Ibrox fans only have themselves to blame for the Celtic Park arrangements.

Yesterday, there was an article in the Celtic Star from “Just An Ordinary Bhoy” about how it was the seventh anniversary of what they call Beautiful Sunday.

Now, I remember Beautiful Sunday being another game, but it’s cool because I get the point they’re making.

That particular Beautiful Sunday—I remember it like it was yesterday. And I remember the moment, as clear in my head as if it had just happened in front of me. When Odsonne Édouard got the ball, did his little cut inside, and hit that swerving shot past the Ibrox goalkeeper and into the net, the 7,000 fans behind the goal went absolutely crazy.

I’ve got to admit, I went a little crazy myself that day.

That was a sublime moment. A moment I still believe was Rodgers’ crowning achievement as Celtic manager because he had made a very unexpected change with the game poised and Celtic down to ten men, having lost Jozo Šimunovic. Rodgers’ response—to bring on a striker late in the game—was sensational. And, boy, did it pay off.

That whole game was weird. They took the lead after just a couple of minutes through Josh Windass. We got back into the game thanks to Tom Rogic. They went back in front through Daniel Candeias.

Then Scott Brown’s sublime pass—almost the length of the pitch—found Moussa Dembélé, and his finish was as ice-cold as anything The Executioner ever scored. But it was in that second half that things went really nuts, and Rodgers showed why, even then, we all knew he was an elite-level boss.

The victory that day was especially sweet because of the circumstances.
And it’s ironic to be looking back on it now, in light of what’s about to happen at Celtic Park this weekend. There will be 2,400 of their fans in the ground—the first time we’ve had them in for a while.

Already, online, there are Ibrox fan complaints from their supporters about the way they’re being treated before the game even kicks off. They’re to be herded and taken to the ground as a group, which means they have to meet two hours before kick-off or risk not getting in at all.

I find it amazing that they’re complaining about this.

For a start, our fans get treated almost the same way when we go to their ground—on the rare occasions we’re even allowed in. You wouldn’t believe that, seven years ago yesterday, there were 7,000 of our supporters in that stadium. You wouldn’t believe, looking back on that, that such a thing was even possible. But it was.

And that day was the day it changed. That was the day they spat the dummy so far out of the pram that we’ve never been able to put it back in. 7,000 Celtic fans celebrating on their patch.

It wasn’t the first time we’d raucously celebrated under Brendan inside their ground, having absolutely brutalised them there the year before. In that game, we came back with ten men after being behind twice and still won. They were at the end of their tether. They started lobbying their club for an allocation cut.

They didn’t want to see 7,000 of our fans celebrating inside their ground anymore.

And that petulant stunt, that act of bruised ego, had enormous consequences—mostly for them. Because it hasn’t stopped the Celtic juggernaut. It hasn’t prevented us from lording it over them at every turn. It hasn’t stopped their misery.

The one season they managed to win a championship in that time? It was the season where there were no fans of any description in any ground, anywhere in the country. A major contributing factor as to why they won it in the first place.

They are such a petty little club, with such a petty support. There were other ways they could have handled that humiliation. They could have gotten better as a club. They could have improved as a team.

But their solution wasn’t to raise their own standards—it was to ban our supporters.

About as futile and stupid a gesture as you’ll ever see. We’ve gone there and won a couple of times in front of not a single one of our own fans. We’ve also won games in front of the handful they allowed.

And then there’s the collateral damage, radiating out from the argument they caused with us, now impacting how other clubs treat their supporters—and ours. So yes, that day changed everything. It really was an anniversary worth considering and commemorating. Not just for the brilliance of our performance, Brendan’s tactics, or Édouard’s moment of magic—where he announced himself as a major talent, a guy we would pay a record sum of money for the following season.

That day led to one of the most unnecessary, stupid, and self-defeating decisions we’ve ever seen in Scottish football. In their bitterness, jealousy, and frustration, they did something monumentally dumb.

And having locked themselves into that position, they don’t want to roll it back—even though almost every major commentator believes the fixture was better when it was played in front of big home and away crowds.

Now, my own feelings on this are pretty clear. I don’t care if I never set foot in Ibrox again, and I’d just as soon not have their supporters polluting our stadium with their bile, their bigotry, and their hate.

But I can’t pretend I don’t find their behaviour extraordinarily selfish and short-sighted.

So, if you’re one of those 2,400 supporters of theirs—because I know some of them do read this blog—who’s going to have to turn up at Celtic Park on Sunday, two hours before kick-off, to be taken into the ground before a single one of our fans is even there, and you want to complain about it and moan about it…

Take a moment to think properly about it. Take a moment to think about 11 March 2018, and the reaction of your own fans to that day.

Because if you’re feeling miserable, if you’re feeling put upon, it was your own supporters who caused it.

Because they still can’t take getting beat.

Even though they should be used to it by now.

Photo by Craig Williamson/SNS Group via Getty Images

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