European Dreams. We once had them. Remember? That mild September when we danced to Mike and the Mechanics in the early autumn glow? Remember? Surely?
They were the living years. Failing to win a game. Taking crumbs of comfort from behind the couch cushions, wondering who had bought Tesco white chocolate cookies when they weren’t reduced. We are not made of money and that is the single point of failure we are told.
We ran Real Madrid close for 65 minutes. We’ve heard it said numerous times. Those who say it seem to forget that we drew 3 each with Man City in the same competition under Brendan. That’s running a team close. Giving them a fright. Moussa the bully. Not a 3 nil defeat.
More crumbs of comfort that we were a Mudryk away from Europa League qualification. That’s where the pringles went. Salt and vinegar, £80m strikers looking lost at Stamford Bridge, Feyenoord hammering Donetsk, for old times’ sake then losing to Jose’s jobby-hawking Roma, for old times’ sake. Korma Tan Derek McInnes moaning for old times’ sake. Old Celtic manager getting his Harry Potters in England for old times’ sake.
Us not in European knock out competition, for old times’ sake.
Celtic Park in the April cold. No flood lights required. Only seen once in the last twenty years. Jealousy, jealousy of West Ham Blowing Bubbles, in another European semi-final. Their list of opponents looks like the Monday morning breach of the peace roll call at a court near you.
David Moyes. European expert, eh? Remember that photoshop of David Moyes when he looked like that ugliest troll in that film of ugly trolls called Trolls the Trolls 2 (there was never any need for a sequel.)?
That won Twitter for a few days. That was fun. Remember when Moyes brought his team of night club bouncers to Celtic Park and tonked us until we squealed STOP STOP STOP nearly two years ago? The day Barkas truly forgot how to play in goals and dreamed the dream of being Greg Taylor.
That was horrific. Angelos Postecoglou is gone by Christmas, they said after that. But now, if we played West Ham, I’m thinking in this spring sunshine, shorts weather in the sun, full parka jacket in the shade, that we could be dreaming of a final just like AZ will be. Just like Gent were until the other night. I fear no foe that West Ham have faced. I wouldn’t even fear the foes that are Basel and Fiorentina in the other semi-final.
I’m dreaming about this on a Friday lunchtime writing this. Working out how getting to the conference league is possible without completely embarrassing yourself on the way there.
But we wouldn’t be embarrassing ourselves at this point if we were in it, in that LAST FOUR, looking out passports, putting holidays, planning on being sick in mid-May. It’s an oxy-moron competition.
One you never want to be in but feel you will enjoy it when you are there. The Benidorm of European Trophies. Everyone needs a wee weekend in the ‘Dorm don’t they? Sun on your back, cheap lager and full English breakfasts.
Stuff you, all-inclusive must wear long trousers to the fine dining restaurant resorts (Champions League). Stuff you, the beach clubs and seventy quid bottles of prosecco, served by failed Love Island contestants to the soundtrack of EDM and Essex accents (Europa League).
I want food poisoning in flip-flops. Leave your pretensions at the door. Hey there you with the sad face, come up to my place and live it up we would be shouting at Manchester United and Barcelona. We don’t care about the Scottish Cup we would be shouting at Falkirk!
You know we would.
Post Motherwell
THE DREAMS WE HAVE AS CHILDREN FADE AWAY.
The dreams we have on Friday lunchtime fade away. Winning European trophies at the back of one pm on a Friday to despair at 5pm the next day. Drawing with Motherwell. At Home. Call the cops. That was terrible. No need for wild takes though. No need to chuck the rubber duck out with the bath Iwata. Or the Haksa out with the Vata. We are allowed to have a bad game now and again especially after winning seventeen games in a row.
I couldn’t tell you who Motherwell’s manager is. As that sort of detail doesn’t matter to me. He will be sacked by this time next year anyway. As the Scottish game is full of cowards. Yellow bellied weasels who see failure as success. Wee man syndrome. The I won the fight cause I burst the other guys knuckles and got his trainers covered in blood mentality.
In saying that, we deserved what we got. We weren’t good enough on the day. C’est la vie. Mummy always wants to invite this Celtic team for tea. Better than The Invincibles I was asked? Still to be decided once all the cards have been dealt. Hopefully, that’s the bad one out of the cistern.
Need to tell Falkirk we do care about the Scottish Cup now.
Post Barry Robson
That was a great and valuable point yesterday, hard fought and won when not at our best. Up The Champions.
As I said, wait until all the cards are dealt before making your mind.
Kevin Graham
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