Complacency is the killer. That’s why Celtic fans can’t take the good times for granted.

Like a lot of Celtic fans of a certain vintage, I grew up in the 90s—when Rangers were winning everything and we were, to put it mildly, in the wilderness. It was a hard time.

From the moment Joe Miller scored in the 1989 final to the minute Big Pierre got the goal against Airdrie to win the same trophy a horrible number of years later, we won nothing else. The league title stayed firmly out of reach. Ibrox was awash with money, spending like mad, hoovering up talent from everywhere, and for a while they looked unstoppable. That was the world we grew up in, and it shaped us.

There are plenty of Celtic supporters who know all about those days without actually living through them.

They’ve heard the stories, seen the grainy videos on YouTube, maybe even sat through The Spirit of ’67 DVD and wondered how the team that conquered Europe ended up in such a state. Paulina, who was born the year the North Stand opened has no memory of those days at all; she’s reading Stephen O’Donnell’s book about Murray and McCann to properly understand it. She is putting in that effort.

But it’s one thing to know history and another thing to remember it. To have felt the pain of it. To have watched Fergus McCann come out of the shadows and save the club when it was days away from ruin. To have lived through the season at Hampden and the heartbreak of watching Rangers edge ever close to ten in a row … and yes, we stopped it.

They think they know about joyous celebration; believe me, they don’t know that either.

Those of us who did live through it know exactly how hard-won the success we enjoy now really is. We don’t take it for granted. We can’t. It’s burned into us that it can all go wrong—easily—and that the only way to avoid the trapdoor opening beneath our feet is to stay alert, stay focused, and keep fighting like mad to maintain it.

That’s why, when some of us get angry at the board or call out the manager or demand better performances on the park, it’s not because we’re spoiled or entitled. It’s because we remember what it was like when we didn’t have the luxury of expectation. We remember what it felt like when second place was the ceiling and we couldn’t even be sure of that.

You look around Scottish football, and you can see what happens to clubs that lose their edge.

Aberdeen haven’t won a league title since 1985. Hearts, not since 1960. Hibs? 1952. Dundee United? 1983. These are big clubs, historic clubs, each of them with a strong fanbase and a proud past. But a past is all it is for most of them. They’ve spent decades living off old glories.

None of their fans saw it being this way, and nor did the Ibrox fans who were convinced their club was too big to fail. Ask them how that worked out.

The frightening thing is that the decline doesn’t always look like a fall—it can happen slowly, so slowly you barely notice until one day you wake up and realise your club isn’t expected to challenge anymore. It’s just… there.

The Ibrox fans—those who were around back then—felt like we do now.

Their club was dominant. Winning was routine. It was expected. They thought it would never end. And then it did. And when it did, it didn’t just fall off a cliff—it exploded in mid-air. They thought they were unbeatable right up until the day they died. That should serve as a lesson to everyone. Arrogance and complacency are killers.

That’s why Celtic supporters like me are relentless. We push. We question. We demand. Not because we’re ungrateful—but because we are grateful. We’re grateful that we’re no longer where we were.

We’re grateful that the pain of the 90s gave way to the golden years that followed. But we also know that every step forward came at a price, paid in full by fans, players, managers and directors who understood what was at stake. That nothing in this game is guaranteed—not success, not dominance, not even survival.

When I watch Celtic now, I watch a club that is winning, but not always doing so with the kind of hunger and drive that built our modern era. I see a support that’s massive, loyal, passionate—but also sometimes quiet when it should be loud, passive when it should be furious. And I see a boardroom that seems more interested in dividends than in domination.

That’s not how this club stays at the top. That’s how it starts the slow slide back to mediocrity.

It’s the duty of those of us who remember the bad times to make sure nobody inside or outside the club forgets what they were like. We don’t just want Celtic to be the best—we need them to be. Because we know what it looks like when they’re not. We know how quickly the good times can turn bad if people take their eyes off the ball.

We’ve been lucky that, since 2000, Celtic have generally stayed ahead of the game. We have 14 of the last 15 titles. We’ve had quadruple trebles. We’ve played Champions League football. We’ve seen world-class players wear the Hoops. But none of that happened by accident. It happened because people inside the club refused to settle, because the fans refused to let them.

So when someone says “calm down” or “be patient” or “it’s only one bad season” or “one bad transfer window”

I can’t help but bristle. It always starts with one bad season. It always starts with one missed opportunity. One summer of under-investment. One managerial appointment made on the cheap. You don’t fall from the top in a single step—you fall in a dozen small ones that nobody notices until it’s too late.

That’s why the criticism matters. That’s why the questions have to be asked. That’s why the pressure needs to be constant. Because if we ever let up—if we ever just trust that everything will be alright—we’re done. Complacency is the single biggest threat to Celtic’s future. Not the Ibrox club and its so-called “takeover” or revolution or whatever it is they are telling themselves it’ll be; it’s, not VAR, not referees, not UEFA. It’s ourselves.

We’ve fought too hard and come too far to let that happen.

We’re not just supporters—we’re the guardians of this club’s standards.

Every title, every cup, every European night at Parkhead is part of the legacy we’re building—but only if we keep demanding more. That’s the job now. That’s what it means to be a Celtic fan who lived through the lean years. We don’t get to switch off. We don’t get to sit back and enjoy the view. Not when the price of falling asleep at the wheel is everything we’ve built being ripped away.

That might sound dramatic—but it’s also the truth. You only need to look at what happened across the city. Look at the other club fans who’ve looked into the abyss. Of course I’m thinking of Spurs fans, enjoying their success the other night under Ange, but never knowing if there’ll be another.

Look at the Manchester Utd fans for an even greater example; the Europa League would have been small consolation for another calamitous season in the EPL, one of the worst in their history. This afternoon; nothing. Not even a place in Europe for the next campaign.

That’s why we fight. That’s why we slap people down when they suggest mediocrity is acceptable. That’s why we keep pushing even when we’re ahead—especially when we’re ahead. Because we know the cliff edge is never far away, and the only way to avoid it is to keep sprinting in the opposite direction.

Success is wonderful. It’s sweet. It’s worth celebrating. But it’s also fragile. We’ve got it now, but we can’t ever let ourselves believe it’s permanent. It has to be earned over and over again.

That’s the lesson of the 90s. That’s the legacy of the fans who lived through it. And that’s the responsibility of every Celtic supporter who remembers what it was like to be second best.

We never, ever, want to go back there.