Neither Celtic nor any other club should be forced to endure this Remembrance Day stuff again.

Yesterday, Celtic supporters made headlines once more as Irish Republican songs filled the air during the Remembrance silence. It was a jarring moment, with the silence cut short—a decision that surprised some, though this was expected.

Year after year, as November rolls around, there’s a predictable wave of scrutiny aimed at the club and its fans over their handling of Remembrance observances. This incident is just the latest chapter in a complex and often contentious relationship with a remembrance tradition that doesn’t always resonate with the backgrounds or values of everyone in the Celtic community.

Celtic remains one of the few clubs that doesn’t display the poppy on its shirts, a stance that’s both praised and criticised. This position reflects not just the club’s identity but also its supporters’ diverse backgrounds, many of whom have roots in Ireland and understandably feel queasy about honouring the British military in the same manner as the rest of the country.

To many, the poppy has a narrow, politicised meaning; to others, it is a voluntary symbol of respect for those lost in conflict. The rightness or wrongness of using a football match to make a statement on this issue is complex, but it’s undeniably a reflection of broader debates over Remembrance’s place in sport.

The Guardian recently ran a thought-provoking article about the poppy’s history in British football, capturing how this symbol, intended for solemn reflection, has instead become something of a litmus test of patriotism.

Particularly over the past decade, the poppy has morphed from an individual act of respect into a public declaration almost universally expected of players, managers, and clubs. The pressure to “do the right thing” and wear it comes largely from right-wing media figures, whose campaigns push the idea that any hesitation or dissent is tantamount to betrayal. What started as a voluntary act has become an annual ritual of judgement, with footballers expected to show their respect in ways that may be at odds with their own histories or beliefs.

For players with strong personal or cultural objections, the decision not to wear the poppy can be a nightmare. James McClean’s name springs to mind immediately. Over the years, he’s endured some of the most vicious treatment in the press and from fans simply because he opted not to wear the poppy. McClean, whose own family has a history tied deeply to Derry and the Troubles, has repeatedly faced insults, boos, and even outright hatred for sticking to his beliefs.

Rather than respecting his personal choice, the media has often portrayed him as ungrateful or disloyal. His story highlights the struggle of many players who feel this enforced loyalty test runs contrary to the sport’s stated ideal of keeping politics out of the game.

That’s the heart of this hypocrisy, isn’t it? Football’s governing bodies are usually adamant about their desire to keep “politics out of sport.” They draw hard lines on displays that they see as divisive, and clubs are frequently fined by UEFA if they’re found crossing these lines.

Yet, when it comes to Remembrance, it seems that certain political displays are not only tolerated but expected, regardless of individual beliefs. Those governing the sport appear to have no qualms about insisting on this annual pageant of poppies and moments of silence, as if to remind everyone where they should stand—politics conveniently set aside.

Ironically, even the Royal British Legion has come forward to say they don’t want the poppy to become a symbol that people feel forced to wear. In their eyes, it should be a matter of personal reflection, not a mandatory show of conformity. And yet, for many, the reality is that the poppy has become a matter of public accountability, one that’s relentlessly policed by those who view any alternative perspective as something akin to treason.

There’s also the moral question of fans choosing to protest these silences.

Some see these acts as deeply disrespectful to the memory of fallen soldiers, while others believe they are justified—an opportunity to highlight the lack of understanding around their cultural and historical backgrounds. In Glasgow, where historical Irish-Catholic links remain part of the city’s identity, the way this stuff is forced on us is viewed as an insult. Should individuals be expected to participate in an act of Remembrance that conflicts with their past and the experiences of their families? To some, the answer is yes—it’s a simple show of respect for lives lost. But to others, it’s an unfair demand to honour an institution they feel has caused direct harm.

Perhaps it’s time to step back and consider if the Annual Poppycock has outlived its place in football. Is it necessary to insist that every player, manager, and fan take part in this collective show, or should Remembrance return to being a private, voluntary gesture?

Would it be so terrible to let players, clubs, and fans choose how they wish to honour—or not honour—the occasion? Perhaps, instead of criticising Celtic, people could consider the question as to whether the time has come to remove this forced display from the sport altogether and let Remembrance find its way back to what it was meant to be: a genuine act of respect, freely given.