Celtic don’t scare anyone anymore.

I’ll be honest, and I don’t say this lightly. This Celtic team doesn’t terrify anyone anymore. Not opponents, not pundits, and if we’re being brutally truthful, nobody but ourselves. That’s not just a throwaway line, it’s something you feel when you watch them now, something that lingers long after the final whistle.

And that’s the hardest part to accept, because this isn’t just about results.

This is not even just about performances. It’s about identity. It’s about that deep, emotional connection between a Celtic team and what it represents, and right now that connection feels strained, distant, almost unrecognisable at times.

There was a time, not that long ago, when teams would arrive at Celtic Park already half-beaten, already bracing themselves for what was coming. You could sense it before a ball was even kicked. The noise, the energy, the presence of Celtic overwhelmed teams, swallowed them whole, left them chasing shadows.

Celtic didn’t just win games, we imposed ourselves. We dictated every inch of the pitch and suffocated teams until they broke, and when they broke, we didn’t stop. We kept going.

Now teams come with a plan that is not damage limitation, which was the best most of them dared to hope for in times past. Worse than that, they come believing that plan will work. They step onto the pitch not with fear in their eyes, but with organisation, discipline, and quiet confidence that they can get something.

That fear factor, that aura, that invisible weight Celtic once carried into every match has not just faded. It has gone. Completely gone. And what has replaced it is something far more fragile, far more worrying, and far more dangerous in the long run.

I watch this team now and I don’t feel that rush of confidence and I don’t sense that they possess what Neil Lennon once described as “the thunder.” I don’t see that urgency that used to define us, that relentless drive to take control of a game from the very first whistle.

Instead, I see hesitation creeping into everything we do.

Starts are slow, almost cautious. Passes are played safe when they should be played with intent. Movements feel rehearsed rather than instinctive. And the moment something doesn’t go our way, you can almost feel the doubt settling in.

It spreads quickly. Heads drop. Shoulders slump. The tempo (such as it is) fades. And instead of pushing forward with anger and purpose, we retreat into ourselves.

And I keep asking, where are the players who drag this team forward? Where are the voices, the leaders, the ones who refuse to accept mediocrity, who demand more not just from themselves but from everyone around them?

Too often it feels like we’re reacting instead of dictating, responding instead of commanding, hoping something will happen instead of making it happen.

And that’s not Celtic. That’s never been Celtic. Not the Celtic I recognise, anyway.

Even when we do manage to build pressure, even when it looks like we might take control, there is something missing. That ruthless edge. That killer instinct. We’ve lost too many players of quality, perhaps, but nobody else is stepping up.

We don’t put teams away or capitalise on momentum. We don’t strike when the moment is there. Instead, we hesitate. We slow things down. We recycle possession, almost as if we’re unsure of ourselves, as if we’re waiting for something that never quite comes.

And in doing that, we allow teams to breathe.

We give them time to regroup, to reset, to grow in confidence. We let them back into games they should be out of. The best Celtic sides didn’t just win, they punished. They sensed weakness and went straight for the throat, again and again, until there was nothing left.

Now teams like St Mirren, Kilmarnock and Dundee United don’t just believe they can compete with us, they expect to.

They look at Celtic and see opportunity and that is unsettling because we give it to them with our passive approach.

At times, it’s like watching something broken. A team with potential, with talent, but stuck. Stuck in one place, unable to move forward, unable to rise.

Celtic should be like eagles, flying high, hungry, relentless, feared.

Right now, we look grounded. Tactically, we are painfully predictable. Everything feels rigid, structured to the point of being restrictive. The same patterns, the same build-up, the same ideas repeated over and over again.

It feels like watching a script every opponent has already read. There’s no variation, no spontaneity, no sense that we’re adapting to what’s in front of us. Defenders don’t panic. Midfields don’t stretch. Teams stay comfortable, compact, organised.

We’ve become safe. Too safe.

And Celtic should never, ever be safe.

What makes it worse is what happens when Plan A doesn’t work. Nothing changes. There is no real shift, no real attempt to adapt. The same patterns continue, the same movements repeat, the same ideas are forced again and again. Substitutions come, but they don’t change the rhythm, they don’t change the direction.

Opponents know this. They rely on it. They stay disciplined, they hold their shape, they wait and more often than not these days, that patience is rewarded.

So here is the brutal truth, the one that’s hard to accept but impossible to ignore. Celtic are easy to play against now. Teams come with clarity, with structure, with belief. They trust that if they stay organised, they will get chances. Real chances.

And the worst part is, they’re right.

That shift in perception cuts deeper than any defeat. Because this is not just tactical. It is mental. We have gone from expecting to win to hoping to win. From imposing ourselves on games to feeling our way through them. From being a team everyone feared to being a team that can be figured out.

This is how seasons drift away. Not in one dramatic collapse, but piece by piece, game by game. Not because we are being blown away, but because we are allowing it to happen.

Celtic are not just underperforming. They are readable. Predictable. Beatable. I watch this team and I don’t just feel frustration. I feel something heavier than that. A kind of sadness that lingers, that doesn’t go away when the game ends.

Because I know what Celtic can be. I’ve seen it, felt it, lived it. Celtic should be noise and chaos. Celtic should be a force that overwhelms teams, rattles them, leaves them clinging on. Right now, that feeling is gone.

And until that fire comes back, until that belief roars through this team again, this emptiness will remain. Because right now, and it genuinely hurts to say it … Celtic don’t scare anyone, and that doesn’t just feel wrong. It feels unbearable.

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