Danny Rohl: Man on the ledge.

While much of the focus after Celtic’s win at Ibrox has been on the events off the pitch, particularly what happened in the stands and on the field afterwards, another story has been quietly developing in the background.

It has not generated the same level of outrage or headlines, but if Danny Röhl listens carefully he might begin to hear it.

It is the sound of knives being sharpened.

Röhl has done more than almost anyone to put himself in this position. If he had picked up a shovel and started digging his own grave, he could hardly have done a better job of making life difficult for himself. Before the first meeting with Celtic this season he was already talking big. Before the second he doubled down.

He dismissed the idea that Celtic were his team’s toughest opponents. He went even further when he spoke about silverware as though it were a certainty, suggesting that it was almost unthinkable his side would end the season without a trophy. The implication was clear enough. He believed he had Celtic beaten and that the path to glory was already mapped out.

Managing one of Glasgow’s major clubs is not simply about tactics or team selection. It is also about mastering the politics of the job. Experienced managers understand that you never hand your opponents an advantage if you can possibly avoid it.

Röhl did exactly that.

He handed Martin O’Neill and Celtic a psychological edge before a ball was kicked, and in doing so he handed the media something even more valuable. By setting his own standards so publicly he created the framework through which his season would be judged.

If Celtic are not his toughest opponents but he cannot beat them, what does that say about his team? If failing to win silverware is “unthinkable”, what happens if the season ends without a trophy? Suddenly the stakes become very clear.

By his own words anything short of the title begins to look like failure.

Managers offer hostages to fortune all the time. It is part of football. But when you talk that loudly and that confidently you have to deliver results to justify it. If the results do not follow then scrutiny becomes inevitable.

That is the order of business in football management.

What Röhl seems to have forgotten, however, is where he is working.

History offers plenty of examples of environments where power is fragile and leadership survives only as long as confidence holds. The Roman Empire is a famous case. It is remarkable that the empire lasted as long as it did given how often its rulers were removed violently from power. A great many Roman emperors were assassinated, often not by their enemies but by members of their own inner circle.

The lesson from that period is simple. Once confidence begins to evaporate, the knives come out.

A friend who lives abroad once asked why British politics seems to produce so many embattled prime ministers. Why, he wondered, do so many of them find themselves under constant pressure to resign? Trying to explain the parliamentary system became exhausting, so the simpler truth emerged.

There are people, particularly within the Conservative Party, who enjoy the act of toppling leaders. Some MPs openly boast about the number of prime ministers they have helped remove. For them it becomes a badge of honour.

Scottish football journalism has developed a similar culture.

After years of influencing managerial appointments and departures, many journalists now view themselves as participants in the drama rather than mere observers. For reporters who spend much of their time recycling press releases or repackaging stories from elsewhere, the chance to hunt a major scalp can be irresistible.

In England the biggest target is usually the national team manager. In Scotland the most valuable trophy is the manager of a Glasgow club.

For some in the media it becomes a form of sport in itself. Each managerial collapse becomes another scalp for the wall.

It does not matter whether those journalists personally support the club in question. In fact, being sympathetic to the institution often strengthens the impulse. They convince themselves that removing the current manager is necessary to protect the club’s future. The next appointment, they tell themselves, will be better.

Whatever the justification, there is a clear bloodlust at the centre of it.

Managers are praised lavishly while results are good. But the moment those results turn, the tone changes instantly. The same journalists who were celebrating Röhl as a possible Manager of the Year only weeks ago are now writing about the pressure he faces and speculating about what happens if he fails to deliver the title.

The shift is already happening.

Podcasts, phone-ins and newspaper columns have begun discussing potential replacements. Doubts are no longer hinted at quietly. They are being explored openly, as though his future were already in question.

Anyone who has followed Scottish football for long enough could have predicted this.

The media has no loyalty to any manager, not even one at Ibrox. The same voices that praised him when things were going well are now testing the ground for where the next knife might land. That is simply how the system works.

Most managers understand that reality. They keep their public statements measured. They avoid unnecessary confrontations and they certainly avoid disrespecting the reigning champions before proving themselves capable of beating them.

Röhl did none of those things.

There is a certain arrogance in the way he has spoken this season, a sense that respect is owed rather than earned. That approach works only if results back it up. If the team performs as confidently as the manager talks then the swagger becomes part of the story.

But when results fall short, that same swagger becomes a target.

Under the spotlight there is nowhere to hide.

One writer who survived confrontation with organised crime once described how isolation works. When someone angers the Mafia, friends and colleagues begin to distance themselves. They create an empty space around the target.

In military language that is called a clear field of fire.

And that, right now, is exactly where Danny Röhl is standing.

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