Celtic fans feel disconnected and the man in Ireland is to blame.

Celtic’s principal shareholder has faced renewed scrutiny from supporters over a growing disconnect between the board’s decisions and fan expectations, particularly around communication, ambition and the club’s future direction.

At present, there’s still no real sign of cooperation with the manager, and communication with supporters is practically at a standstill. The Celtic board, Desmond and Nicholson — I’ll repeat it once more — treat us like wee beasties they can trample on.

That’s disgusting. That’s ridiculous.

Dermot Desmond and the board. Here we go again.

If you’ve read my work lately, you’ll know that I usually write pieces analysing where we are without getting overly emotional. Today, however, I’m going to be direct.

I’m angry.

I’ve written a number of articles about these clowns, and I’ve never stopped dragging them through the mud because, in a strange way, it brings a hard-to-describe satisfaction.

Today, though, I want to focus on the biggest problem of all — Dermot Desmond, and how he is depriving Celtic of proper improvement.

Peter Lawwell and Paul Tisdale stepped down a couple of weeks ago, and those departures were cause for proper celebration.

I even had a couple of whiskies to mark the occasion.

Fine, they’re gone. But what about the other two? What about Desmond and Nicholson? Why are they still there?

As long as they remain at Paradise, it feels as though we can’t take a breath, and Celtic have no real chance to reset properly.

These men put financial stability above dominance.

Dermot Desmond may be a so-called “serious businessman”, but a serious businessman values development, reputation, growth and ambition.

That’s what defines serious leadership.

Yet Desmond is criticised by many supporters as lacking ambition, lacking vision, lacking a new strategy and any meaningful sense of progression. Celtic badly need help. Can he not see it? Or does he simply refuse to?

What frustrates supporters even more is the sense of absence.

Yes, he may appear at Celtic Park, but the engagement feels distant, as if finances matter more than football direction. A serious businessman should also be a serious custodian of what he owns.

Desmond is often described as an “absentee landlord”; detached, insulated, operating at a distance. It creates the impression that Celtic are pieces on a board, while real decisions happen far away from the emotional heartbeat of the club.

And when leadership feels remote, frustration grows.

If he were British and not Irish, I know where he’d fit right in — Westminster and the Lords, surrounded by his own circle.

The board operate with outdated policies, as if football hasn’t evolved, as if modern strategy, innovation and supporter engagement are optional extras.

At times, it feels like they genuinely believe everything is fine.

It isn’t.

Things are stagnating, and the board carry responsibility for that perception.

Communication is another major fault line.

Many fans feel ignored. Disregarded. As if their voice carries no weight. That disconnect fuels resentment far more than any single result ever could.

Then there are the transfer windows.

Why does each one feel reactive rather than strategic? Why do negotiations drag? Why do bids appear cautious to the point of self-sabotage?

Supporters repeatedly argue that underwhelming windows have cost Celtic valuable opportunities in Europe. Whether that perception is entirely fair or not, it persists — and in football, perception quickly becomes reality.

Boardroom developments have only deepened the unease.

The resignation of Brendan Rodgers, following poor results and reports of a toxic atmosphere, exposed deeper structural tensions between management and the board.

When a manager leaves under those circumstances, the questions naturally extend beyond the dugout.

Despite the criticism, some figures — including former manager Neil Lennon — have defended the board, arguing that they act for the long-term benefit of the club.

I struggle to see that.

What benefit? At times, they appear more motivated by their own priorities than by the needs of the club.

Let me be clear: I understand what Desmond represents financially. I’m not naïve about that.

What frustrates me is the invisible authority that seems to hover over everything, yet rarely steps forward when things go wrong.

When Celtic stumble, when strategy collapses, when recruitment fails, when seasons drift — who answers?

Not in polished AGM language. Not in carefully managed statements.

Properly answers.

Too often, the board appear to operate in a sealed environment, insulated from the emotional reality of the support.

Decisions feel slow. Reactive. Occasionally detached from what seems obvious to those watching week after week.

And through that silence runs the sense that the real power never truly changes hands.

I think back to periods when complacency crept in. When warning signs were visible long before action came. When investment lagged behind ambition. When European campaigns felt like participation rather than progression.

The feeling remains that caution became a philosophy.

Financial prudence is one thing.

Chronic risk aversion is another.

Celtic are not a fragile club fighting for survival.

We are an institution built on boldness. On purpose. On defiance.

Yet too often the boardroom energy feels timid, as if protecting the balance sheet matters more than maximising the club’s potential.

And that tension never really goes away.

Why does ambition feel capped? Why does movement only come when pressure becomes unbearable? Why does everything feel reactive rather than visionary?

Supporters are not asking for recklessness.

We’re asking for leadership that matches the scale of the club.

We’re asking for accountability that feels real.

We’re asking decision-makers to own the consequences of their decisions.

Instead, what we often see is distance.

There is a growing gap between terrace emotion and boardroom calculation. Supporters live every match with their nerves exposed. The board appear to operate on quarterly logic.

When those worlds don’t align, frustration spills over.

What unsettles me most is the sense of permanence.

No matter how loud the dissatisfaction becomes, the structure remains untouched. As if criticism fades before it ever reaches the top floor.

Why are they still there?

Because ownership structures protect them.

Because strong financial results soften footballing failures.

Because modern football shields executives far more effectively than it shields managers.

But here is the uncomfortable truth.

Stability without accountability becomes stagnation.

I don’t want chaos.

I don’t want reckless spending. I don’t want fantasy.

I want a board that feels as emotionally invested as the support.

I want strategic clarity that goes beyond domestic survival.

I want European ambition that feels deliberate, not accidental.

Most of all, I want transparency — not corporate opacity.

Until the board understand that, until they recognise that supporters are not just customers but custodians, this tension will remain.

This frustration will simmer.

This sense of something missing will persist.

Celtic are too big, too historic and too emotionally significant to drift on cautious autopilot.

That’s why the questions won’t stop.

And that’s why they shouldn’t.

In the end, this isn’t about personal grudges or outrage.

It’s about standards.

It’s about what Celtic should represent, and whether the people at the top truly reflect that responsibility.

When I look at Dermot Desmond and the board, I don’t see cartoon villains.

I see power without enough accountability.

I see caution presented as strategy.

I see a structure that survives criticism rather than learning from it.

And that’s what concerns me.

If their motives were openly hostile, that would almost be easier to understand.

But they aren’t.

And that’s why it’s so hard to understand why they don’t see the club the way supporters do.

Celtic were built on courage. On vision.

I don’t want recklessness.

I want leadership that feels present, visible and answerable.

Because this club is not a quiet asset in a portfolio.

It’s not a brand experiment.

It’s living history. It’s emotion. It’s inheritance.

Until the board operate with the same urgency and ambition that the support live with every week, these questions won’t fade.

They shouldn’t fade.

Not at Celtic.