Who knew Celtic fans could derive so much pleasure from watching The Village Idiot?

As this season has rolled on and the crisis across the city has deepened, an unexpected source of pleasure has emerged for Celtic fans.

If you’d told me at the start of the season that this would be the case, I’d have laughed and called you a madman. But now, I’m coming to the conclusion that watching The Village Idiot on TV is one of the best forms of entertainment available to us.

How the hell did that happen?

How did this joker go from being the face you least wanted to see on television to someone you now actively look forward to in the aftermath of games? How can it be that the sight of that gurning face—which used to make me want to kick the screen as hard as possible (without actually breaking it)—now fills me with a savage sort of glee?

Last night, I sat and watched the post-match coverage from Dens Park after the hapless club across the city and its stumbling leader had dropped another two points, I tuned in for no other reason than to watch The Village Idiot have a meltdown live on TV.

I wanted to see the fury etched into every feature, to witness a guy come as close to an embolism as possible without actually falling off his chair. I’ve missed some of his earlier meltdowns this season, and I wasn’t going to miss last night’s. Judging by the reaction online, I suspect I wasn’t the only one.

As this season has gone on, The Village Idiot has become increasingly unhinged. He’s angrier with every passing game, especially those disastrous Ibrox away fixtures that Sky always covers. Even after the recent game which we lost he looked like a man waiting for the other shoe to drop.

While he took some fleeting satisfaction from that afternoon, he didn’t look like someone who believed the corner had been turned. He seemed to know exactly what was coming in the next games.

That foreknowledge hasn’t stopped him from losing the rag over the results, and last night was no exception. He lambasted the manager, eviscerated the players, tore into the board, and declared that the fans had had enough. He has certainly had enough. If he wasn’t being paid to attend these games, I don’t think he’d bother.

What makes this especially interesting is that he has become one of the most vocal critics of the current Ibrox operation.

Now, I’m not going to claim he brings any great insight to the table—we are, after all, talking about The Village Idiot here—but he’s not going to let anyone from Ibrox, be it the manager, players, or directors, pull the wool over his eyes. He knows exactly what he’s watching. As a diehard supporter, he won’t be placated with excuses, and he’s made that abundantly clear. He has even accused Philippe Clement outright of doing nothing but making excuses.

So while I take immense satisfaction in watching him suffer through this, there’s also a grudging recognition that, in fact, he sees things more clearly than people like Keith Jackson do. He isn’t afraid to say exactly what’s on his mind, no matter how scathing it might be. As a result, he’s become a real critic—not just of the manager’s failings but also of some of the players and the club itself.

It’s a sort of insight that’s born out of pain, the kind of knowledge you gain from being left disappointed one too many times. He seems unwilling to tolerate further excuses or inaction and instead demands that the problems be tackled and solved.

Of course, he has no actual answers. He doesn’t offer any blueprint for change—it’s far beyond his intellectual capabilities to devise a plan where so many others have tried and failed. Yet, amazingly, he at least sees things with clarity and recognises what needs to be done. The great irony for him, though, is that he has spent so long playing the clown that very few people take anything he says seriously.

Now, don’t get me wrong—if politicians were to pass a law banning him from TV forever, I’d support it. If it went to a public vote, I’d vote for it. The last time I filled out a Sky customer survey, I sent it back with the suggestion that they could instantly improve their service by removing him from our screens for good.

But if we’re stuck with him, then this is exactly how I want to see him—angry, dejected, demoralised, almost broken. Weighted down by grief, regret, envy, and spite. Especially as a plaything for Chris Sutton to mock and poke at like a bear in a cage.

Who knew we could derive so much satisfaction from watching this guy on the telly? But it’s undeniable: right now, we do. It’s one of the unexpected pleasures of this season so far. Watching him melt down has become must-see TV.

Photo by Alan Harvey/SNS Group via Getty Images

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