For a couple of days last week, one transfer rumour flared briefly and then faded away like the smell of a fart in a big room.
The story was that Callum McGregor had itchy feet and might depart in this window.
Mark Guidi, repeating “only what he’d heard” – in his dreams maybe – made a pitiful effort to stir the soup and get Celtic fans worrying about losing our prized player.
Callum’s contribution to Celtic cannot be overstated.
He’s one of the lynchpins of this team now, the only guy I considered absolutely indispensable. His departure would have been an enormous – perhaps even fatal – blow to our chances this season.
And it was never likely to happen.
Throughout the last couple of years, Callum has made it clear that Celtic is his club, that he loves being here and that he wants to fight for the team.
There were points last season where he was the only player at Parkhead who’s fury at how things were going occasionally leaked out into the media.
Talking at times about what a shambles we were, in tactics and organisation, you could tell that he was a leader in the dressing room and speaking on behalf of others in the team.
You could also tell that he felt every setback and defeat and took it hard.
He wasn’t happy under Lennon’s coaching.
He didn’t like how amateurish it had become and how poor our planning and our day to day work was.
He seems much happier under Ange and has clearly bought into what the manager is trying to do.
They will have had a long talk about those plans not just for this season but beyond; Callum is clearly making a medium to long term commitment to the club here in accepting this responsibility.
We are lucky to have this guy at Parkhead. We really are.
The club should now open talks with Callum about a new deal, something which recognises and honours his commitment to us and his enhanced role. He has shown the proper level of dedication and loyalty.
We must reward it with the same.
In the meantime, it’s one in the eye for the likes of Guidi, whose efforts to unsettle the player and the club – pitiful though they were – have blown up in their faces.