As Tik-Tok-Todd slinks out of Ibrox, Sutton has one last laugh at his expense.

The old adage goes, “He who laughs last, laughs longest,” and we are seeing a sterling example of it tonight as Chris Sutton laughs “TikTok Todd” all the way out the door.

There are always managers and players who fall out with members of the press. Rodgers has done it on umpteen occasions. In fact, Rodgers has a particular contempt for certain people in the Scottish media and has made it abundantly clear to them, which is why they don’t show up for press conferences or bother to annoy him.

But you can only take such a high-handed approach if you can carry it off, because there’s no point picking battles with the Fourth Estate that you can’t win. A lot of these guys have long memories; they buy ink by the proverbial barrel, and when they come at you, it’s with poison pens. Sutton has stints on the radio, he’s frequently on television, and he writes a column for a national newspaper. He also makes a living on the after-hours speaking circuit, making guest appearances at various functions, and taking questions from the audience. In short, this is a man very capable and very confident in expressing his opinion and arguing his case.

It is hard to think of a stupider person to pick a fight with, even if you come to battle with all your guns loaded. It’s still an uphill fight against a guy who has various means to go after you and all the time in the world to wage that war whilst you’re busy trying to pull your football career together. And you can’t look at “TikTok Todd” Cantwell and think that this is a guy who should be in that fight in the first place.

He is the very opposite of someone with all his guns loaded. He’s the kind of person who will bring a proverbial knife to a gunfight. Only a select few players—very, very good players—can get away with fighting with a broadcast journalist of such impish energy and a big microphone. And let’s be honest here, he is not one of the very, very, very good players.

Right from the moment that he opened his mouth against Sutton and started to criticise him, it’s been obvious that there was only going to be one winner. Sutton’s earliest riposte was when he pointed out that, in a crucial match against us, Cantwell postured a lot, preened a lot, and wandered around the pitch a lot. But his only meaningful contribution was stealing a water bottle from Reo Hatate. Or as Sutton put it, “Not the ball from a Celtic midfielder, but a water bottle”—one of the most devastating slaps-down anyone in the media delivered last season.

Every chance Sutton has had, he’s taken another shot, another dig. Every time Cantwell has a bad game, the first person in the media to get on his case is Big Chris.

And of course, that was always going to happen. He set himself up for it. He doesn’t have the consistency, the skill, or the self-discipline to control that narrative or win that battle, or even put up a decent fight.

Since he opened his mouth, I can’t remember a single good performance where he made Sutton eat his words, where he made his point on the pitch where it matters.

Instead, he’s been a petulant brat inside his own club, turning in half-hearted performances only when he could be bothered. And now, in spite of all his self-love and belief in his own hype, he’s about to leave Ibrox for a nominal fee to England’s second tier.

Sutton is gloating. Of course, Sutton is gloating. I would be gloating in Sutton’s shoes because everyone knows he’s won this. This battle is over. This battle never really got started, if I’m being honest, because Sutton has been bitch-slapping him all over the place for a long time.

Cantwell might think he’s gotten away from it, but just because he’s no longer in Scotland and just because he’s no longer at Ibrox, that doesn’t mean Sutton’s going to give this up. I wouldn’t put money on that. Sutton will be watching wherever he lands, whatever he does or doesn’t do from now until the end of his career. Sutton will be waiting to pounce.

Sutton, like Cantwell, was a Norwich City boy, and it’s fair to say that there was an element of what Sutton said to him which was actually for his own good and for the good of his career. One Norwich boy to another, saying, “Screw your head on, try to be the best footballer you can be, and leave all that other stuff aside.”

Even tonight’s little dig at him is couched in friendly terms: “I bet Callum McGregor is breathing a big sigh of relief this evening… good luck to Todd, he needs to start doing his talking on the pitch. He’s gone to a great club.”

But right from the start, Cantwell took it personally and, worse, he made it personal. He attacked Sutton on a personal level, and that was the stupidest possible thing he could have done. That’s why the big man won’t just let this drop simply because Cantwell is no longer playing in Scotland.

We’ll miss him up here: his peevishness, his whining, his whinging, his attention-seeking, his drum-banging, and his triumphalism after meaningless victories, and his shrinking into himself on the pitch during big, significant games.

It’s fair to say Scottish football will not be the same without him.

He was not a great player. He was not the superstar he seems to believe he is.

And he may have momentarily impressed some of the younger ladies who follow the Ibrox club with his fancy hair, nice dress sense, and whatever else it is that young girls go for. But those who pay to watch football were less than impressed. And although some of them remained fanboys long after that was sensible, most are just glad to see the back of him.

I don’t wish him well, but I don’t particularly care whether he does well or not. Like most other Ibrox players of his generation, of his time, of this moment, he wasn’t even an irritant. He was something to mock and belittle and laugh at, just like all the rest. And that may be the biggest statement you can make about “TikTok Todd” Cantwell on the day he departs Ibrox for the last time: the only people who’ll miss you are Celtic fans who enjoyed a good laugh.