I almost wish that I didn’t spend last night listening to Hugh Keevins, although I got a decent amount of laughter out of it.
I almost wish I didn’t immediately write a long piece about his performance on Super Scoreboard yesterday.
I finished that piece at around 2 o’clock this morning. It had more mistakes in it than a Keith Jackson special; not big ones but little ones which I tidied up when I got out of bed.
I sincerely hoped it would be the last time I had to write about that muppet for a while, and yet I should have known better. There was a certain grim inevitability about having to write about this clown again this afternoon, and I should have been prepared for it.
I am determined here not to give him longer than I need to because he’s simply not worth my time. But his piece in The Sunday Mail is so deranged and bitchy and foaming at the mouth that I really don’t feel like I have any choice but to cover it before moving on.
Let’s open with his headline, which says he’s figured out what “Celtic DNA” means.
If you’re scratching your head puzzling over what in the Hell he’s talking about, so was I.
But he’s attempting to be clever by suggesting that it means “Do Nothing Away.”
But only in Europe of course, since we’ve already won at Pittodrie, Ibrox and now Livingston.
All I can say is that I hope he has as much success with this as he did last time he suggested a meaning behind the letters when he said Ange meant Absolutely Not Good Enough.
Having actually written that in a previous piece what do you think the first few paragraphs of his article were about?
How brilliant Ange Postecoglou is.
How none of us will watch the Spurs game today because we’re still in mourning about his departure.
(I fully intend to watch it, because I’m a football fan and I enjoy … err … watching football.)
This is the kind of demented cobblers this individual turns out every weekend.
He attacks the new signings. All of them.
“Questionable movement in the transfer market appears to have resulted in the signing of one vanity project after another.” Great that some of these guys have already impressed us and that others are still waiting for the chance to.
He claims that the European campaign is going to “end in farce” in spite of us having played just one game in it, and actually played pretty well in that game in spite of the poison brimming from his words.
He quotes the European record. Of course he does.
The whole piece is laced with his dislike of Rodgers and his irrational hatred of the club he once supported.
Many years back, Keevins contributed an article for a book which was a compilation of stories from Scotland’s sports journalism community. Almost every one of them wrote about a big story they’d broken and how it was done. A handful wrote reminiscence pieces on the great things they’d seen and the great places they’d visited and the fascinating people they’d met.
Hugh Keevins chose to write about the time a big bruiser named Finbar O’Brannigan physically ejected him from The Celtic Club in London Road. That was what stood out for him, looking back. Not a story he broke (I know, I’m laughing just writing that) or anything that would have made an aspiring young journalist want to emulate it.
No, he chose that. He chose to talk about the period when Kenny Dalglish got so disgusted with the media distorting his words and twisting his meaning, after one publication (no prizes for guessing) had actually blatantly lied about something he’d said that he decided to take Celtic press conferences to places where the fans could actually watch them,
Just so that we’d know that what was reported reflected what he actually said.
Keevins was partly responsible for Dalglish making that decision. So when he turned up that day, at The Celtic Club, he was removed from the premises, and told he was barred, and years later that was still so fresh in his mind that when he was asked to write about his time as a sports journalist that was the story he looked back on as the highlight of his career.
The highlight of his career. Getting barred from a pub.
Who amongst you remembers The Numbskulls?
It ran as a comic strip in The Beano for years.
It was about tiny people who live inside your head and it’s those people who control your thoughts and your actions. Their function is to make “their man” live a contented and happy life, but they occasionally make calamitous mistakes and so he does.
I sometimes think there have to be Celtic supporting Numbskulls in Keevins’ head, constantly feeding him bad information, completely wrong assertions and subjecting him to frequent humiliations, because otherwise wouldn’t he just stop making a fool out of himself with the kind of nonsense that comes out of his mouth and his poison pen whenever we’re the subject?
I read and hear him sometimes and wonder if we’re being trolled, but it’s obvious we’re not, that these really are his views … and I wonder then how anybody can be so ignorant and stupid when they’ve spent a career writing about this sport.
Keevins isn’t wholly an idiot, of course, and he is working to what he thinks is a system.
His intent is actually obvious.
We’re back in our happy place again after yesterday, and he is under the mistaken apprehension that if he says something enough times that he can move the needle and change our opinions and get us turning on the manager and the club, but this joker has completely failed to grasp how fundamentally everything in his universe has changed.
That, in fact, is a good subject for later and I’m peeling it away from this piece because by my clock Keevins has had his ten minutes, which is longer than I intended to give him.
(And I spent at least some of it in happy rememberance of the Numbskulls.)
A Kit-Kat and a coffee, that was it, that was what he was worth … his bile soaked opinion can now be ignored for another couple of weeks.
I’ll cover the wider media a little later on.