Champions Again! Celtic’s “house of cards” stands tall and strong.

Today is history. Today is history, in a very real sense. Today will pass into tomorrow, and the events we’re celebrating now are already behind us.

We should be looking to the future. Because today isn’t just another title—this is the one. The one that, even more than the League Cup final win that put us ahead of their phoney trophy count, truly sets us apart.

Today is history in deeper ways than what the books will record. They say history is written by the winners. And we’re damn well going to make sure future generations know that this wasn’t just a league title—this was domination.

This was the final reckoning. This was the destruction of the most notorious figure in the modern game here. A man who still imagines his legacy will be fondly remembered, or somehow restored.

As I said yesterday, the whole “55” thing is just a number to us.

If it means anything, it’s because our rivals—and one man in particular—tried to give it significance it never deserved. And that backfired.

It reflects our success in a way he never intended. Because yes, today is history. It’s the day we made Dave King and his boasts, his arrogance, his egotism… history. It’s the day we smashed his grand delusion to bits.

Because this was the title that was never supposed to happen. Not if you believed him. Not if you believed the media. Not if you believed the hysterical hype surrounding the only league title the current Ibrox outfit has ever won.

That was “55.” This is four in a row. And they were meant to be heading for 60 by now—not stuck in the mud. So today doesn’t just smash an old myth. It also wrecks their fantasy about the future.

Today isn’t about them. It’s about us. But they never realised that. When King made his infamous House of Cards speech, all he saw was the destruction of Celtic. That title win wasn’t about victory for its own sake—it was about what it would do to us. It was always about Celtic. They never saw their own success in any other way. “It’s broken them,” they chanted. But it didn’t break us.

This title race, though? This broke them.

Whatever emerges from the wreckage across the city—it won’t be the same club. What we’ve destroyed here was King’s Ibrox operation, his vision, his so-called revolution. And like every other one of his delusions, it wasn’t built on truth.

It came from arrogance, from ego, and from a total failure to understand Celtic. A failure to understand our strength. Our power. Our ability to recover—even from wounds we inflict on ourselves.

King’s revolution only happened because of the power of Celtic. This new revolution they think is coming? Same delusion. It’s all about knocking us off the throne. But they’re making the same mistakes King made when he predicted our collapse. They still don’t get how strong we are.

There was never going to be a 56 or 57 or 58 or 59 for them while we faded away. That was fantasy. The “missed opportunity” they think they had after Seville? That opportunity didn’t exist. Because ultimately, today’s triumph isn’t built on Ange Postecoglou or Brendan Rodgers or Neil Lennon or Peter Lawwell. It’s not built on anyone currently at the club.

This success was inevitable.

From the moment Fergus McCann walked through the doors at Celtic Park and started his revolution, it was inevitable. That was the only takeover that matters in Scottish football history. The only one that will echo into the future. Because that was the moment that changed everything. The seeds of every collapse, every calamity across the city—they were sown back then.

From that moment on, Celtic were on the rise. The natural consequence was that we’d eventually reach and surpass whatever title count they had—or claimed to have. That we’d pass them in total honours, regardless of what fake numbers they put out. Fergus McCann changed the game.

This triumph is his, yes. But it’s ours too.

Because while Fergus supplied the plan, we—the fans—supplied the money. Everything you see at Celtic Park was built, in no small part, with your hands. My hands. Your family’s. Your friends’. We don’t have a sugar daddy. We don’t have faceless billionaires. We pay the bills. We buy the tickets. We fund the club.

And that’s why days like this never get old. That’s why trebles never become boring.

Because when you think of the time, the effort, the money, the work, the sheer graft that goes into following this club—this is the payoff. Days like today are why it’s all worth it.

Without us, none of this happens. And because of that, this means more to us than it ever could to a fan of a club with rich owners who bankroll the show. This is ours. We built it. We sustain it. And that’s why it’s built to last. The fundamentals of Celtic are strong. And those fundamentals are exactly why King’s prediction of a collapse—his House of Cards—was always nonsense.

Because our foundation is you. Me. All of us.

That’s what they never understood. As long as we are solid, Celtic is solid. Because we buy the season books. We buy the match tickets. The Champions League packages. The Celtic TV subscriptions. The merchandise. All of it. We power this club. We make Celtic the powerhouse of Scottish football.

And because our foundation is rock solid, because we are rock solid, this house stands strong. King never had a chance. He was building on rot. A decayed foundation he should have known was unsound. One that their fans still don’t realise is crumbling, even as they rip up the floorboards to prepare for the next set of builders. Morons. The same fate awaits anyone who buys that company to pour money into the black hole.

They think they missed an opportunity. They don’t realise that opportunity never existed—because of the strength of Celtic.

So yes, this is “55.” That number they claimed. The number that was supposed to break us. The number that was supposed to destroy us.

And yet—here we are. Here we stand. Already the most successful club in Scotland, bar none—even with their lies counted. And by this time next year? We’ll be on 56. And another of the big lies will be rendered redundant.

That, too, wasn’t supposed to happen.

So celebrate it. Enjoy it. Be proud of it. Proud of it above all else—because we’re not just the supporters of Celtic. We are Celtic. Celtic is us. We built it. We own it. We maintain it. And we keep it strong.

No matter what happens elsewhere, the fundamentals of Celtic are solid. And if we give our full strength, there is nothing—absolutely nothing—they can do to catch us.

Enjoy the day. You, me, and everyone else in this family—we earned it.