Steve Clarke to Celtic is not a story. It is Michael Gannon fan-fiction.

Celtic fans know that there are bad columns. There are lazy columns. And then there are pieces like Michael Gannon’s recent one which don’t just scrape the bottom of the barrel, they drill straight through it and keep going.

Because what we had in his Steve Clarke piece was not analysis. It was not reporting. It was not even particularly clever speculation. In fact, it was fan fiction.

Let’s start with the central premise, because it really is something to behold.

Steve Clarke, according to Gannon, may have been sending a coded message in his recent comments about his Scotland future.

Not to the SFA or to his employers. Not to the people who actually control his contract. To Celtic.

You see, if you “read between the lines”, if you apply the correct level of journalistic clairvoyance, if you squint just hard enough at a fairly mundane set of remarks, you can apparently uncover a hidden message. A footballing bat signal, if you like.

“Come and get me.”

And what is the evidence for this? Well, there isn’t any.

But there is something even better. There is “what if?”

Because, that is the phrase doing all the heavy lifting here.

The other day, I covered Keevins and his own idiotic piece about Askou at Motherwell and how someone told him a story about how the boss of our title rival had used the word “we” when talking about us. Pure gossip, weaponised against an innocent man. This is just as bad. This stinks just as much.

When your entire column is built on “what if”, you are not reporting the story.

You are inventing one.

Which means you are no longer a journalist. You are fiction writer.

That is exactly what this is.

Gannon does try to give it a bit of credibility by invoking Brendan Rodgers. Rodgers, we are told, was a master of “sewing seeds” and steering narratives. The seasoned hacks, apparently, saw it coming before he left. Fine.

Rodgers did that from time to time, but you could just as easily conclude that Rodgers frustration with life at Celtic was clear before he left and he was telegraphing his clear unhappiness as clearly as he can.

(That he has been vindicated is not included in the piece.)

Still, Rodgers did use the media to send a message every once in a while. That does not mean every manager is now speaking in riddles like some kind of footballing oracle. It does not mean every comment contains a hidden agenda waiting to be decoded by those clever enough to “read between the lines.”

But that is the leap this piece makes.

Rodgers once did something vaguely similar, therefore Clarke must be doing it too. That is not logic. That is leaping from a fact to a conclusion unrelated to it like a frog with jumper cables attached to his nether regions.

The next step is to position Celtic as the target of this supposed message. A “pretty tasty job” just sitting there, waiting to be filled, and Clarke apparently dropping hints that he would not mind being considered.

Again, based on absolutely nothing. No source. No quote and no indication from Clarke himself. Just a feeling. “You get the sense…”

Of course you do. You get the sense because you have decided to write a column about it.

Then we move into the advocacy stage, which is where this really stops pretending to be neutral. “Clarke should be high up on Parkhead chiefs’ list … it would be daft if he wasn’t.”

“Parkhead chiefs should still have got the message.”

At this point, the mask slips completely. This is not a journalist analysing a situation. This is a columnist actively pushing a narrative, nudging the club, and trying to shape the conversation. Ironically, the very thing he accuses Clarke of doing.

There are contradictions everywhere.

We are told the timing is not right because of the World Cup. That Celtic need to rebuild. That Clarke will be tied up. That it probably does not make sense.

Uh, no shit. And then, without missing a beat:

“That doesn’t mean it can’t happen though.”

Of course it doesn’t. Because once you are operating in the land of “what if”, anything can happen. You really can frolic through the tall grass with the fairies at the bottom of the garden. Your magic beans can, in fact, produce a fabulous beanstalk.

Reality is optional. Logic is negotiable.

And then we get the crowning glory; the suggestion that Steve Clarke, a manager whose entire career has been built on organisation, pragmatism, and control, is secretly just waiting for the chance to “go full Angeball.”

You can almost admire it. It is such a bold piece of invention that you have to give it credit.

If he doesn’t win one of those Scottish journalism awards for this – which I’ve always thought were the equivalent of a competition to see which drunk guy living under a bridge had the best cardboard box – someone should sponsor him for the Booker.

That is how out there, that is how off in the realms of fantasy, that idea is.

Clarke is a man who has spent years setting teams up to be difficult to break down, to manage games carefully, to minimise risk. And now we are being told that deep down, beneath the gruff exterior, there is an adventurer just itching to let loose.

Based on what? On vibes? Certainly not based on the performance of his Scotland team the last time he got to a major finals, when his team recorded a Celtic worthy zero shots on target in the must-win third game of the Group Stages.

This is what happens when you start with a conclusion and work backwards. You do not analyse the evidence. You create it.

And that is the real issue with pieces like this.

They do not just fill space. They pollute the conversation.

Suddenly, Steve Clarke to Celtic becomes “a thing.” It gets discussed and debated. Other outlets pick it up. Supporters argue about it. All based on a chain of “what ifs” and “you get the sense.” Scottish football fans deserve better than this slop.

So, too, does Steve Clarke, by the way.

If you want to write about Steve Clarke as a potential Celtic manager, then do it properly.

Analyse his record. Break down his style. Compare it to what the club needs. Make a case, if there is one and I personally would rather gouge out my eyeballs than watch whatever style of football he inflicted on us.

What you do not do is build an entire narrative on imaginary subtext and then present it as something worth taking seriously.

Because it isn’t. Nor is it journalism.

It is storytelling, and not even particularly good storytelling at that.

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