Bigots have targeted my inbox. They aren’t going to shut me up.

A few weeks ago, I made a mistake that a more seasoned Celtic blogger would not have made.

Not a dramatic one, not one that felt particularly heavy at the time. Just a small, almost absent-minded decision that, in hindsight, carried far more weight than I ever intended it to. I put my personal email on my YouTube page.

Even writing that now, I can feel the frustration in myself, that quiet disbelief.

What on earth possessed me?

It wasn’t strategy or much thought through.

It was something softer than that, something almost hopeful.

Because the truth is, I hadn’t posted a new video in a while. Life moves, energy shifts, and before you know it, that thing you love, that voice, that connection to Scotland, to Celtic, to everything that stirs something deep in you, goes quiet for a bit. It never really leaves you, though.

Put another way; I’ve been busy.

And then I felt it again. That pull back. That quiet nudge saying, go on then, get back to it. Writing. Speaking. Sharing that passion for Scotland that has always been more than just an interest to me. It’s part of who I am.

So, I opened a door. Or at least, I thought I did.

What I didn’t realise, what I perhaps should have known but chose not to dwell on, is that not every door leads to something good. Some don’t invite conversation or connection. Some invite something far uglier, something that doesn’t come to engage but to tear down, to belittle, to poison.

And that’s exactly what came through.

It didn’t take long. The messages started arriving, one after another, each carrying a tone that was unmistakable. There was no curiosity. There was no attempt at debate. No disagreement rooted in footballing opinion or perspective. That, I can handle all day long. That’s part of it. That’s expected.

This was different.

It was targeted. Deliberate. Personal in a way that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with something far more bitter.

Some of it was explicitly sexist. Not subtle digs, not veiled comments you could brush off if you were feeling generous. This was language designed to strip you down, to reduce you, to remind you, in the crudest possible terms, how certain people see you.

And all of it, every single word that came through that inbox, was disgustingly bigoted. I won’t dress that up. I won’t soften it to make it easier to swallow. It shouldn’t be easy to swallow. It shouldn’t be normalised.

And yet, in certain corners of football culture, it still is.

You know when something has a pattern to it, even if nobody openly claims it. You can feel the source of it, the direction it’s coming from. I’m not interested in playing naïve here. I’ve been around this a wee while now and in James and others I’ve had a lot of encouragement to do this … but I’ve taken a lot of lessons on board as well. I recognise when something is a reaction rather than a coincidence.

I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t suspect where it came from.

Because I’ve written about them. I’ve written about their club and about their culture.

I’ve written pieces like In the Shadow of the Billy Boys, and others where I’ve taken a long, hard look at things some would much rather keep buried, brushed aside or swept under the carpet. Up until now I’ve spoken directly and without fear.

I’ve said things out loud that don’t sit comfortably with everyone.

That’s the point of writing honestly, isn’t it? It’s not meant to soothe. It’s not meant to tiptoe around sensitivities when there are truths staring you in the face. But not everyone reads to reflect. Some read to react.

And some react exactly the way I saw play out in that inbox.

So, I spoke to James, who has been dealing with this stuff for years – his email address has been publicly available for over a decade on Ibrox fan forums of the worst sort. I took the email down. Quickly, without hesitation.

I don’t know whether it will do any good but it feels better to have removed it. It feels like closing the door again.

Additionally, James has given me some good advice on how to deal with repeats of this disgusting behaviour.

This was one of those moments when you realise you’ve left something open that shouldn’t be, and your only thought is to shut it, to pull it back, to regain a bit of control over your own space. That’s what I did. No delay, no second guessing.

Afterwards, in the quiet, one question lingered. Why did I do that in the first place?

There’s no clever answer. No layered explanation. It was a lapse. A moment of openness in a space that doesn’t reward it. A small act with consequences I should have anticipated but didn’t. I wanted to reach out to my audience. To communicate with them.

In hindsight, I should have left that for the comments section.

That’s on me. Lesson learned.

But let me be absolutely clear about something, because this matters more than anything else I’m saying here. Taking that email down was not me backing down. It wasn’t fear or a retreat. It wasn’t me shrinking or second-guessing what I’ve said, what I believe, or what I’ll continue to write.

This was a boundary being redrawn.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Because beyond the frustration, beyond the anger that lingers when something like that is directed at you, there’s a bigger issue here. There is still a culture within parts of football that allows this behaviour to breathe. That excuses it and wraps it up in words like “banter” or “rivalry” as if that somehow strips it of what it actually is.

It doesn’t. There’s nothing normal about it. Nothing inevitable. And nothing that should be tolerated. When that abuse carries a sexist edge, when it goes out of its way to remind you your voice is unwelcome not just because of what you say but because of who you are, it tells you everything about the mindset behind it. It’s not about football anymore.

It’s about control. Discomfort. An attempt, in the crudest and most pathetic way possible, to push someone back into silence. Here’s the thing they’ve completely misjudged. I don’t scare easily. And I don’t go quiet because someone thinks they can shout louder.

If anything, all this has done is strip things back to their core for me. It’s clarified something that maybe didn’t need clarifying, but now stands there in absolute certainty. I have no intention of stepping away from what I do.

I’ll keep writing and speaking. I’ll keep saying exactly what I see, whether it makes people comfortable or not. Especially when it doesn’t.

Because what’s the alternative? Soften it? Avoid certain topics? Pretend there are lines I won’t cross because someone else has decided they’re off limits?

No chance. Not now. Not ever.

You don’t get to dictate my voice by flooding an inbox with bile. You don’t get to shape what I write by trying to tear it down.

These folk don’t get to silence anything by behaving like that.

If anything, all you’ve done is underline why it matters.

Because that kind of abuse doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It comes from somewhere. It reflects something. And when it shows itself openly, aggressively, it becomes part of the very thing I’ll continue to write about.

It exposes the undercurrent. The parts people would rather deny. So yes, I made a mistake. I opened a door that didn’t need opening.

I let something in that should have stayed outside. That part is mine. But what came through that door says far more about them than it ever will about me.

And if there was any expectation, any hope, that this would make me step back, go quieter, choose my words more carefully, or avoid certain truths, then that’s where they’ve got it completely wrong. Because I’m still here.

I’m still writing and still thinking. Still feeling every bit as strongly about Celtic, about Scotland, about everything that fuels what I do.

If anything, there’s a sharper edge now. A clearer sense of why it matters to say things as they are, not as some would prefer them to be.

I’ll take the lesson. The email is gone, and it will stay gone. I’ll guard my space better. I’ll be more careful about where I draw the line between openness and exposure.

That’s growth. That’s learning. But my voice?

That’s not something I hand over. Not to abuse or to intimidation. Not to anyone who thinks they can bully it into silence.

You can close a door and lock it properly this time. You can learn, adapt, protect yourself better in a space that doesn’t always deserve your openness. But you don’t stop being who you are. And you don’t stop saying what needs to be said. Not now, not after that. Not ever.

I’m here. I’m still here. And I’m here to stay.

Choose The CelticBlog as a ‘Preferred Source’ on Google News for quick access to the news you value.