Keevins “zero percent” prediction insults not just Celtic, but football itself.

Hugh Keevins is not a real journalist and his latest efforts at analysis are not real journalism. They don’t come near that definition.

Take his “zero percent chance” that Celtic will win the title. Zero? That’s not a considered opinion and the way he talks about footballers in our team, with his criticism focused on Cvancara and Iheanacho, is completely idiotic and unprofessional and is more personal attack than analysis as well.

He described Iheanacho as someone who could not stand up without medical assistance; funny, then, that he was outstanding yesterday and weighed in with two goals. Will Keevins issue a retraction? No, because that would require a level of professionalism he hasn’t got.

This comes at the end of a week in which fans are being criticised for holding opinions and for simply suggesting that perhaps we should drop underperformers. This is what real spiteful sniping with no thought behind it looks like.

Hugh Keevins defended his assertion that Celtic have ‘’zero per cent’’ chance of winning the Premiership, presenting it as a simple conclusion built on one observation “they are not very good.” What I see is him acting like an idiotic man without a functioning brain.

I am honestly at that stage now where I don’t even sigh anymore when I hear Keevins say this stuff. I just sit there, almost numb to it, and think: is this really what passes for football analysis?

Because when I hear Hugh Keevins throwing out “zero percent chance” like it’s some kind of definitive, intellectual conclusion, I don’t hear insight or experience speaking. I hear someone reducing a complex, unpredictable sport into a lazy soundbite which is loaded down with negativity and un-necessary venom.

And I can’t accept that. I just won’t.

Because football does not work like that. It never has. It never will.

You cannot watch this game for years – properly watch it, feel it, understand its rhythms – and then sit there and say “zero percent” with a straight face. That is not analysis, that is arrogance. That cannot be certitude. It might be trolling.

What really, genuinely gets under my skin is not just the statement itself, but the pattern behind it. It’s the tone. The constant undercurrent of dismissal. The way he talks about certain players as if they are fair game for ridicule rather than professionals dealing with form, adaptation and pressure.

This week he’s gone after Cvancara. Iheanacho as well.

Pick a target, take a shot, move on. He offers no real breakdown, no proper attempt to understand context. He fires off sharp, pointed remarks that feel far closer to personal digs than anything resembling thoughtful critique.

It was great to see Keevins comments on the Nigerian blow up in his face yesterday.

And I keep asking: where is the responsibility in what Keevins does?

Because at the same time, people tell fans like me to tone it down. They say we are too emotional, too reactive, too harsh when we suggest an underperforming player needs dropped, or when we question the tactics. They tell us to be measured.

Fine. I can be measured. I want to be measured.

But don’t tell me to be careful with my words while someone on a platform can casually declare an entire title race finished for our club, the current holders, our chance reduced to “zero percent” and take digs at individuals in the same breath.

That double standard is impossible to ignore.

When I look at Celtic, I don’t see perfection. I’m not blind. I’ve seen the inconsistency. I’ve seen moments where we’ve dropped levels, where decisions haven’t come off, where performances haven’t matched expectations. Yes, I’ve said it myself; we can and should be better in certain areas.

But there is a massive leap from that to “zero percent” chance. That leap is not analysis. That leap has an agenda at its heart.

On top of that, he takes a Martin O’Neill quote and twists its meaning so that he gets the one he wants from it, not necessarily the one the gaffer meant.

Martin O’Neill says: “I don’t think we are good enough to think too far ahead” when asked about the cup final. There’s nothing in that answer which gives Keevins the justification to claim that the Celtic boss agrees with his diagnosis.

When I hear that, I hear something very familiar. I hear a manager grounding his team. I hear someone pulling focus back to the coming game, the coming challenge, refusing to let players drift into thinking about outcomes before the work is done. It’s discipline. It’s mentality. In truth, it’s actually a sign of seriousness.

But what does Keevins do? He takes that line and inflates it into something it was never meant to be; a sweeping judgment on Celtic’s title chances, and worse. He turns into evidence that he and Martin O’Neill are on the same page. I would be willing to bet that they could not be further from each other.

I sit there thinking: how does that logic even stand up?

Because focusing on the next match is not the same as conceding the future. Not even close. In fact, more often than not, it’s the teams that don’t look too far ahead that end up achieving something. Football punishes complacency. It punishes those who assume outcomes before they’ve earned them.

So, to twist that quote into a narrative of inevitability – that Celtic have no chance – it just doesn’t hold and it’s a pretty low act.

It falls apart the moment you actually examine it. And that’s the problem. There’s no real examination happening. It’s surface-level, it’s selective, it’s driven by a conclusion that was already decided before the argument even began.

Football, by its very nature, resists certainty. It thrives on unpredictability. That’s why we love it. That’s why we watch every week, even when it frustrates us, even when it drives us mad, because something can always shift.

Form can turn. Confidence can return. Pressure can crack teams that look solid. And suddenly, what looked “impossible” starts looking very real. A team which barely gets out of the dressing room to play a second half suddenly becomes a different animal and scores four in the first six minutes of extra time. That sort of thing, you know?

I’ve seen it too many times to just accept someone writing it off in April like the story is finished. And maybe that’s why it annoys me on a deeper level; it strips the game of its essence. It turns something dynamic into something flat. It replaces thought with certainty, and uncertainty is where football actually lives.

I am not sitting here pretending everything is fine. I have my concerns and my criticisms. I’ve watched games where I’ve thought, “this isn’t good enough,” and I’ve said it openly. But my criticism comes from watching, from caring, from wanting improvement. It doesn’t come from a place of writing the whole thing off and declaring the door closed.

Because I am not ready to close that door. Not yet. And I don’t think anyone who truly understands football should be.

So, I’ll stay where I am, right in the middle of it, where the doubt and the hope sit side by side, where every next match still carries weight, still carries possibility.

I’ll keep watching, keep questioning, keep believing, not blindly, but honestly, because that’s what this game asks of you if you truly love it.

And if Celtic fall short, then let the pitch decide it, ninety minutes at a time, not some throwaway line spoken too early and too easily.

But if even the faintest flicker remains, and I believe there is far more than that, then I will hold onto it. Football has always rewarded those who refuse to write the ending before the story finishes.

And when the final chapter comes, and if Celtic win this title, I will spare him a fleeting thought from whichever pub I’m in or whichever part of Celtic Park holds my ticket. And I will hope he has the good grace to admit what he is; not a serious pundit, but a pure fool.

Maybe then he will do us all a favour and switch the laptop off for good.

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