Celtic fans believed in 79, 86, 98 and 2008. That’s why we believe right now.

Some Celtic wins stay with you because of the football. Others stay because of how they made you feel.

I have spoken to several fans who have been following the club for years in the hope of getting a sense of what previous title triumphs of the sort we’re chasing here have felt like. Four come up over and over again; 1979, 1986, 1998 and 2008.

They have something on common; they were all won on the last day.

That doesn’t mean this one will be … but it could.

Older supporters never tell the story of 1979 as a match report. They tell it like something they survived.

They talk about Celtic Park that day as if it were a pressure cooker. Seventy thousand people, nerves crackling, everyone knowing the league would be decided there and then. No safety net. No second chance. Just ninety minutes to settle everything.

The story always begins the same way.

“We were two down. And then the man was sent off.”

That is the moment the memory fixes itself. Two goals behind. Down to ten men. Against the Ibrox club. Most people assumed it was finished.

Then the tone changes.

They talk about the shift. The surge. The feeling that something had turned, that Celtic had decided they weren’t losing this, no matter what the numbers said.

The goals come back to them quickly. Burns. McGarvey. McCluskey. The noise getting louder, the belief growing with every minute.

And then the part they always linger on.

The fourth goal. The stands emptying. Supporters running onto the pitch. Hampden disappearing under a sea of green and white.

For those who were there, the phrase was not invented later. It came naturally, almost immediately.

Ten men won the league.

When older fans say it, they do not mean the numbers. They mean the feeling.

That Celtic, when pushed to the edge, find something extra that other teams do not.

For many supporters, 3 May 1986 sits in the same emotional space.

It was traumatic for Hearts, unbelievably exhilarating for Celtic and, for fans, it remains one of those moments where disbelief, joy and a wee bit of mischief all come together. Hearts have never truly recovered from that day, and there is something quietly poetic in the idea that Celtic can still remind them of it decades later … even better knowing that on the 40th anniversary of it that we can do it all over again.

Back then, Celtic travelled to Love Street on the last day knowing the odds were not in our favour.

Hearts needed only a draw elsewhere to secure their first title since 1960.

Most supporters were not calculating permutations. You hoped as you watched. You listened for score updates. Above all, you believed. That has always been part of supporting Celtic. Even when logic says otherwise, something in you refuses to switch off hope.

The older fans I’ve spoken to still talk about that afternoon with a stunned smile. Radios pressed to ears. Nerves through the roof. Then the swing of fortune that delivered the title.

It was not just the league that mattered. It was the way it arrived. Late. Dramatic. Improbable. Those are the championships that stay with you because they are earned through emotion as much as football.

Final days can be cruel. They can also be unforgettable.

If 1979 is remembered as chaos and comeback, 1998 is remembered as tension you could barely breathe through.

Ask anyone who was there and they will tell you the same thing. Parkhead did not feel like a football ground that day. It felt like a city holding its breath.

The phrase older fans use most is simple.

“You couldn’t enjoy it.”

There was too much at stake. This was not just a title. This was history on the line. If Celtic failed, the Ibrox club would win ten in a row. That pressure hung over every pass, every tackle, every minute on the clock.

People talk about how quiet it felt at times. Not silent, but anxious.

Supporters watching the game but also watching each other, waiting for someone else to believe first.

Even after Henrik had given Celtic the lead, people say the atmosphere was tense.

Then Harald Brattbakk scored.

Fans remember the explosion of noise, but they also remember what came after. Nobody relaxed. Nobody celebrated properly. Everyone kept looking at the clock, counting the minutes, waiting for the referee to end it.

Only when the final whistle went did the emotion really break.

The relief was overwhelming. Not just joy. Relief. People crying. Strangers hugging. A sense that something heavy had finally been lifted.

When supporters talk about that day now, they rarely start with the football.

They start with the feeling.

“We stopped the Ten.”

And the way they say it, you can still hear the tension leaving the stadium.

On Helicopter Sunday in 2005, when we lost the title in the closing minutes at Fir Park. It was another reminder of how quickly pressure can change everything, especially in Glasgow, where every result carries weight.

By the time the 2008 run-in arrived, every Celtic fan understood what those final weeks can do to your nerves.

That 2008 title-deciding victory over Dundee United was incredible for fans who were there to remember it. Watching Celtic grind it out under massive pressure was not pretty, but it was pure emotion. Nerves, belief and that familiar sense that this club somehow finds a way when it really matters.

Going into the last day that year, the equation looked simple. Beat Dundee United and the title was ours. Having spoken to fans who remember it well, nothing about it felt simple.

Rangers had been ahead not long before. But their European run resulted in a build up of fixtures they could not handle. Even before that build up they’d been rocky, and a Celtic side which had been wildly inconsistent had started to get it together. Momentum had shifted. The pressure was relentless and every supporter knew how easily these situations can turn.

Tannadice felt tense from the first whistle. Dundee United were not rolling over and every misplaced pass felt huge. Every attack from the home side made hearts race. It was one of those nights where you are not analysing tactics. You are simply surviving each minute.

Then came the moment everyone still sees when they think back to that night; Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink rising to power home the header that put Celtic ahead. Even after the goal, nobody relaxed. Eyes stayed fixed on the clock. Nobody wanted to celebrate too early. That is classic Celtic title tension. Joy always arrives wrapped in nerves.

When the final whistle went, the overwhelming feeling was not just happiness. It was relief. That result secured a third consecutive title and completed one of those comebacks supporters talk about for years. It felt like persistence had paid off.

For those who recall it, that match represents Celtic at their most resilient. Not dazzling. Not dominant. Just refusing to let the opportunity slip. Those are often the sweetest championships because you remember the emotional journey as much as the trophy itself.

That is why these memories still matter.

They shape how we experience every new title race, including the current one involving Celtic, the Ibrox club and Hearts in the 2025/26 season.

There is a familiar tension around it. The pressure. The shifting momentum. The sense that nothing comes easily under the Glasgow spotlight.

Part of me wonders if Scottish football has a habit of repeating its own stories.

If Celtic do go on to lift the title again this season, it will not feel like just another championship. It will echo the resilience of 1986 and the nerve of 2008. It will reinforce something many supporters already believe. Celtic rarely panic and they rarely surrender while a trophy remains within reach.

For fans, myself included, that sense of continuity is powerful. You do not watch the present in isolation. You watch it through layers of memory, even when the memory isn’t yours. Celtic Park. Love Street. Tannadice. Big moments. Huge goals. Last-day nerves.

All of it shapes how today feels.

That is why the possibility of another title, especially with Hearts and the Ibrox club involved again, carries emotional weight beyond the table. It is about history, bragging rights and that unmistakable Celtic trait of turning pressure into triumph.

Maybe that is sentiment. Maybe it is football romance.

However, if Celtic finish champions again, many of us will look back not only at this season, but straight to those unforgettable past glories where belief, drama and a little bit of fortune combined to show exactly what this club is about.

Because supporting Celtic is never just about the football.

It is about living those moments, again and again.