Rodgers was at his best yesterday. Coldly ruthless and utterly in command.

Yesterday, we witnessed Brendan Rodgers deliver an incredible press conference performance. Incredible. And I don’t use that word lightly. He was tremendous—not just in what he said about our club, but especially in what he said about the man across the city. It was a demolition job. Nothing else describes it.

It’s the way it was done that impressed me most. He managed to take apart Philippe Clement in the most vicious manner imaginable, all while expressing his compassion and respect for his rival. Rodgers painted a contrasting picture for opposition fans that was absolutely devastating. He spelled out, in no uncertain terms, how he runs the show at Celtic and how he would never allow anyone from sports science or elsewhere to dictate his team selections or his footballing philosophy.

And even as Rodgers was saying this, Clement was backtracking on his own public comments about how sports science plays a decisive role in his player selection. The contrast is phenomenal. We have one man who is totally sure of himself and what he’s doing and another who is stumbling and staggering towards disaster.

Rodgers delivered a masterclass in psychological warfare.

“It’s like any sector of my club,” Rodgers said, with the faintest emphasis on “my.” “Whether it’s coaching, whether it’s medicine, whether it’s sports science, whether it’s our welfare team—I’m always there to listen. Ultimately, you make the judgment as a manager. That’s what you get paid for. You get paid as a manager to listen to opinions. But ultimately, the beauty of being a coach and leader is that you decide.”

And we’ve all said this, haven’t we?

It’s crazy what Clement has allowed over there. He’s ceded control of so many areas of his team to so many people who have no business being involved. He’s bowed to his dressing room on player selection. He’s bowed to his boardroom. At the weekend, I think he even gave in to the fans who’ve been demanding to see Oscar Cortés in the side. Rodgers wanted to highlight the contrast as clearly as he could.

He also had a dig at Keith Jackson, which broke up the room.

The other journalists know how ridiculous Jackson is and how absurd his assertions can be. When Rodgers delivered his snark about a “mini slump,” it brought the house down. That’s a man in complete command of the room—of every room—and who isn’t afraid to jab at his critics. And why should he be?

Rodgers is at the peak of his powers right now. 2024 was an unreserved triumph for him. His critics aren’t just silenced, they are cowed. He sits atop the Scottish game like a feudal lord, ruling his territory with the proverbial iron hand in the velvet glove. That’s what came across yesterday most of all.

A few years ago, I watched an interview with a US military officer who commanded an artillery regiment in Iraq or Afghanistan, around the time drone technology became routine. Modern artillery, guided by live drone footage, is incredibly lethal. He described ordering a strike that obliterated a division-level command post, in shock tones as if the hand of God had come down and swept it away.

The look on his face stuck with me: a mix of shock, awe, and partial disgust at what he had unleashed. Then, just as quickly, he regained his composure and calmly said something about doing what’s necessary to win.

I thought about that officer yesterday as I watched Rodgers speak about his sympathy for Clement as a fellow manager before pivoting to how he wants to beat him and his team. For all of Rodgers’ talk of compassion—and I believe he means every word—he knew exactly what he was doing at every stage yesterday.

By contrasting his own control with Clement’s apparent lack of it, he painted himself as the master and Clement as a puppet. It was incredibly ruthless.

“I have empathy for every manager and coach,” Rodgers said. “Until the curtains go back and the spotlight is on you, you can never imagine what it feels like. People can sit so close to you and be there, but until you’re charged with leading a team and club, you’ll never truly grasp it. So, for every manager, I have real empathy.”

Rodgers is a nice guy. He doesn’t want to see a fellow manager sacked or be the reason Clement falls into an even deeper crisis. But while he may have sympathy for Clement on a human level, Rodgers is paid to win games for Celtic. He will not hesitate to plunge the knife in if it means Celtic’s success.

“You want to win every game and perform at your very best,” he said. “I love the occasion; I love the game—it’s an iconic game, and one I always want to win.” Later, he added, “We cannot soften up. We will not soften up. We perform for the next game because we know how much this game means to people.”

Everything Rodgers says exudes class. Everything he says oozes confidence. He doesn’t delude himself as his opposite number does. Clement said yesterday that he believes the fans understand what he’s trying to do and that he has their support. That’s off-the-scale nuts. While Rodgers has the media eating out of his hand, Clement is increasingly viewed as someone disconnected from reality.

And tomorrow, at Ibrox, reality is going to run over him like a tank. And our manager, although a good and compassionate man, will be the one driving it.

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