Ibrox is set to name a chairman “involved in politics.” It’s nothing like Celtic’s men of real substance.

I’ve always loved the phrase “involved in politics.”

It’s a term that allows a lot of leeway—plenty of joining the dots and filling in the blanks. I’ve used the expression for years; I was once “involved in politics” and I often discuss it here. But I’ve never claimed the phrase means more than it sounds.

Involved in politics is a broad and often meaningless term.

I’ve been part of campaigns, worked at national headquarters, and held various offices within the party and the trade unions. Over the years, I’ve moved between tasks—managing phone banks, helping write press releases, and handling a range of functional, behind-the-scenes jobs. I’ve seen campaigns from the inside and know what they look like.

I also ran a politics blog during the independence referendum; one of the most worthwhile things I think I’ve ever done in my life.

A lot of my political knowledge comes from observation, though. It’s about combining what I’ve learned on the inside with studying how other campaigns succeed—or fail. I love to study campaigns. Political obsessives like me examine these things closely. We analyse what works, what doesn’t, and why. That kind of scrutiny is for the geeks, of course.

I haven’t been politically active in the traditional sense for over 20 years, but I stay immersed in politics and campaigning. I read everything I can, study the major players, and examine why their opponents lost. And I’m still learning. I thought Harris would beat Trump, but in hindsight, the reasons Trump won are obvious. Some of those reasons aren’t even discussed by the mainstream media, which often lacks a deep understanding of political processes.

So, when I read this morning that the Ibrox club are about to appoint a former peer as their chairman—and saw the media hyping his supposed political involvement—I found it hilarious. I know what that phrase really means, and in his case it’s not much.

In the UK’s honours system, many people elevated to the House of Lords are there because they wrote substantial cheques to their chosen party. That’s often enough to qualify someone as having been “politically involved.”

Malcolm Offord, reportedly about to become the Ibrox chairman, is being sold to their fans as a former political figure. But anyone familiar with the political system knows that a peerage isn’t necessarily a mark of expertise, insight, or even competence.

Yet the media treats this appointment as significant, and many of their fans will likely buy into it. But as someone who has been politically active, I can say with completely certainty that being “politically involved” is a loaded term which means little without the right experience, skills, or knowledge.

Offord’s peerage came courtesy of Boris Johnson’s scandal-plagued honours list—one of the most controversial in recent history.

That alone should give pause to anyone trying to treat this as a serious endorsement of his credentials. Being one of Boris’ chums should be more damning than anything else; he gave a peerage to a 29 woman who worked with him for a spell. God alone knows what she did to justify that, and maybe we shouldn’t ask.

So I’m not in the least bit impressed by the “political” credentials of the man who they’re about to appoint chairman, not without knowing a lot more about it. What we do know for sure is that he’s nowhere near as credentialed as some of the men who’ve sat on our board and who came from political backgrounds. They are the real deal.

Our club is one that has consistently appointed individuals with genuine political gravitas.

Brian Wilson is one such example. I’ve criticized him frequently on this blog as a sort of empty shirt in the boardroom, but his political credentials are unassailable. He’s held a number of government posts, including Minister of State for Industry and Energy, Minister of State for Africa, and Minister of State for Scotland. These roles had real responsibility and power.

Then there’s Ian Livingston, a former Celtic board member whose 2015 vote to cut working tax credits caused controversy among fans. While his politics are divisive, there’s no denying his political credentials. From 2013 to 2015, Livingston served as Minister of State for Trade and Investment, a prominent government role. This wasn’t just a man who wrote cheques to get his peerage; he was sought after. He was a coup. He was the real deal.

And then there’s John Reid, whose political career is beyond comparison.

From 1987 to 2010, Reid served as an MP. During that time, he held a series of senior government roles, including Secretary of State for Defence, Secretary of State for Health, Secretary of State for Northern Ireland and, Home Secretary. Two of those are amongst the Great Offices of State and he brought every inch of that knowledge to Celtic. His impact at Celtic was profound, bringing a bold, forward-thinking approach that in my view reshaped the club.

He was the first “activist” chairman I’d experienced as a fan; he put us on the front-foot, we got aggressive and more confident in our outlook. It was he who talked about no longer being “at the back of bus”, which was music to the ears of those of us who had always wanted a more militant view at the head of the club … and he fought for us in ways other chairmen hadn’t. Had he been in that role in 2012 the events of that year would have gone very differently and I feel certain that the Ibrox club wouldn’t have known what hit it. Only Fergus would have been more certain to fight tooth and nail to make sure we got the right outcome from that.

In stark contrast, Malcolm Offord’s appointment feels lightweight. His peerage, courtesy of Boris Johnson, carries no real significance beyond its superficial status. Being politically involved, in this case, appears to mean little more than donating money to the Tory party.

This appointment reminds me of Ian Bankier’s tenure as Celtic chairman. Bankier was a competent enough figure, but he was never a game-changer. His credentials were often compared unfavourably to his predecessors, such as John Reid or the former governor of the Bank of England, Brian Quinn. Offord seems to be of a similar ilk—functional but uninspired.

The media will undoubtedly attempt to dress up this appointment as something extraordinary. But writing cheques to a political party and receiving a peerage doesn’t make someone an influential political figure. By comparison, Celtic has had leaders of substance—people with skills, connections, and experience who profoundly benefited the club.

Offord’s role is unlikely to bring anything exceptional. Their fans might buy into the hype, but reality is bound to disappoint. They’re setting themselves up for it.