McCoist, you sound pathetic clinging to the past as Celtic dominates the present.

There’s something deeply hilarious about watching old Ibrox club figures trying to weaponise the past, as if Celtic supporters are supposed to sit there devastated by stories from thirty years ago.

Honestly, when I heard Ally McCoist firing out that line about Celtic’s trophy room having “f*** all in it” during his playing days, I could practically smell the bitterness leaking through the microphone. Because here’s the thing, Ally:

Are we talking about you as a player or you as a manager? That distinction matters. Massively. As a player, aye, absolutely, he was one of the old Ibrox club’s greatest goal-scorers. Nobody with a functioning brain denies that. He scored goals for fun, won titles and became a massive figure during an era when they dominated Scottish football.

Fair enough. Football moves in cycles, and they had their period.

But football history did not stop in the 1990s, no matter how desperately some of these people wish it had. Because if we’re discussing Ally McCoist the manager?

Oh, sweet Christ, now we’re entering comedy territory.

This is where the wheels come flying off entirely. Because this is the same Ally McCoist who became the last manager of the club that died. The final man standing before liquidation ripped Rangers apart and sent the Ibrox operation crashing down the divisions like a grand piano falling out a window.

That’s not me being dramatic. That’s history.

So, what did his managerial “dominance” consist of exactly? Floundering as the first club lost the league in the one and only season he was in charge of a top flight team? Winning lower-league titles against part-time teams?

Celebrating the Petrofac Cup like it was the European Cup? Playing against clubs whose players probably had shifts at B&Q the next morning?

Is that the mighty empire Celtic supporters are supposed to tremble before?

Meanwhile, Celtic have spent the last decade and a half turning Scottish football into our own private kingdom. Fourteen league titles out of fifteen. Treble after treble after treble.

Managers coming and going while the machine keeps rolling over everybody in its path.

Generations of young supporters have grown up knowing Celtic as the permanent rulers of Scottish football, while Ibrox supporters cling to old VHS tapes like sacred religious artefacts.

That is the reality. No amount of nostalgic chest-beating from Ally McCoist changes it.

What absolutely kills them is that Celtic didn’t just recover from their old dominance. Celtic surpassed it. That is the wound that will never heal for them. They genuinely believed their era was eternal. They thought nobody could ever eclipse what Rangers achieved. Then Celtic arrived like a tidal wave and rewrote the standards entirely.

When McCoist said that line at the Hydro, you could hear the desperation underneath it. That wee forced swagger. That attempt to remind everybody of the old days because the current reality is unbearable for them.

Celtic fans are singing “championees” in 2026 while Celtic continue hoovering up trophies and the Ibrox club continues talking about rebuilds, transitions and next season.

The contrast is staggering.

The funniest part is that Celtic fans are not even rattled by this stuff anymore, because what exactly are we supposed to envy? A club that died? Cause all that success he boasts of, that was pretty dearly bought in the end. It has led to this, to a decade spent watching Celtic dominate almost uninterrupted.

That and their endless excuses every single season.

At this point, Ibrox nostalgia feels less like pride and more like a coping mechanism. I honestly think that’s why so many of their former players spend half their media careers talking about Celtic. They cannot escape us.

Celtic are the giant shadow hanging over everything now. Every trophy we lift twists the knife a little bit deeper because it reminds them that the balance of power completely shifted and never shifted back.

I absolutely adore it.

The Ginger Witch feeds on this stuff, on drinking their tears. I can sense the seethe radiating from them every time Celtic win another three points far less more silverware. Every “championees” chant feels like holy water burning them alive.

Every medal Celtic players collect adds another layer of torture onto their nostalgia, because deep down they know the modern era belongs entirely to Celtic.

That’s why they keep retreating into the past.

Because the present is green and white.

Honestly, Ally, while you’re reminiscing about empty Celtic trophy rooms from decades ago, Celtic supporters are too busy trying to make space for all the silverware we’ve collected since your club disappeared into liquidation paperwork and you started your fruitless march across lower-league away days.

That’s the difference.

Ibrox club legends talk about history.

Celtic are still making it.

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