What hurt more Danny Rohl? The defeat or the mockery of Celtic’s fans?

There are moments at Celtic Park when football stops being football and becomes theatre, ritual, poetry, chaos and pure tribal magic, all rolled into one green-and-white storm. Sunday was one of those days.

Celtic did not merely beat the Ibrox club 3-1. They humiliated them, toyed with them, laughed at them and then danced on the ruins with that wicked Celtic humour only our support can produce.

Honestly? I absolutely loved every single second of it.

The football itself was glorious enough. Celtic were faster, sharper, hungrier and more alive. The movement, the pressing, the swagger. It felt like watching a great green tide swallowing everything in its path.

But what truly made the day unforgettable was the atmosphere wrapped around it. That delicious mixture of noise, mockery, songs and madness that only Celtic fans can conjure when they smell weakness in Ibrox blue.

And oh, the music.

Not only did the stadium blast out “Daddy Cool”, with Celtic fans roaring every word like possessed souls – the Ibrox manager’s name over and over again – but then came “Roll With It” by Oasis, echoing the mocking headlines on some of the blogs over the past weeks.

And the entire stadium seemed to sway in that glorious post-victory haze.

There is something beautifully Celtic about Oasis songs after a derby victory. It feels rebellious, swaggering and untouchable. Like the city itself belongs to us in those moments. You could almost feel the concrete of Paradise vibrating beneath the support.

But then came my favourite moment.

“Zombie Nation.”

And I completely lost it laughing. Everywhere you looked, Celtic fans were doing the zombie. Thousands upon thousands of supporters stumbling about with zombie arms, mocking, grinning, singing and revelling in the absolute collapse of Danny Rohl’s side.

It was savage. Merciless. Petty in the funniest possible way. Exactly the kind of dark football humour that makes Scottish football so gloriously unhinged. Exactly what I was writing about the other week when I talked about our sense of humour.

I swear Celtic Park transformed into some strange green-and-white witching ground, where the defeated watched helpless while the Celtic support cackled from the stands. The Ginger Witch part of me absolutely adored it, because you could feel the energy shift. The fear. The humiliation. The sapping of the self respect from the opposition.

Celtic fans sensed blood in the water and went for the throat with songs instead of swords. That is what I love most about our support. We do not just celebrate victories. We turn them into folklore. The irony of hearing “Daddy Cool” ring around Celtic Park after Danny Rohl’s own supporters spent the season singing it for him was simply exquisite. Celtic fans grabbed that chant and twisted it into mockery within seconds.

That is football cruelty at its finest. One minute, a song is your badge of pride. The next, it becomes the soundtrack to your downfall in front of a roaring Celtic support.

Paradise can be a beautiful place for some and an absolute psychological nightmare for others. The Ibrox club walked into Celtic Park thinking they were entering a football stadium. Instead, they wandered into the lair of the champions.

Celtic fans knew it. Every song felt like another dagger. Every chant was another reminder of who truly rules Glasgow. Even the timing of it all felt magical to me, almost fated. The support sensed weakness and pounced with that wicked sense of humour we are famed for.

There is something ancient about that collective energy.

Something tribal. You can call it passion, atmosphere or mentality.

The zombie dancing summed up the entire afternoon perfectly. Celtic supporters were not tense. Not nervous. Not cautious. We were entertained. Relaxed enough to mock, dance and laugh because deep down everybody inside Celtic Park knew who the superior side was.

That confidence radiated through the stands like electricity. Honestly, that is what must terrify Danny Rohl most.

Not just that Celtic win. Not just that Celtic dominate.

But that we enjoy it so much for our own sake … and we know what it does to them.

There is no hate in any of it, just a savage mockery that you know is such a Glasgow thing.

There is a swagger around this club now. A feeling that Celtic know exactly who they are while others scramble desperately trying to keep up. You could see it in the players. You could hear it in the support.

You could feel it pulsing through Paradise on Sunday afternoon.

Celtic were playing with freedom while the Ibrox club looked burdened, haunted almost, like a side already beaten mentally before the final whistle even arrived. The supporters smelled it immediately. That is why the songs became louder and louder, why Rohl got no let up.

That is why “Zombie Nation” became so funny. The zombies shambling around the stands felt symbolic somehow. Celtic fans mocking a dead challenge, a dead resistance, another failed attempt to stop the green-and-white machine marching forward again. As I sat there absorbing it all, I honestly thought: “This is why Celtic Park is unmatched.”

No stadium in Scotland comes close when Celtic fans are in this mood. The noise, the humour, the cruelty, the joy, the theatre of it all. It becomes overwhelming for opponents. Paradise becomes less a football ground and more a force of nature.

When the Celtic support decides to turn a derby victory into a carnival of mockery, there is nowhere for rivals to hide. Poor Danny Rohl probably dreamed of earning respect and building momentum. Instead, he left Celtic Park with thousands of fans doing zombie dances at his expense while “Daddy Cool” blasted through the speakers.

Football can be brutally funny sometimes. On Sunday, Celtic fans turned that brutality into absolute art.

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