After the demonisation of Celtic fans, Liverpool is the warning that Glasgow cannot ignore.

Across the continent in the last week, fans have taken to the streets to celebrate. Crystal Palace were the shock winners of the FA Cup and their fans acted accordingly. Napoli partied in the shadow of Mount Vesuvius again, rekindling memories of Maradona. Spurs fans erupted in joy as they finally clinched something meaningful, and Aberdeen supporters gave their side a heartfelt send-off and even though it was at our expense they are entitled to their moment.

There have been flares, flags, mass gatherings, and singing into the small hours. Police monitored the scenes. Local councils worked with organisers. Crucially, nobody was demonised.

No one screamed about “mob behaviour.” No one called for celebrations to be curtailed. The press didn’t wring its hands in horror. And the overwhelming sense was one of civic celebration, not public disorder.

Compare and contrast with how similar scenes have been handled—and spun—here. We all remember how it played out when Celtic fans congregated at the end of our title-winning seasons and this year in particular.

Accusations were flung. The club was reprimanded by proxy. The fans were portrayed as a public menace. There was no credit, no understanding, no nuance—just a wall of condemnation. The double standard, long apparent, now feels brazen.

But then something happened that casts an even darker shadow over this. During Liverpool’s own end-of-season celebrations, a car ploughed into the crowd. Dozens of people are injured. The police have made an arrest. It’s a horrifying incident—and it lays bare the importance of getting this stuff right.

Celebrations are going to happen. That’s a fact of life in football. You cannot legislate joy out of existence. The key is not in suppression, but in preparation. And that’s where the spotlight must now fall—not on the fans, but on the institutions around them.

Because when these things are organised with a little forethought and cooperation, they don’t descend into chaos. When they’re ignored or, worse, deliberately mishandled, they can turn into tragedy.

We don’t know what motivated that guy in Liverpool and it would be wrong to speculate. But he exploited a gap in the security cordon by following an ambulance onto the scene. Was there even a security cordon around our fans?

Was there any measure taken to make them safe? We live in a dangerous time. There are maniacs everywhere out there. We are only kidding ourselves to think that couldn’t happen here, and during the gathering of our fans recently such an individual wouldn’t even have had to try terribly hard to cause carnage.

Celtic are going to win more titles. That’s not arrogance—that’s reality. We’re not going to stop celebrating. That’s also a fact. What needs to change is the tone from the top at the council and elsewhere.

What needs to happen, starting now and not next May, is dialogue. The club and the local authorities must get on the same page about what happens when we lift the trophy again. Because the lesson from Liverpool is stark and immediate: if you don’t prepare, you risk people getting hurt. It doesn’t even have to be something as dramatic as what has happened down south; when you don’t have on-hand medical personnel and police support anything can happen.

We’ve seen, across the world, how public celebrations can spiral when the proper safeguards aren’t in place. It’s not the joy that’s dangerous—it’s the lack of planning. Liverpool’s tragedy was a random act of violence, but one that played out amidst the kind of large, open and largely unmanaged gathering that too many authorities refuse to take seriously until it’s too late.

Liverpool as a city went much further than Glasgow did for us. It wasn’t enough. Everyone at the council, at Celtic and at Police Scotland should be watching those images with a growing sense of disquiet and even a little shame. Everyone involved here wanted to pass the buck to someone else … even our club, which I know worked hard to find a solution, could have done more to facilitate one.

Here’s the kicker: every time Celtic win a trophy, the celebration is not just predictable—it’s inevitable. Pretending it won’t happen, or trying to pretend you can wish it away with statements and stern faces, is sheer fantasy.

All it does is push people into less safe environments, with fewer options for the authorities to coordinate with fan groups or the club.

Other cities don’t do that. And you know what? The media doesn’t demonise fans for doing what fans will do. Look at how the Aberdeen street party was covered; the contrast between that and the way the media has been moon-howling about us is disgusting. Look at the initial footage from Liverpool. Look at the scenes from London. Look at Naples. There were flares. Doubtless there was the odd eejit acting out? Of course. But that’s life. It didn’t descend into anarchy. Because the authorities worked with supporters, not against them.

We need a grown-up conversation here. Not moral panic. Not tabloid scaremongering. Grown men and women working together to ensure that a celebration doesn’t end with a headline like Liverpool’s. Nobody should be in danger because those with the power to make it safer refused to engage.

So here’s the ask—simple, really. Celtic Football Club should be sitting down with Glasgow City Council, the police, and other stakeholders this summer and mapping out what it looks like in advance.

We don’t want to read about a hastily arranged contingency plan the day before a potential title decider. We don’t want politicians sticking their oars in when it’s already too late to do anything productive. We want proper planning. Secure fan zones. Police coordination. Medical cover. And yes, bins and toilets—because these are not scandalous luxuries, they’re basic requirements when you’re expecting tens of thousands of people to show up.

And we want something else—respect. Respect for supporters as stakeholders in the game, not just a crowd to be controlled or judged. We don’t get that in Scotland, certainly not if you wear green and white. We get demonised. We get scapegoated. And when we demand the same treatment other fans get elsewhere, we’re told to behave ourselves—as if joy is an offence.

Let’s be real. Nobody is saying fans should have carte blanche to wreck the city. One set of fans has already done that here in Glasgow, and there wasn’t half the condemnation our fans got for leaving a little litter behind them.

All that’s required is maturity and preparation. These events can be joyous, peaceful, and yes, loud—as long as everyone involved treats them seriously in the right way.

The media here plays a toxic role too. Every flare held by a Celtic supporter is front-page hysteria. Every mass gathering is treated like a riot waiting to happen. Meanwhile, when the same numbers gather across the Clyde or elsewhere, there’s a notable absence of moralising. That has to change. The press must stop fuelling this double standard and start reporting these events as what they are: expressions of community and culture, not criminal conspiracies.

The tragedy in Liverpool is a warning siren that ought to ring in every city in the UK. It says, plainly: you can’t wing this. You can’t lecture people into safety. You have to plan for it. You have to care enough to take it seriously. And if you don’t, bad things happen.

We’ve got nearly a full year to do this right. That’s more than enough time. But the work has to start now, before next season kicks off, before it becomes a mad scramble at the last minute. Because if we go into another title race with no plan for what happens after the final whistle, then we’re not just failing the fans—we’re tempting fate.

The Celtic support deserves better than that. The people of Glasgow deserve better than that. Let’s not wait for a disaster to act.

Let’s show, for once, that Scotland can get this right.