to him - well, it should mean a lot more - than being savaged by an SFA sheep called Vincent Lunny.

Which brings me back to my point about this chap’s role: jobs like this take money out of the game and we struggle at times to provide things that would be beneficial either to the top end of the professional gig or the amateur end.

But the SFA inevitably provide money for some things that are trivial, But we shouldn’t be surprised, for they are trivial people.

Look, I don’t know a lot about Stewart Regan, but I don’t see a lot happening within the game that I could congratulate him for. No, I can’t say I go to sleep counting the accomplishments of Stewart Regan.

Anyway, these punishments seem to be selective, rather than across the board. Morton’s Rowan Vine apparently made uncomplimentary signs to Cowdenbeath supporters when he was sent off the other night.

I didn’t see Lunny sending a letter to the club asking Vine to come up and see him. Is it only because there were 500 people there and really nobody gives diddly squat about it?

I don’t remember, either, Paul McGowan being lettered by the SFA for being drunk and assaulting policemen. No, it’s my belief that Lunny looks for nonsense and is getting his 50-60 grand a year and Vauxhall car for absolutely nothing.

He should only be getting involved if the club involved don’t do anything, if indeed they thumb their nose at the situation. That’s the time the shadow of Vincent Lunny should fall over proceedings.

Hey, I know times have changed, but one phone call from Ernie Walker would have diffused this situation. I can hear what he would have said: “It’s not in the best possible taste,”

As a result, the morals would have been improved, and it would have made a better impact on the individuals who were causing the situation.

This current SFA hoopla was all so unnecessary . It needed someone just to stop guys like Leigh Griffiths in their tracks with some sensible advice, rather than putting them on the back page.

Maybe Griffiths thinks it’s smart because it’s on the back page. But it’s not smart and he should know that. But I still contend that it was up to Celtic, not Lunny, to deliver the sermon.

WHY LENNON HAS RUN OUT OF OPTIONS

By Andy Ritchie

SO, now the annual skittle competition that’s called the Scottish Premiership is over for another season, the questions will inevitably begin.

In fact, they began in my house this morning when a teaser was thrown at me: did I expect both Neil Lennon and Derek McInnes to be with their respective clubs next season?

A long intake of breath was needed over the cornflakes. I replied that I’d only expect one to be there. My questioner was relentless. Which one? If I were given one of those hard-earned pounds that Aberdonians seem to swear by, well, I’d put it on McInnes being at Pittodrie next season.

But, as for Lennon being at Celtic Park? I think not. I’d imagine he’s looked at the equation and decided: “I’ve got to get out of here - it’s time to move on.”

The noises that he may want to go have been flying about for some time. I suggest they will become more prevalent now that the title race has been copper-bottomed with that runaway victory over Partick Thistle.

So I think it’s just a case of playing the countdown game. Who could blame him for looking down the road? Hey, he’s left a legacy by joining the select managerial band of Willie Maley, Jock Stein and Gordon Strachan, who had won three or more titles in a row.

But trying looking for reasons why he should stay is another thing altogether. Anyone who recognises their onions know that, without Rangers in the mix, everything is a hollow victory. Lennon will recognise that better than anyone.

He’ll also recognise the fact that times have changed and there’s a whole different ball game going on with Celtic these days, And it’s official. It’s gone public. In the old days, it was an accepted fact that the Charlie Nicholas and Kenny Dalglish types of this world would eventually play in England. But it was never mooted in public.

Now it’s been discussed openly that the policy is to bring in good, under-the-radar young players, get them developed before selling them on for as big a profit as possible. You’ve got to look at it and say it’s the state of Scottish football. And it’s also the state of Celtic.

You hear from some quarters claims of an upsurge in the game. Really? Well, up at Aberdeen, for instance, there’s a guy who wasn’t good enough to play in the first team last season and who in fact was loaned out to St Johnstone.

It’s now being stated that Peter Pawlett’s an absolute certainty to be playing in England in six months. Yeah, he couldnae get a game for them a year ago and they were undecided if they wanted to keep him. Now he’s the new Willie Miller, or, to put him more in context, Eoin Jess.

So, I’d imagine for the benefit of Neil Lennon and his career as a manager, it would be beneficial for him to be looking at the bigger picture. And that, I’m afraid, is England. There’s nothing radical about that, though, He’s done four years and they’ve generally been good years.

Things have changed for him. It’s only natural if you’ve been in a job this length of time that the rough edges have been knocked off. In Lennon’s case most of them have gone, even if some took a while to disappear.

I think the change in attitude could be traced back to the time he was attacked at Tyne castle - and also the time they beat Barcelona and had a decent run in Europe. That escalated his worth to the football world.

And I think people were making suggestions to him then that it might take a different type of managerial mindset for him to get a job down in England. That’s when the rough edges began to disappear.

It was like he was saying to himself: “If I do have any aspirations as an individual, these issues need to be addressed.” And I think that’s been his purposeful plan as Celtic manager ever since. And, in fairness to him, he’s done very well.

Perfection is nearly impossible, of course. You hear him being interviewed by local reporters in Scotland and then by those from down South. There’s a marked difference for the better, as far as the latter is concerned. Look, it’s not that he’s so much more refined, it’s just that he’s more acceptable to the masses. I sometimes wish he’d add those little touches up here as well.

I remember at the Aberdeen game at Pittodrie when Celtic’s winning streak ended. If he’d put on the diplomatic hat that he wears for the international media, it would have been better. As it was, he was less than complimentary about Aberdeen. A wee bit more humility was required in that situation.

But, on the whole, I think the changes in his character have been for his well-being. Whatever, if and when the day arrives that he makes a move down South, it might be beneficial to him if he leaves a couple of pieces of luggage behind him.

Would he be successful in a far more competitive division? I see no reason why he shouldn’t be. He probably has a head start on many others who are coming to the Barclays Premier League from abroad. He has a grounding in England, knows the game and also the aspirations of the supporters - unlike some who have gone there recently.

Look, when you went to manage in England years ago, it was a 25-piece jigsaw. Now it’s a thousand piece affair and remember you’ve got to put all those pieces together. I don’t see why Lennon can’t make a fist of it down there. Father Time, of course, is the only man who will tell.

JUST FORGET THE FOOTBALL - COME FEEL THE NOISE!

By Bryan Cooney

THE ascent to Area 410, Row N, Seat 12 of Celtic Park’s North stand Upper might have been acceptable to a man possessing not only the lung power of a Chris Bonnington but his mountaineering pedigree.

This old guy, without having the benefit of either, was consequently looking for an oxygen tent only a couple of minutes into the climb. The compensatory factor was reaching the summit and finding himself besieged by a red and white bedlam.

Two important points were proved. Firstly, 43,000 Aberdeen fans, 150 miles from home, were demonstrating that if Scottish football is close to self immolation, then the North-east obituarists have yet to be notified.

And secondly, joy of joy, those roistering, raucous, rambunctious fans seemed intent on ridiculing the indictment that they suffer badly from inhibition and indeed are dedicated rustlers of sweetie papers.

Hey, legendary producer Phil Spector once nurtured what was described as the Wall of Sound, an impenetrable, multi-layered onslaught of orchestra-inspired music that monopolised the senses and the pop charts in the early 60s.

He should have been in the East End of Glasgow on Sunday afternoon to record something that came very close to his concept of noise. This was one that steamrollered the senses; one that you could almost touch; one that made you inordinately proud to be an Aberdonian.

Now, I have pursued the fortunes of this wildly idiosyncratic team for 65 years. I have never heard anything like this before - even on a night of Pittodrie mayhem which I shall come to in due course.

Suddenly, all supporter sacrifice made sense. The myriad tears, disappointments and disaffections were forgiven and forgotten. And this, you should note, was before the League Cup Final between the Dons and Inverness CT had even begun.

My youngest son had kindly bought the tickets for this match and wouldn’t accept payment. The largesse extended to a pie and a soft drink. Was this his way of repaying me for introducing him to Aberdeen FC at a fairly early age?

But let’s go back to those 65 years: if this promised to be an occasion for nostalgia, I determined to indulge myself. I remembered the 1949 day my dad took me to Pittodrie for the first time.

Soon, he was wishing he hadn’t troubled himself. How do you constrict the conduct of a venturesome four-year-old who was fascinated by everything aside from the football?

I heard Dad complaining about someone fiddling. I began looking around, perhaps expecting to see a string quartet of string violinists in the immediate vicinity.

My father became agitated, possibly because of the home team’s shortcomings, most probably because of my finite attention span, and soon he’d had enough. He grabbed my hand and marched me down the stairs of the main stand. As far as I know, he never called in at Pittodrie again.

But sometimes it takes only one visit to be infected with the football virus. And so, when age permitted, I became a Pittodrie regular. I began to identify heroes and there was not a fiddler among them.

Their names adorned my autograph book: Jackie Hather, of the double shuffle, Paddy Buckley, Harry Yorston and ultimately Graham Leggat. They won the First Division championship in 1954-55 with a manager called Dave Halliday. They added a League Cup victory a year later with a new man at the tiller: Davie Shaw.

In spite of this success, we were destined for the football boondocks. This didn’t deter a few young men from Aberdeen Academy. Guys like Ivor Finnie, Gordon Donald, John Dingwall and I decided we would join the official supporters’ club, which comprised a handful of men from another generation and a couple of highly emancipated women.

The chairman, a lovely yet intensely garrulous guy, had a serious speech impediment and if you were in the front row at a meeting, you had to duck, bob and weave, like a professional boxer, to avoid taking direct hits from his saliva.

You required dedication to be in our small gang. Our red army didn’t even constitute a platoon as it made its way all over Scotland kitted out in red and white caps and scarves. We even bought ourselves blazers and badges at a later, more sophisticated, date.

Campbells, of Bon Accord Square, provided our transport and, normally, one bus was sufficient for our needs. Our travels were not without incident, however: we left Ibrox one year with a hail of stones bouncing off the framework of the bus; we retreated from Kirkcaldy severely depleted of our numbers. 

A Cup defeat proved unpalatable; the local police unforgiving.
On another Cup adventure, this time under the managerial stewardship of Eddie Turnbull, we took a respectable following to Easter Road, and only a last-minute equaliser secured us a replay at Pittodrie.

By now, I was working in the Press & Journal editorial but was granted a night off. I squeezed myself into the Merkland Road end as 44,000 rolled up that Wednesday evening.

The crowd groaned collectively as it was announced that the pugnacious Ernie Winchester would be playing. They changed their minds when he scored twice.

Winchester, who died only last year, was an inspiration, but not as far as Hibs centre half John Madsen was concerned. He later informed anyone who would listen: “Tonight I met a madman!”

But pay attention, if you will, to that figure of 44,000 on a hysterical night in March of 1967. It brings me back to the hysteria of Sunday and the pretty surreal fact that 43,000 of my ain folk had converged on Glasgow to ostensibly take over the city.

The football game began, but to call it a game is taking a liberty with the English language. Thankfully, as far as this person was concerned, it was over fairly quickly, not of course before nails had been gnawed to the bone and penalties had been missed (by Inverness) and converted (by my heroes).

But as we prepared to leave Celtic Park, my eyes were drawn to the seats immediately in front of us and a little boy clad, like his father, in red. He was bright-eyed and pumped full of mischief, sticking his tongue out at anyone who looked his way.

It was pretty obvious that he hadn’t been paying a blind bit of notice to what was going on down on the pitch. What a good judge he had been!

He can be forgiven. Perhaps this was his first football match. His initiation. Play was so puerile that perhaps he was looking for a fiddler in the roof the stand, just to take the edge off the boredom.

There again, maybe, just maybe, he’d caught the virus that makes professional football so compulsory - the one that infected me 65 years ago. I wondered whether he’d still be supporting his team in the year 2079.

The Day Fergus Sought Darkened Rooms and Temazepan - By Andy Ritchie

YOU would have to get up early of a morning to put one over Fergus McCann. Better still, best not to go to bed in the first place.

Money, of course, was a major importance in his life and he duly treated it with particular reverence. While Celtic fans celebrate the 20^th anniversary of the McCann-style revolution, however, it may be worth remembering the one occasion Fergus’s fingers were scorched, if not quite cremated.

Back then, football, to me as chief scout, was a priority. And it was likewise to the manager, Tommy Burns. We were in a hurry to get out there and buy players. To shop in what you might call the “big stores.”

But Fergus’s priority was putting the club back on a sound financial footing, so if you worked in the recruitment department, that wasn’t so great. Tommy, meanwhile, was experiencing exasperation We had signed Pierre van Hooijdonk from NAS Breda for a million pounds. Then along came Andreas Thom, from Bayer Leverkusen.

I can’t go into too many details about that particular £2.2million transfer in 1995, but let’s say that once it was all done and Fergus saw how football worked, I think he had to be led into a darkened room and fed a couple of Temazepan.

There was money flying everywhere. Fergus said that the longest talk he had about the deal was with four people from the Bank of England, who represented the player. Thom had come out of East Germany and he needed to make money quickly; he was paying massive amounts of his salary into a pension plan.

But I think that financial arrangement put Fergus off all the rest of the deals that had to be done during his time at Celtic Park. I think he’d been dragged over a barrel as far as Thom was concerned. But, fair play to him, he learned oh, so quickly as Paulo Cadete and Paolo di Canio would learn.

I certainly liked him. He didn’t mess about. Ever. A spade was a shovel with that wee man. I don’t think you’d want to stand too long with him at a bar, engaged in jovial conversation, but he did what he said he would do. My memory tells me he put £8 million in and took £40million out. He built a stadium and stopped Rangers from winning ten in a row.

Sure, having to deal with Hooijdonk, Cadete and Di Canio obviously had him reaching for his pills. I mean, Hooijdonk came in quite a quiet boy who would hardly lift his head to speak to anybody. But, within a couple of years, prompted by the adulation he got at Celtic Park and no doubt by his agents, he was complaining that his wages weren’t good enough for the homeless.

Certainly, there was a bigger change in Pierre than there was in Fergus in that time. The latter understood what footballers are like. They give the impression of loyalty to the fans with their kissing of the badge, but in reality the big ones are managing directors of their own companies. Wee Fergus was one of the first to see through that nonsense. I think he could spot a fraud very, very quickly.

But I’ve got to say he did me a couple of favours. He came to see me in my wee office one day and said: “I’ve got a bit of a situation here. I’ve got two people coming to interview me, Chic Young from the BBC, and Davie Provan from Sky. I don’t want them putting their heads together, so when they arrive put the BBC in the boardroom and ask Sky to wait down the tunnel.”

My son was working in the reception at the time. I went down there and told him to see that the orders were carried out. Some time later, I met him and he told me that Provan had wanted to go into the boardroom and not down the tunnel. When he insisted that this was the arrangement, he claimed Provan told him to eff off.

We cut a long story short here, I was buzzing with anger and caught up with Provan. Angry words were exchanged. He called my son a liar. That did it. I took my jacket off and ordered Provan to follow me outside where we would sort the matter out in time-honoured fashion. I had entirely lost the plot. “Hey, that’s my son there and he doesn’t deserve to be spoken to like that!”

No blows were actually thrown that day, but the next morning I was in my office when George Douglas, the head of security, knocked on the door. Fergus had sent him, wanting to know about the altercation I’d had with Provan. I told him what happened and said that the altercation had been because of him. “That’s not what he told Fergus,” said George.

He said he would need to report to Mr McCann again. Just as he was going out the door, he said: “Wouldn’t you think that a wee apology would suffice?” I shot back at him. “Listen, George, if Davie Provan wants to apologise, that’s fine by me!” George told me he’d be back down. I never heard another word.

Many years after, I met George and he gave me the real SP. Fergus, apparently had said there wasn’t much he could do about it and that at least I had offered Provan a one on one compromise. My guess is that he didn’t fancy the running to schoolteacher bit.

But that wasn’t the last favour Fergus did me. There used to be a corridor from outside his office that bypassed the front door reception area. No one was allowed to use it apart from himself. One day, running late for a Monday morning meeting, I nipped up that way. Who should I meet but Fergus?

He looked at me in that certain way that promised I was going to get a row. Instead, he asked me if I’d bought shares in the issue. I said I had and still had them. “Hey,” he says, “those shares are worth about five times what you paid for them, It’s probably a good time to sell. A very good time.”

So I sold them. He didn’t half do me a favour. See about a day after that they were worth three bangers and a balloon. No, any time I had dealings with him, he was very fair. I have good memories of Fergus McCann. Hey, he wasn’t universally liked. People knew he had a lot of money and they wanted him to puts lots in, but that was never the template of the plan.

And what about his parting shot? When he left, someone asked him what he would miss about Glasgow and Scotland. He looked the guy straight in the guy and said: “I’m gonna miss all the free advice!” Just brilliant!

The Green Brigade may have hastened Neil Lennon’s departure from Celtic Park.

BY ANDY RITCHIE

CELTIC’S 6-1 defeat by Barcelona was an embarrassment and it may also turn out to be the moment when Neil Lennon decided that it’s time to move on.

Lennon’s stock was never higher than it was 12 months ago when Celtic progressed through to the last 16 of the Champions League.

That would have been the ideal time for him to have actively sought a job in the Premiership and I don’t know whether he chose to remain at Celtic or there were no managerial offers forthcoming.

But one thing’s for sure, his stock is not nearly so high a year on. Celtic’s results in Europe have been disappointing to say the least and that will have impacted on Lennon’s chances of landing a job in England.

It used to be that simply being manager of Celtic and Rangers was sufficient to guarantee you a job down south if you made it known you wanted one. Not anymore.

But there’s nothing to keep him at Celtic that I can see. He punched well above his weight last season as far as Europe was concerned but this campaign has been a huge let down not even qualifying for the Europa League.

And if he has any sense – and I believe he does – he will seek pastures new over the coming months.

It’s clear that the sort of money required to achieve a level of success in Europe isn’t going to be forthcoming from Peter Lawwell and Lennon understands that he needs a different type of player for Europe, and they cost big bucks.

He lost three players at the end of last season and tried to replace them with something like seven others who proved to be less than effective in the Champions League and maybe even the SPFL as well.

So, I think he’ll be saying to himself that he has probably gone as far as he can at Celtic Park and as the situation stands in Scottish football, the Premiership is a bigger deal, even at the clubs lower down.

If you have genuine ambition you must want to test yourself by flexing your muscles in the Premiership, and that applies to managers as well as players.

I suspect the Norwich job will become available soon although I hear that Malky Mackay is in line to take over there, and, if so, there will be a vacancy at Cardiff, while there may also be an eventual opening at West Ham.

It’s getting to that time of year when chairmen and owners start becoming increasingly twitchy, as we saw in the case of Fulham, so there will definitely be opportunities.

It all depends on how much Lennon wants to test himself at Premiership level. If, as I suspect, he does, then he’ll let it be known in the right circles.

Meanwhile, the so-called Green Brigade isn’t doing Celtic, or Scottish football for that matter, any favours.

They have caused mayhem in recent weeks and while they are clearly a minority of the support, there is a sizeable enough number to cause concern and they appear to be gathering momentum.

I have no idea exactly what their agenda is or what they are trying to achieve. Maybe if they declared their aims something could be done to tackle the problem before it gets completely out of hand.

The situation can’t be allowed to continue and if their aim is just purely vandalism then the sooner they are kicked out of football the better.

At £55 an hour for each constable, the SPFL clubs have been examining ways of reducing policing costs for some time now and selective matches have been police-free within the stadium.

By that I mean the stewards have carried out policing duties and taken on responsibility for ejecting unruly spectators and handing them over to officers stationed outside the ground.

I was the SPL delegate at the first ever police-free match, a 2-2 draw between Motherwell and Hibs at Fir Park several years ago, and the hope by now was that the majority of fixtures would be policed by stewards only.

But events at Fir Park have opened a fresh can of worms with the throwing of flares and the ripping out of seats. in addition to various other health and safety issues.

The bampots responsible have effectively set the whole policing issue back years at a time when the clubs are desperately trying to reduce their outgoings.

After all, with all due respect, you are not going to get stewards earning a fifth of what police officers receive risking serious injury trying to deal with the thugs who are hell bent on causing maximum damage and disruption to the game they profess to be fans of.

The Green Brigade may also have hastened Neil Lennon’s departure from Celtic Park.