There is a scene that has become one of the defining images of the modern FIFA. December 2025, the Kennedy Center in Washington D.C., the glittering stage for the 2026 World Cup draw. And there, beaming with unconcealed pride, FIFA PresidentGianni Infantino presenting US President Donald Trump with the inaugural FIFA Peace Prize.

Let that sink in for a moment. A prize for peace. Handed to Donald Trump. By the president of world football. Because he wasn’t awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. And that was before the tournament drowned in further controversy, political interference, visa bans, immigration fears, and the spectre of a US war with a qualified participant.

This is what FIFA has become under Gianni Infantino. And this is why, when the final whistle blows at MetLife Stadium this summer, he must be removed from power.

The 2026 FIFA World Cup, spread across the United States, Canada, and Mexico, should by rights be the crowning achievement of Infantino’s tenure. The biggest tournament in World Cup history, expanded to 48 teams, hosted in three nations, touching a continent that had waited decades for its moment. Football’s grand opportunity to plant its flag in North America and declare itself the undisputed global sport.

Instead, it arrives weighed down by a cargo of self-inflicted wounds so heavy it is a miracle the tournament is still taking place. Political chaos, institutional cowardice, breathtaking hypocrisy, fiscal obscenity, and a governing president who has confused the role of football’s steward with that of a globe-trotting courtier to the powerful and the wealthy.

The case against Infantino’s continued leadership is not just the case against one man’s character or style. It is the case against a fundamental corruption of what football’s governing body is supposed to be. That case begins before 2026, in Qatar, runs through the gilded halls of Riyadh, and ends here, in the middle of a mess that, by any honest accounting, Infantino built himself.

Qatar 2022: The Original Sin

Any honest assessment of Infantino’s presidency must begin in Qatar. The 2022 World Cup, the first held in the Middle East, was supposed to represent football’s embrace of the world’s diversity. What it actually represented was the first fully formed expression of Infantino’s governing philosophy - money first, human rights second, and optics somewhere near the bottom.

The decision to award Qatar the 2022 tournament pre-dated Infantino’s tenure. But his defence of it, his management of it, and the moral framework - or lack of it - that he wrapped around it, were entirely his own. Qatar’s record on the treatment of migrant workers building the infrastructure needed for the tournament drew condemnation from human rights organisations worldwide. Estimates of migrant worker deaths linked to World Cup construction varied wildly depending, but even conservative figures were deeply disturbing. The kafala system, which tied workers to employers and made independent movement functionally impossible, was condemned by Amnesty International, Human Rights Watch, and trade unions across the world as nothing more than slave labour.

Infantino’s response was to defend the tournament as a force for positive change and to deliver one of the most extraordinary speeches in the history of the organisation, in which he compared his own childhood experiences as a red-haired immigrant boy in Switzerland to the suffering of migrant workers in Qatar, and suggested that critics of Qatar were engaging in a form of colonialist hypocrisy. It was the behaviour of a man utterly disconnected from the moral weight of the moment or cynically attempting to redirect it.

Then came the rainbow armband controversy, where European captains who had committed to wearing anti-discrimination armbands were threatened with yellow cards by FIFA if they did so, bowing to pressure from a host nation where homosexuality is criminalised. The contrast with FIFA’s usual declarations that it “stands against all forms of discrimination” was stark and immediate. The message was unmistakable - FIFA’s principles were negotiable based on who was paying and who was hosting.

The first tournament of Infantino’s presidency was widely regarded as one of the most controversial in World Cup history and he had been in charge throughout. That should have been the warning. It turned out to be the template.

Saudi Arabia 2034: The Process That Wasn’t

If Qatar represented the corruption of principle, Saudi Arabia 2034 represents the corruption of process.

The awarding of the 2034 World Cup to Saudi Arabia was, in the assessment of virtually everyone who watched it unfold, a sham from beginning to end. As one detailed account characterised it, human rights advocates described the process as “an elaborate fix.” FIFA officials, behind closed doors, structured the 2030 World Cup bidding to spread across six countries and three continents, a deal that then conveniently restricted the 2034 race to Asia and Oceania, precisely the zone that maximised Saudi Arabia’s chances. Australia, the only potential rival bidder with both the credentials and the will, withdrew citing the impossibly short timeframe for submissions.

Saudi Arabia was thus confirmed as 2034 host without a rival bidder at a virtual FIFA Congress. No competitive process. No genuine evaluation. No meaningful scrutiny. A result so predetermined that calling it a vote was an insult to the word.

What was being invited into football’s most prestigious event was not simply a country with a complicated human rights record. It was a regime presided over by Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, who personally ordered the assassination and dismemberment of Washington Post journalist Jamal Khashoggi at the Saudi consulate in Istanbul in 2018. Rights groups documented a pattern of torture of dissidents, mass executions, forced disappearances, and imprisonment of individuals - including women’s rights activists - for social media posts.

A complaint lodged with FIFA by lawyers representing human rights bodies in May 2025 was unambiguous in its assessment. In a 30-page document, the lawyers stated that “widespread human rights abuses continue to be perpetrated in Saudi Arabia, and no steps are being taken by FIFA to address these in the buildup to the World Cup.” Their earlier offers to advise FIFA on human rights compliance before the award was confirmed had been ignored. Gianni Infantino, for his part, branded the decision a “positive step.”

The parallels with Qatar were not coincidental. Saudi Arabia had begun a similarly massive construction programme requiring stadiums to be built from scratch and the same pool of migrant workers from South Asia and Africa who built Qatar’s eight stadiums would be called on again. Human Rights Watch, citing two years of research and 155 interviews, documented “dangerous” conditions, “rampant wage theft,” the kafala system still functioning to bind workers to employers, and “insufficient” investigations of worker deaths. These were not warnings about what might happen. They were documented accounts of what was already happening.

Infantino and FIFA knew all of this. The lawyers told them so. The rights organisations told them so. They awarded the tournament anyway. And then, in one of the more brazen pieces of political theatre of the entire saga, Infantino arrived late to a FIFA Congress meeting in Paraguay in May 2025 - the first annual congress since the Saudi hosting win - because he was accompanying Trump on a state visit to Saudi Arabia, leading UEFA delegates to walk out in protest.

This was not a president managing football. This was a president managing relationships with the powerful, and using football as the medium of exchange.

The Russia Standard and the Israel Exemption

The most devastating charge against Infantino’s FIFA is not merely that it has made bad decisions. It is that it has made those decisions selectively, applying its own stated principles only against those who lack the financial or geopolitical power to resist them.

In 2022, when Russia invaded Ukraine, FIFA moved with startling speed. Russian clubs and the Russian national team were expelled from FIFA competitions, with the governing body declaring that Russia’s invasion “endangers the security and integrity of football.” UEFA acted in lockstep. Solidarity messages lit up stadium screens. Ukrainian flags were held aloft across pitches. The action was lauded internationally as a rare moment of principle from an organisation not known for them.

But here is the problem. FIFA’s statutes, which it invoked against Russia, state plainly that the organisation “is committed to respecting all internationally recognised human rights” and shall “strive to promote the protection of these rights.” They further declare that “discrimination of any kind” is “strictly prohibited and punishable by suspension or expulsion.”

By October 2023, with the Gaza conflict entering its most devastating phase and Palestinian footballer deaths mounting, the Palestinian Football Association formally demanded that Israel be suspended from FIFA membership. Their grounds were clear - Israel’s military actions in Gaza, the genocide they were committing, the documented killing of Palestinian athletes - by July 2024, the Palestinian FA confirmed that around 400 footballers have been murdered by the IDF, and Israel’s ongoing practice of allowing clubs based in illegal West Bank settlements to participate in the Israeli national league, a direct violation of FIFA’s own territorial jurisdiction statutes.

FIFA’s response, from the very beginning, was delay, deflection, and inaction.

In May 2024, Infantino announced at the FIFA Congress in Bangkok that the organisation would seek legal advice. In October 2025, with European federations mounting real pressure for a suspension and a UEFA vote on the matter widely expected to pass, Infantino convened a FIFA ruling council meeting at which Israel was not even formally on the agenda. “FIFA cannot solve geopolitical problems,” he said. The strongest push for Israeli suspension was subsequently paused after a peace proposal was made by Trump and Netanyahu in the White House, a development whose timing, given Infantino’s relationship with Trump, was noted by more than a few observers.

As one legal expert put it: “From day one, both [Infantino and UEFA president Ceferin] have been very fully aware of Israel’s violations but continued to turn a blind eye to them. That’s why we believe both are complicit in Israel’s war crimes and crimes against humanity.”

In March 2026, FIFA finally fined the Israeli Football Association a sum of 150,000 Swiss francs - less than $200,000 - for “discrimination, racist abuse and violations of fair play.” A fine barely larger than a week’s salary for a mid-level Premier League player, for a federation governing a country whose military actions had killed hundreds of footballers, destroyed entire communities, committed war crimes, and murdered tens of thousands of innocent men, women, and children. FIFA simultaneously announced it would take no action on the Palestinian request to suspend Israel’s membership.

Compare this to Russia, expelled within weeks for invading Ukraine. Compare it to what was done swiftly and decisively the moment European and American political capital was behind the action. The contrast does not merely reveal double standards. It reveals a system of governance in which moral principle is an instrument of convenience, deployed when it costs nothing, shelved when it costs something.

The Trump Embrace: FIFA’s Faustian Bargain

Nothing captures Infantino’s presidency more completely than his relationship with Donald Trump. What began as tactical necessity, the United States was the primary co-host of 2026, and Trump was its president, evolved into something far more troubling - a sycophantic, transactional embrace that has corrupted the integrity of the tournament and the institution simultaneously.

The FIFA Peace Prize was its most spectacular expression. Trump had lobbied, through himself and his allies, for the Nobel Peace Prize and been rejected and rightly so. FIFA’s response was to invent an entirely new prize, conjured into existence with the specific purpose of presenting it to Trump, and hand it to him at the World Cup draw ceremony in December 2025. As I have described previously, this was not a neutral sporting honour. It was a gilded political prop designed to flatter a man who thrives on flattery, at a moment when Infantino and FIFA wanted access, attention, and influence. A consolation trophy for a failed Nobel bid, dressed in football colours.

The practical cost of this flattery became apparent almost immediately. With the tournament weeks away, Trump posted on Truth Social that the Iranian national team was welcome to compete but that it would not be “appropriate” for their “own life and safety” - a statement by the host nation’s president that he could not guarantee the safety of a qualifying nation’s players. Iran, itself reeling from US and Israeli military strikes, demanded FIFA move its matches from the United States to Mexico. FIFA refused. Infantino, fresh from meeting Trump, said the tournament would proceed “as scheduled.”

This was not neutrality. This was a governing body telling a nation under attack to compete in the backyard of the man who had just attacked them - while simultaneously insisting that it was all about peace and football.

The deportation and immigration machinery operating parallel to the tournament has been equally damning. ICE enforcement operations in US cities intensified in the lead-up to the tournament. The Trump administration introduced a travel ban affecting citizens of 39 countries, including Haiti, Iran, Ivory Coast, and Senegal - four of which had qualified for the World Cup. Ordinary fans from those nations were effectively barred from attending. A separate visa bond policy requiring deposits of up to $15,000 from fans from five African nations targeted qualifying countries including Algeria, Cape Verde, Ivory Coast, Senegal and Tunisia.

At the Club World Cup in the United States in 2025, FIFA quietly stripped its own “No Racism” and “No Discrimination” campaigns from stadiums and social media, replacing them with the anodyne “Football Unites the World.” This was not editorial decision-making. It was a calculation that in Trump’s America, anti-racism messaging was politically inconvenient. FIFA chose to protect its host relationship rather than its own stated values.

When the anti-ICE protests erupted in Los Angeles in June 2025, Human Rights Watch and Amnesty International wrote to FIFA demanding action. Fan group Football Supporters Europe later described itself as “extremely concerned” by the militarisation of police forces operating around World Cup host cities. European political and football figures discussed a boycott following US threats against Greenland’s sovereignty. Germany’s football federation officially called for a boycott to be considered. Through all of it, Infantino smiled and said football was a bridge.

The Pattern: A Presidency That Chose Power Over Principle

When you place all of these events in sequence - Qatar, Russia, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Trump, the Peace Prize - a pattern emerges that is impossible to explain as a series of unfortunate misjudgements. It is a governing philosophy.

Infantino’s FIFA is not an apolitical organisation that occasionally gets caught in the crossfire of global events. It is an active political actor that repeatedly chooses power, profit, and proximity to authoritarians over the safety and dignity of the people its own statutes claim to protect. The red cards and the free passes, issued according to a logic that has nothing to do with football’s stated values and everything to do with who the powerful friends are.

Russia was expelled because expelling Russia didn’t cost FIFA - indeed, it was positively beneficial, aligning FIFA with Western governments and generating enormous positive coverage. Israel was protected because protecting Israel aligned FIFA with American political power, with the Trump administration that held the keys to 2026, and with Gulf states whose relationships Infantino has spent years cultivating. Saudi Arabia received the 2034 World Cup because Infantino’s relationship with Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman had become FIFA’s most important financial partnership, and no principle - no human rights policy, no ethical code, no bidding process - was going to stand in the way of that.

This is not the conduct of a governing body. It is cronyism, and Infantino is its chief operator.

2026: The Culmination of a Failing Presidency

With the 2026 tournament days away from kicking off, each of these threads has woven itself into the fabric of the event. The tournament that should be football’s greatest celebration has arrived feeling, as I described in the days before its opening, “less like a celebration of football and more like a warning label.”

The ticket pricing scandal alone would have been enough to define a lesser presidency. FIFA deployed dynamic pricing for the first time in World Cup history, producing final ticket prices of $11,000 for a single seat at MetLife Stadium. House Democrats called on FIFA to lower prices and were ignored. New York Mayor Zohran Mamdani campaigned against the gouging and was dismissed. USMNT player Timothy Weah called the prices “too expensive” and Scotland captain John McGinn“It’s too expensive for a lot of people to come. Fifa are officially reselling tickets and I’ve never heard of that in my life.” When questioned, Infantino defended the prices by saying FIFA “had to apply market rates” - a remarkable statement from the president of a non-profit organisation whose statutes speak of making football accessible to all.

A halftime show at the World Cup final, featuring Madonna, Shakira, and BTS, was introduced over the objections of players, media, unions, and traditionalist fan groups who argued it would extend the break, disrupt recovery, and accelerate the “Americanisation” of the sport. Cartel violence in Mexico raised security fears around Guadalajara. A labour union accused FIFA of blocking a planned workers’ inspection at Estadio Azteca. Several major Fan Festivals were cancelled or scaled back due to funding disputes between FIFA and host cities that had been left to carry security costs independently. The town of Foxborough nearly lost its World Cup licence because it couldn’t get $7.8 million in security funding upfront from the federal government.

Iran’s participation remained in doubt until the very last weeks, with the country’s sports minister declaring at one point that “under no circumstances can we participate” before FIFA confirmed, in April, that the Iranian team was coming “for sure.” Trump’s envoy Paolo Zampolli - a man who had used his administration connections to weaponise ICE against the mother of his child in a custody dispute - attempted to pressure FIFA into replacing Iran with Italy. FIFA said no, but the very fact that the conversation happened at all was an indictment of the environment Infantino had created.

The Legacy: Blatter Without the Brown Envelopes

Infantino came to power in 2016 promising reform. Sepp Blatter’s era had ended in the FBI’s investigation into FIFA corruption, with officials pocketing millions in bribes, votes for World Cup hosting rights treated as commodities to be bought and sold. Infantino was the clean break, the European Football Administrator who would restore credibility.

He has not done so. What he has delivered instead is a different kind of corruption - not financial, in the main, but moral. FIFA’s statutes and human rights policies have become instruments of selective deployment, weapons aimed at geopolitical adversaries while shielding commercial partners. The Peace Prize gambit is the most grotesque symbol of this, where Blatter bribed individuals, Infantino bribes institutions - or rather, launders their reputations - using the currency of football itself.

One assessment of Infantino’s presidency nailed it precisely: “Blatter’s FIFA was a bazaar of backhanders; Infantino’s is a diplomatic court, where despots and strongmen receive footballing legitimacy in exchange for the access and revenue FIFA needs to feed its own expansion.”

He has expanded the World Cup to 48 teams, generating more games, more broadcast deals, more revenue and, inevitably, a more diluted product. He has overseen the expansion of the Club World Cup that player after player has called an imposition on an already overloaded calendar. He has moved FIFA’s administrative operations to Saudi Arabia. He has cultivated relationships with strongmen from Riyadh to Washington as a governing strategy. And he has done all of this while maintaining, with apparently unshakeable conviction, that FIFA is a neutral organisation devoted to the universal language of football.

Why 2026 Must Be His Last

The case for Infantino’s departure after 2026 is not merely about the catalogue of disasters that have defined this tournament’s run-up. It is about what continuing his presidency signals about what FIFA is prepared to accept as normal.

If Infantino survives the 2026 World Cup with his position intact - if the combination of the Peace Prize scandal, the Israel double standard, the Saudi Arabia capitulation, the immigration catastrophe, the ticket gouging, and the chronic moral inconsistency produces no consequence - then FIFA will have confirmed what its most cynical critics have long suspected, that the institution is unreformable, its stated values meaningless, and its governance permanently available to whoever holds sufficient financial and political power.

Football deserves better. The 211 member associations of FIFA, the vast majority of them from nations in the Global South that have watched their World Cups handed to the Gulf and their voices drowned out by the politics of those with the largest cheques, deserve better. The fans who have been priced out of attending the greatest tournament in the sport deserve better. The Palestinian footballers whose deaths went unacknowledged deserve better. The Iranian players asked to compete in a country whose president questioned their safety deserve better.

A new FIFA presidency must commit to several things that Infantino’s has conspicuously failed to deliver. A genuinely competitive, transparent World Cup hosting process, with real human rights due diligence. Consistent application of FIFA’s own statutes regardless of the political and financial power of the states involved. An end to the personal diplomacy of the president as a vehicle for awarding political legitimacy to autocrats and strongmen. A genuine relationship with players, unions, and fan organisations rather than the dismissive shrug that has greeted their concerns throughout 2025 and 2026.

None of this will be simple. FIFA has structural problems that predate Infantino and will outlast him. The concentration of power in the executive, the opacity of decision-making, the dependence on broadcast revenues that come disproportionately from a small number of wealthy markets - all of these create incentives that push any FIFA president toward the kinds of choices Infantino has made.

But leadership matters. The choices a president makes - about which principles to defend, which relationships to cultivate, which populations to protect, and which to ignore - define what an institution is in practice, whatever its statutes say. Infantino has defined FIFA as an institution that will sacrifice almost any principle in the pursuit of commercial expansion and political access. A different president, with different values, would make different choices.

Football, at its best, is genuinely universal. It is the game that can be played on any surface, with any ball, in any country, by any child regardless of wealth, status, or nationality. The World Cup is supposed to be the expression of that universality - the moment every four years when the whole planet watches the same thing and feels, however briefly, connected to something larger than itself.

Gianni Infantino has spent the last decade turning the World Cup into a commodity, that connection into a commercial transaction, and that aspiration toward something noble into a vehicle for the enrichment and legitimation of the powerful.

The 2026 World Cup will produce moments of joy. It will produce goals and upsets and stories that will be told for decades. The tournament itself, whatever the surrounding chaos, retains the capacity to move people in ways that politics never can.

But when it is over, the question of who governs football must be answered honestly. Not in the language of FIFA’s press releases, not in the glow of a half-time show at MetLife Stadium, but in the cold light of what has happened on Infantino’s watch.

Qatar’s dead workers. Palestinian footballers murdered with no condemnation. The Saudi Arabia deal stitched up behind closed doors. The Peace Prize handed to a demagogue. The anti-racism campaigns scrubbed from stadiums to avoid upsetting a host. The Israeli federation given a fine and a free pass while Russia was expelled. The Iranian team told to play in the lion’s den. The fans priced out by their tens of thousands.

This is not a record that deserves another term. It is a record that demands accountability.

The whistle must blow on Gianni Infantino.

There was a familiar simplicity to the way the latest Celtic fan protest was packaged by their critics. Angry fans, ugly optics, and a crowd apparently motivated by little more than tribal grievance. It is a neat story, the kind that drops easily into newspaper columns and panel-show talking points. It is also a deeply incomplete one.

Because if you strip away the lazy shorthand and actually look at why so many Celtic supporters reacted so strongly to Robbie Keane’s association with Israeli football, you get to the heart of the matter far more quickly than the critics ever do. This was not just about a manager, or a contract, or a footballing appointment, or simply because he coached in Israel. It was about Gaza. It was about the political and moral reality surrounding Israel’s war on Palestinians. And it was about a fanbase that has, for years, seen solidarity with Palestine not as an imported stunt but as part of its own identity.

That context matters. A lot.

The problem with the mainstream response is that it often treats political protest from football supporters as if it has to be irrational, performative, or sectarian by default. If Celtic fans object, it must be because they are Celtic fans. If they boo, it must be because they are looking for trouble. If they raise Palestinian flags, it must be some kind of coded provocation and support for terrorists. That mindset allows journalists and commentators to bypass the actual substance of what is being protested. Conveniently. But there was substance here. Serious substance.

Israel is not simply engaged in a normal military conflict. The scale of destruction in Gaza, the civilian death toll, the collapse of basic humanitarian conditions, and the public celebrations of violence by supporters and officials of the very club that Robbie Keane managed had already created a moral outrage that extended far beyond politics and into the realm of human conscience. Many people, including football supporters, looked at the situation and concluded that neutrality was no longer morally adequate. They saw a population under siege. They saw children being murdered. They saw hospitals, homes, schools, and entire neighbourhoods destroyed. They saw a state and a military apparatus - supported by the United States and many of the Western nations - acting with a level of impunity that ordinary people found intolerable and grotesque.

That is the background against which fans judged Keane’s presence there.

It is one thing to say that a football manager or coach is not personally responsible for every political act around him. Of course that is true. It is another thing entirely to pretend that the setting in which he works has no meaning at all. Football does not exist in a vacuum. It never has. Clubs are not abstract employment agencies floating above history. They are institutions embedded in society, affected by politics, identity, and the moral choices of those around them.

So when Celtic fans objected, they were not objecting to football in the narrowest possible sense. They were objecting to a larger political and ethical reality. They were saying that there is something profoundly wrong with treating business as usual as though business as usual were still defensible. That is the part many critics refuse to engage with, because once you do engage with it, the protest becomes harder to caricature.

Instead, the familiar response arrives almost immediately - bigotry, sectarianism, hysteria, mob rule. Sometimes the accusation is said outright. Sometimes it is merely implied. And if the issue is Israel, Palestine, or Gaza, the anti-semitism charge circles like a vulture, ready to be deployed whenever criticism becomes inconvenient to Israel and their sycophants worldwide.

That is precisely where careful language matters.

Antisemitism is real. It is ugly. It is dangerous. It must be condemned absolutely, without hesitation or excuse. But the word cannot be allowed to become a shield against all criticism of the Israeli state. It cannot be used to whitewash over Palestinian suffering or to silence people who are responding to mass civilian death with outrage.

Those are not the same thing.

A principled opposition to war crimes is not antisemitism. A refusal to sanitise the bombing of Gaza is not antisemitism. A demand that public figures, clubs, and institutions reckon honestly with the political implications of their associations is not antisemitism. The moment commentators collapse all of that into one lazy accusation, they stop arguing in good faith and start policing the boundaries of acceptable dissent.

That is why the silence on Gaza in so much of the reporting is so revealing.

Many supporters of the Zionist state are all too eager to frame protests through the lens of political influence, club politics, or supposedly irrational fan behaviour, while skipping over the foundational issue that made the protest resonate in the first place. You cannot honestly explain the reaction without naming the war. You cannot understand the anger without acknowledging the images and reports coming out of Gaza. You cannot discuss the protest and then act surprised that supporters saw Keane’s continued involvement in Israeli football as morally unacceptable.

That omission is not neutral. It is editorial. And it shapes public perception in exactly the way the establishment prefers.

For Celtic fans, solidarity with Palestine is not a recent trend. It has been visible in the terraces, in banners, in displays, and in the broader culture surrounding the club for decades. It has become bound up with the club’s self-image as more than just a football institution. Whether one agrees with every expression of that identity or not, it is undeniable that many Celtic supporters see their club as connected to causes of anti-colonial struggle, international solidarity, and resistance to oppression.

That makes the Gaza issue especially potent.

When those fans see civilians being killed in huge numbers, when they see public enthusiasm for military force, and when they see football figures continuing in that environment as if none of it matters, they do not interpret that as a minor discomfort. They interpret it as a moral test. And in their eyes, Keane failed it.

That is the part the detractors never seem to want to admit. They would rather reduce the protest to noise than concede that it had an ethical foundation. But if football fans are capable of mobilising over ticket prices, ownership disputes, kit colours, VAR decisions and club governance, why is it suddenly unthinkable that they might also mobilise over a genocide abroad?

The answer is that it is not unthinkable at all. It is simply inconvenient to those who prefer football to stay comfortably apolitical unless the politics happen to suit them.

There is also a striking asymmetry in how fan culture gets judged in Scotland. When one group of supporters expresses a position that aligns with international solidarity or anti-war protest, it is scrutinised for hidden motives, exaggerated, and often moralised against. When another group is associated with sectarian symbolism, political provocations, or overtly adversarial displays, the reaction is often far more forgiving. The standard is not applied evenly. Everyone can see that.

That does not mean every criticism of Celtic support is wrong, or that every protest is above reproach. It means context matters, and context is too often discarded when the subject is Palestine or Israel. The media can be remarkably expansive when explaining one club’s grievances, and remarkably cramped when explaining another club’s solidarity.

The result is predictable. Celtic supporters are treated as though they have wandered into politics by accident, when in fact many of them have chosen to stand in solidarity with Palestinians deliberately and consistently. They have attached meaning to that solidarity. They have made it part of the club’s fan culture. And because they have done so openly, they are then judged more harshly than those who avoid political questions altogether while still benefiting from them.

The other issue is this, it is not enough to say that people should be “above politics” when politics is already shaping the lives being destroyed on the ground. Neutrality is a luxury claim. It sounds balanced in a studio. It feels evasive in a war zone. When children are being buried in their thousands, when families are being displaced, when the scale of civilian death is staggering, the demand that football supporters keep quiet can sound less like moderation and more like complicity.

That is why the Celtic fan response resonated so strongly.

It was not because every supporter shares the same analysis of the Middle East. It was not because every chant or banner is perfectly phrased. It was because many fans saw the situation for what it was - a moral emergency. And once that judgment is made, you cannot expect people to clap politely at appointments, partnerships, or associations that seem to ignore the very crisis they are protesting.

The most frustrating part of the whole debate is how easily critics substitute character judgments for actual argument. Instead of grappling with Gaza, they label fans as “bigots.” Instead of discussing the genocide, they talk about fan behaviour. Instead of asking whether the protest speaks to a legitimate ethical concern, they talk about anti-semitism.

That tells you everything.

If the media wants to be taken seriously, it needs to report the full story. That means naming Gaza. It means acknowledging the deaths of civilians. It means understanding why fans around the world - not just Celtic fans - have chosen Palestinian solidarity as a moral line in the sand. It means resisting the temptation to reduce every expression of outrage to prejudice.

And yes, it also means being fair about the difference between criticism of a state and hatred of a people. That distinction is essential. Without it, the debate collapses into slogans, and slogans are the favourite language of those who would rather not confront the facts. Celtic fans don’t hate Jews, they hate the Zionist state of Israel.

Celtic supporters are entitled to their politics. They are entitled to protest. They are entitled to judge public figures through the lens of conscience, not just footballing competence. And they are entitled to ask why the coverage so often omits the very context that makes their protest intelligible.

The answer, bluntly, is that Gaza is too uncomfortable for many of the people writing the headlines. It forces moral clarity. It forces specificity. It forces them to say what they really think about genocide, rather than hiding behind vague phrases about “controversy” and “backlash.”

But football supporters, especially those who have long embraced solidarity politics, are not obliged to cooperate with that evasion. They saw what they saw. They heard the statements. They understood the symbolism. And they responded accordingly. That does not make them bigots. It makes them politically conscious.

The real question is whether the commentators who criticise them are prepared to be equally conscious, or whether they will continue to ignore the mounting dead toll in Gaza while lecturing living people about tone. That is the standard now. That is the choice.

And if the media refuses to meet it, the public will increasingly understand why so many fans no longer trust it to tell the full story.

For weeks, a narrative has hung over Celtic’s title-winning day like a bad smell. It has been repeated, embellished, and weaponised by pundits, executives, opposition fans, and compliant sections of the Scottish media.

Hearts players were “assaulted.”

Except, as it turns out, they weren’t.

Hearts midfielder Cammy Devlin has now said it plainly. Calmly. Without agenda. Without theatrics. Without the need to spin a grievance into something it never was.

“None of the players got hurt.”

And just like that, the entire house of cards collapses.

Because Devlin was there. On the pitch. In the chaos. In the moment that so many others have since tried to distort. He is not relying on second-hand accounts, slow-motion replays, still images, or the fevered imagination of two-bit pundits. He lived it.

And he has told the truth.

The same truth that was conspicuously absent when Hearts co-owner Tony Bloom rushed to a Talksport interview to claim that “one or two” Hearts players had been assaulted. The same truth ignored by Pat Nevin and Pat Bonner, who spoke with unwarranted certainty about assaults they claimed to have witnessed but failed to back up with verification. The same truth buried beneath a pile of headlines that prioritised outrage over evidence.

Let’s be absolutely clear, the pitch invasion should not have happened. Devlin himself called it “horrible” and said it “wasn’t nice.” That is a reasonable, grounded reaction. It is the response of a professional who understands both the emotional intensity of football and the standards the game should uphold.

But “not nice” is not the same as “assault.” Discomfort is not violence. Disorder is not injury. And in this case, there were no injuries. No police complaints. No formal reports. No evidence.

Nothing.

Yet the allegation of “assaults” was allowed to run unchecked, amplified by voices that should know better.

Tony Bloom, a man whose words carry weight as Hearts co-owner, did not hedge his claims. He did not say “it looked concerning” or “we are seeking clarity.” He stated, unequivocally, that players were assaulted. That they were in danger. Those are serious accusations. They demand serious proof. None was ever provided. No follow-up. No clarification. No retraction. Just silence. And in that silence, the damage was done.

Because once a claim like that enters the bloodstream of Scottish football discourse, it does not simply disappear. It lingers. It shapes perception. It reinforces existing biases about Celtic supporters and their behaviour. It becomes, in the minds of many, accepted fact.

That is how misinformation works. Not through careful argument, but through repetition.

Pat Nevin and Pat Bonner played their part in that process. Both men spoke claiming they had witnessed the assaults. Both contributed to the sense that something far more sinister had occurred than what was actually visible.

But what did they actually see? What evidence did they present? What incidents did they point to that met the threshold of “assault”? Again, nothing.

It was punditry at its worst - speculative, emotive, and utterly detached from accountability.

And the rest of the Scottish mainstream media? They followed suit. Headlines were written. Angles were chosen. Narratives were constructed. The word “assault” appeared with alarming ease, without qualification, without verification, and without challenge.

There was no collective pause to ask the most basic journalistic question - where is the proof? Instead, the story was too convenient to resist. Celtic fans, celebrating a title, spilling onto the pitch. It fits a familiar trope. It feeds into long-standing caricatures. It generates clicks, outrage, and engagement. And so it was allowed to run.

Even as the days passed. Even as no complaints were lodged with Police Scotland. Even as no player came forward to describe being attacked. Even as the silence grew louder.

That is what makes Devlin’s comments so significant. They cut through all of it. He did not deny the unpleasantness of the situation. He did not pretend the pitch invasion was acceptable. But he drew a clear line between what happened and what was later claimed to have happened.

“No one got hurt.”

It is a simple sentence. But in the context of the past few weeks, it is devastating. Because it exposes the exaggeration. The inflation. The reckless use of language that turned a moment of disorder into something far more serious in the public imagination.

It also raises an uncomfortable question for Hearts. What happens now? If you are Tony Bloom, how do you reconcile your earlier statements with the words of your own player? Do you stand by your claim? Do you provide evidence? Or do you quietly hope the story disappears?

If you are within the Hearts dressing room, how do you respond to a teammate who has effectively contradicted the club’s public stance? Devlin, notably, is out of contract. He is not bound by the same constraints as others. He has spoken freely. And in doing so, he may have said what others could not.

There is also the small matter of Craig Gordon’s comments in the aftermath of the title race. Talk of injustice. Of what might have been. Of a sense that Hearts had somehow been wronged.

It all feeds into a broader narrative of grievance. But grievance without substance is just noise. And Devlin’s intervention cuts through that noise with refreshing clarity.

This is not about defending pitch invasions. It is not about pretending that everything was fine. It wasn’t. The scenes were chaotic. The timing was premature. The optics were poor. But none of that justifies inventing or exaggerating claims of violence. Because once you cross that line, you are no longer describing events. You are distorting them. And that distortion has consequences.

It damages reputations. It fuels division. It entrenches mistrust between clubs, supporters, and the media. It creates a version of reality that is harder to challenge the longer it goes uncorrected.

Which is why accountability matters.

The pundits who spoke out of turn should be asked to explain themselves. The outlets that ran with unverified claims should revisit their coverage. Corrections, clarifications, and apologies are not signs of weakness. They are the foundation of credibility.

And if those do not come voluntarily, then they should be demanded from them.

Because if this episode proves anything, it is that narratives in Scottish football are too often shaped by assumption rather than evidence. By bias rather than balance. By the loudest voices rather than the most accurate ones.

Celtic, as a club, will likely say little. That is their way. They rarely engage in media battles, even when the coverage strays into the unfair or the absurd when it comes to the fans. But the supporters have every right to challenge what they have seen unfold. Not with conspiracy or counter-myths, but with facts. With the words of a player who was actually there. With the absence of complaints, reports, or injuries. With the simple, undeniable truth that the most serious allegations made in the aftermath of that game have not been substantiated in any meaningful way.

Cammy Devlin did not set out to start a media storm. If anything, his comments were measured, even restrained. He acknowledged the disappointment of the result. The unpleasantness of the scenes. The emotional weight of a season that slipped away.

But in telling the truth, he has forced a reckoning. Because the story that followed Celtic’s title win was never just about football. It became a test of how quickly claims can be made, how widely they can spread, and how rarely they are challenged.

Now, finally, it has been challenged. Not by a fan. Not by a club statement. Not by social media speculation. But by a Hearts player. And that should matter. It should matter to those who reported the story. To those who commented on it. To those who believed it.

Most of all, it should matter to those who were so quick to turn allegation into accepted fact. The lie lasted weeks. The truth took one sentence.

I wonder if Devlin’s comments will receive the same press coverage as the lies about the assaults did?

For 28 years, the World Cup has been something Scotland watched from the outside. 28 years of near misses, false dawns, playoff heartbreaks, and campaigns that faded before they ever truly got going. An entire generation has grown up without seeing Scotland at a World Cup. For many, France ‘98 is not a memory, it is a story passed down, grainy archive footage, a piece of football folklore that never quite felt real. Until now.

This is the first World Cup since 1998 with Scotland back where they belong, and that changes everything. It sharpens the anticipation, deepens the emotion, and gives this tournament a meaning that goes far beyond football. Because for Scotland fans, this is not just another football competition. It is a return. And with that return comes a familiar truth, one that sits comfortably alongside the pride, the excitement, and the sheer relief of being back on the global stage.

Scotland first. Then, as it has always been, and always will be, Anyone But England.

Let’s start where it matters most. Supporting Scotland at this World Cup is not a casual act. It is not something taken for granted. It is the culmination of nearly three decades of waiting, hoping, and enduring.

Every supporter has their own story of the journey back to world football’s greatest tournament. The campaign that almost got there. The goal that should have stood. The night it all fell apart. Over time, those moments stack up, turning absence into an identity.

So when Scotland finally step out onto that World Cup stage again, against Haiti on June 14th, it is not just about the players on the pitch. It is about everyone who stuck with it when there was nothing to cling to but belief. That is why Scotland will always come first. Because this has been earned. No freebies, no weak groups to comfortably escape from. Scotland fought tooth and nail to get to the party.

But the World Cup does not exist in a vacuum. It never has. And for Scotland fans, the wider tournament brings with it another layer of engagement, one shaped by history, rivalry, and a very specific kind of cultural resistance.

Anyone but England.

It is a phrase that will be repeated in pubs, living rooms, and fan zones throughout the tournament. It will be said with a smile, sometimes with a bite, always with understanding. And it will, as always, be misunderstood.

From the outside, it is often dismissed as bitterness or some going as far as labelling it racist. A small nation supposedly defined by its fixation on a larger neighbour. But that reading misses the point entirely. This is not about obsession. It is about context.

For nearly three decades, while Scotland were absent from the World Cup, England were not just participants, they were the story. Every tournament cycle came with the same swelling narrative. England as contenders. England as favourites. England were going to bring it home.

“It’s coming home” became the soundtrack of summers Scotland were not part of. And when you are on the outside looking in, that kind of dominance does not go unnoticed. It builds, year after year, into something that demands a response. Supporting Anyone But England is that response.

It is not about denying England’s quality. It is not about disliking individual players, many of whom are lauded across Scotland. It is about pushing back against the idea that one team’s journey should define the entire tournament. Because for 28 years, Scotland fans had to find their own way of engaging with the World Cup. Without a team to follow, the tournament became something different - a patchwork of allegiances, stories, and moments.

And within that, one constant remained. You picked your side. And if England were playing, you picked the other one.

That instinct did not appear overnight. It is rooted in the oldest rivalry in international football. Scotland versus England is not just a fixture; it is a thread that runs through the history of the football itself.

Even in Scotland’s absence from major tournaments, that rivalry never disappeared. If anything, it became more pronounced. Watching England navigate the Euros and World Cups while Scotland stayed home only sharpened the contrast. It reinforced the sense of separation.

So now, with Scotland back on the biggest stage for the first time since 1998, that dual identity comes into even sharper focus. There is the overwhelming pride of seeing Scotland compete again to hearing the anthem being belted out by tens of thousands of Scots, watching the Tartan Army take over another country, feeling part of something that had been missing for so long.

Then there is the familiar undercurrent. Anyone but England. It plays out in small, almost ritualistic ways. A glance exchanged when England concede. A cheer that is just a fraction louder when their opponent scores. A sense of collective amusement when the hype begins to wobble as it always does. It is not hatred. It is theatre. It is tradition. And it is shared.

Because football, at its core, is about more than just your own team. It is about identity, belonging, and the stories you choose to invest in. For Scotland fans, those stories have always existed in contrast to England as much as alongside them. The 28-year absence only intensified that dynamic.

While Scotland waited, England’s narrative grew louder. The coverage expanded, the expectations inflated, the sense of inevitability became harder to ignore. Every tournament felt like it revolved around the same axis. So the counterbalance became stronger too. Anyone but England was not just a throwaway line. It was a way of reclaiming space in a tournament where Scotland had no direct voice. Now they do.

And that changes the tone — but not the principle.

Because even with Scotland back, the imbalance in coverage and narrative remains. The English Premier League’s global reach, the media focus, the constant framing of England as central to the story, none of that disappears overnight. If anything, it becomes more noticeable when Scotland are part of the same tournament. Which is why the stance still holds. Scotland first. Then anyone but England.

There is also something uniquely Scottish in how this is expressed. It is rarely aggressive. More often, it is laced with humour, with self-awareness, with a sense that everyone involved understands the unwritten rules.

Watch a World Cup game in a Scottish pub when England are playing and you will see it unfold in real time. The mock groans, the exaggerated praise for the opposition, the quiet satisfaction when momentum shifts. It is communal. It is part of the experience. And it makes the tournament richer, not poorer.

Because here is the thing that often gets overlooked, this mindset does not diminish Scotland’s support for their own team. It enhances it. After 28 years away, every Scotland match will carry enormous weight. Every tackle, every pass, every goal will feel magnified. The emotional investment will be total.

But when those matches are done - whether Scotland progress or not - the tournament continues. And rather than fading into the background, Scotland fans remain engaged. They have a stake. They have a preference. They have a narrative to follow. That is what “anyone but England” provides. It keeps the World Cup alive beyond Scotland’s own results.

There is also a deeper layer to all of this, one tied to how Scotland sees itself in footballing terms. This is a nation that does not deal in entitlement. Success is not assumed; it is chased, often unsuccessfully, but always with belief. Moments matter more than medals. Nights matter more than narratives. Being back at a World Cup after 28 years is, in itself, a victory of sorts. It is proof that persistence counts for something, that history can be restarted, that the long wait was not for nothing. That perspective shapes everything.

It makes Scotland’s presence feel earned in a way that cannot be manufactured. And it makes the surrounding noise, the hype, the expectation, the relentless focus on certain teams feel even more distant. So when Scotland fans say “anyone but England,” it is not coming from a place of insecurity. It is coming from a place of clarity. They know exactly who they are supporting. And they know exactly why. Because this World Cup is different. This one is not about watching from afar. It is not about imagining what it might have been like. It is about living it, after 28 years of waiting. It is about seeing Scotland back where they belong. And once that part is honoured, once every bit of support has been poured into supporting Steve Clarke and the boys, the rest of the tournament unfolds as it always has. With a glance south. With a knowing smile.With a simple, time-honoured stance that needs no explanation among those who understand it.

First, Scotland. Finally, Scotland again. And then, without apology and without hesitation - Anyone but England.

The 2026 FIFA World Cup was supposed to be the great North American spectacle - a sprawling, glittering, modern tournament staged across the United States, Canada and Mexico, sold as the biggest and boldest World Cup ever. Instead, with kickoff looming, it already feels less like a celebration of football and more like a warning label. FIFA and Donald Trump have managed to wrap the competition in a fog of ego, grievance, money, spectacle and political theatre so dense that the sport itself risks becoming the supporting act.

That is quite an achievement, in the worst possible way.

Because what should the world be talking about a week out from the opening match? The squads. The tactics. The stars. The underdogs. The atmosphere in the stands. The first proper signs of who might go far and who might not make it out of the group stages. Instead, the conversation is being dominated by Trump, Gianni Infantino, immigration fears, absurd ticket prices, hotel chaos, heat warnings, pitch concerns and the growing sense that FIFA has sold the soul of its own event to the Tangerine toddler.

And at the centre of it all is the strange, sycophantic relationship between Trump and Infantino - a bromance that has turned football’s biggest tournament into a vanity project with global consequences.

Let’s start with the most ridiculous symbol of all as I have covered previously - Trump being awarded FIFA’s inaugural Peace Prize. Even by FIFA standards, that was a staggering piece of image laundering. This was not a neutral sporting honour handed out in a spirit of international goodwill. It looked like what it was a gilded political prop designed to flatter a man who thrives on flattery, at a moment when Infantino and FIFA wanted access, attention and influence.

It was theatre. It was performance. It was also laughably cringeworthy.

Trump did not need the prize. FIFA did not need to invent the prize. Yet there they were, grinning together as if football had suddenly become a branch of presidential pageantry. Infantino, who has spent years behaving less like the steward of the game and more like a man desperate to stand in the warmest possible spotlight, looked every inch the willing sidekick - the court jester if you will. Trump, unsurprisingly, looked delighted to have another shiny object handed to him.

And that is the problem. The World Cup should not be an ego-soothing device for politicians. It should not be used as a stage for the American president to project power, dominate attention and make himself the centre of every frame. Yet here we are, with growing fears that Trump will attempt exactly that, that he will insert himself into the tournament as if it were one long campaign rally dressed up in football shirts and patriotic MAGA slogans.

Would anyone be genuinely shocked if he turned up for some theatrical kick-off moment in a presidential-style USA football kit, all gold trim and national pomp? Would it be surprising if the spectacle somehow ended with him presenting himself with a winner’s medal, the World Cup trophy itself or some other symbolic trophy cabinet addition of his own making? At this point, the only thing that would be surprising is restraint.

This is the danger Infantino has helped create. FIFA has spent years insisting that football can transcend politics, while simultaneously handing the keys to whichever political heavyweight can help FIFA protect and further its interests. In practice, that means the game gets used as a backdrop for power. It means the World Cup becomes less a football event than a political bargaining chip.

And nowhere is that clearer than in the Iran issue. Iran qualifying for the World Cup should have been a straightforward football story. Instead it has become yet another diplomatic headache, with questions over visas, travel access, security and the basic ability of players and staff to move freely. The federation has had to insist on participation and demand guarantees simply to ensure that the team can function properly in the tournament environment.

That should alarm anyone who still believes the World Cup is meant to be above this sort of mess.

Because this is not just about Iran. It is about the atmosphere FIFA has allowed to grow around the competition. If teams are arriving unsure about whether their travel documents will be honoured, whether security policy will change without warning, or whether the host nation’s political climate could make their participation awkward or hostile, then the tournament has already failed one of its most basic duties to provide fairness and certainty.

That uncertainty does not just affect Iran. It affects every team, every federation, every fan, every journalist and every supporter trying to plan a once-in-a-lifetime trip. The United States should have been selling accessibility, ease and scale. Instead, it is selling anxiety and fear.

Then there is the money.

World Cups have always been expensive, but this one is threatening to become something closer to a luxury cartel. Ticket prices are outrageous. Resale prices are grotesque. FIFA’s own marketplace has been associated with eye-watering figures that make the whole competition feel engineered for the rich, not the ordinary fan. That is a disastrous look for a tournament that constantly wraps itself in the language of global unity and football for all.

A World Cup should not feel like a corporate summit with corner flags.

Supporters are being squeezed from every direction. First comes the tickets. Then the flights. Then the hotels. Then the transport. Then the food and drink. Then the security hassle. Then the uncertainty over what the journey will actually look like once they arrive. The result is obvious, ordinary fans are being priced out, turned away or forced to accept the idea that football’s biggest party is no longer for them.

And the hotel picture is just as ugly. Reports of mass cancellations, weak demand in some host cities and the general confusion around room blocks point to a tournament that is still struggling. A mega-event this size relies on confidence. Right now, the confidence seems to be leaking out of the event in every direction.

That matters, because when supporters start doubting whether the trip is worth the expense, the atmosphere suffers before the first ball is even kicked. Empty rooms, nervous vendors, and a feeling that the whole thing has been overbuilt and under-thought is not the build-up FIFA wanted. But it is the build-up they have helped to manufacture.

Then come the football problems, which should have been the easiest ones to avoid. The pitches are already a concern. Reports from other FIFA events have shown surfaces that are patchy, uneven or too hard, with players and coaches openly criticising the quality. If the world’s biggest tournament is being played on surfaces that compromise the flow and safety of matches and the players themselves, then FIFA’s credibility takes another battering.

And over all of it hangs the heat.

This is not a minor inconvenience. This is a tournament taking place in the northern summer across a vast continent, with warnings already flagging heat, player safety and recovery concerns. If your competition requires constant discussion of whether players are at risk of dangerous temperatures, hydration failures or compromised performance, then the planning has already gone badly wrong. Football at this level should be about ability, not survival.

The issue is not only the heat itself. It is FIFA’s willingness to wave it away until the warning signs become impossible to ignore. That has become a pattern - ignore, minimise, reframe, deny, then act surprised when the obvious problems become headlines. The result is a governing body that looks permanently reactive, permanently defensive and permanently one step behind reality.

This is what makes the Trump-Infantino axis so corrosive. It is not just that they like each other or see mutual advantage. It is that together they embody a style of leadership that prizes image over substance, access over accountability and spectacle over governance. Infantino gets the attention he craves. Trump gets the grand stage he loves. FIFA gets a temporary political shield. And football gets dragged along behind them, whether it wants to or not.

That is why this tournament now feels so vulnerable to being remembered for all the wrong reasons.

If the matches are brilliant, the goals spectacular and the football irresistible, then the sport may eventually rescue the narrative. It often does. Fans forgive a lot when the football is extraordinary. A great tournament can paper over many sins. But not all of them. Not when the off-field narrative is this loud, this cynical and this persistent.

Because if the game itself is good enough, the football will still matter. But the question is whether it will matter more than the circus around it.

At the moment, that seems unlikely.

Already, the broader story of this World Cup is not who might win it. It is who is controlling it. Already, it is not about the teams. It is about the political choreography. It is not about the players. It is about the power brokers. It is not about the pitch. It is about the people standing above it trying to be bigger than the event itself.

That is how Infantino and Trump have managed to take a tournament that should have united the world and make it feel like an extension of the culture war, the ego war and the money war all at once.

With a week to go, the real fear is not just that the World Cup will be messy. It is that it has been hijacked before it even starts. That the football will be buried under the noise. That Trump will dominate the headlines, Infantino will enable him, and the tournament will become remembered as a giant, self-inflicted clusterfuck with a ball attached.

And if that happens, the shame will not belong to the players. It will belong to the men who turned the world’s game into their personal stage.

For the first time in what feels like an age, Celtic’s powerbrokers have made a decision that actually reflects the will, the intelligence, and the emotional pulse of the support. The appointment of Martin O’Neill as permanent manager is not just a footballing decision, it is a course correction after years of drift, arrogance, and tone-deaf leadership from the top of the club.

Let’s not sugarcoat it, this is the first genuinely smart move Dermot Desmond and the Celtic board have made in years. After flirting with yet another ill-fitting, uninspired appointment in Robbie Keane - a move that sparked fury across supporter groups, ultras, and ordinary fans alike - the board have finally listened. Or perhaps more accurately, they have been forced to listen. The backlash was not mild, it was not a minority, and it was not going away. Banners, statements, supporter group mobilisations, this was a fanbase drawing a line in the sand and saying no chance!

And crucially, they were right.

The idea of Robbie Keane walking into Celtic Park under those circumstances was not just questionable, it was combustible. This is a club built on identity, on values, on solidarity. You cannot ignore that reality and expect unity. You cannot pretend Celtic exists in a vacuum where football decisions are detached from the club’s cultural and political DNA. The support made that crystal clear, and for once, Dermot Desmond and the board did not bulldoze ahead regardless.

Instead, they turned to a man who embodies Celtic in a way very few ever have. Martin O’Neill is not just a safe pair of hands. He is not just a nostalgic nod to better days. He is a proven winner, a commanding presence, and a figure who understands exactly what Celtic demands, and what it does not tolerate.

His return this season, initially framed as a temporary fix, has already delivered silverware and stability in the middle of chaos. A domestic double in the midst of managerial upheaval, structural dysfunction, and fan boycotts is not something to be shrugged off. It is evidence that O’Neill still has what it takes at the ripe auld age of 74.

And make no mistake, this Celtic side needed him.

After Brendan Rodgers’ sudden exit [cannot confirm or deny him leaving in a Honda Civic], followed by the disastrous and frankly laughable Wilfried Nancy experiment that collapsed after just 33 days, the club looked like it had completely lost its way. There was no direction, no authority, no coherence. It was a football club being run on fumes and reactions rather than planning, structure, and strategy.

O’Neill walked into that mess and did what he has always done, he imposed order, demanded standards, and delivered results.

Now, with a one-year deal - with an option of a second - Celtic have bought themselves something they have been desperately lacking. Time. Time to stabilise. Time to rebuild. Time to finally address the deep-rooted issues behind the scenes that no managerial appointment alone can fix. Because let’s be clear, this is not just about who sits in the dugout. The problems at Celtic run far deeper than that.

The football operations structure is outdated. The scouting system lags behind modern European standards. Data analytics, recruitment strategy, succession planning all of it feels reactive rather than proactive. Celtic have been operating like a club clinging to past success rather than building for future dominance.

O’Neill’s appointment does not solve those problems. But it gives the club breathing space to start solving them properly. That is the real significance of this decision.

With O’Neill in charge, Celtic are not starting from scratch this summer. There is continuity. There is clarity. The players know what is expected. The management team already knows the squad, who can handle the pressure, who can deliver, and who simply isn’t good enough. And that last point is critical.

This is shaping up to be one of the biggest rebuilding jobs in recent Celtic history. Despite retaining the Premiership title, this is not a squad without flaws. There are gaps in quality, in depth, and in consistency. There are players who have coasted, players who have failed to step up, and players who simply do not fit what Celtic need going forward. O’Neill will not tolerate passengers. He never has. That ruthlessness, that clarity, is exactly what Celtic need heading into a season that will offer no margin for error.

Because the timing here is brutal.

A Champions League playoff looms in just two months. The financial stakes are enormous. Qualification is not a luxury - it is a necessity. Missing out for a second year in a row would be calamitous. At the same time, the World Cup will disrupt the season, compress schedules, and test squad depth like never before. There is no room for bedding-in periods. No patience for experimental phases. No tolerance for confusion.

It is straight down to business.

And that is precisely why Martin O’Neill is the right man, right now. He does not need time to understand Celtic. He does not need time to grasp the pressure. He does not need time to learn the league. He continues with full authority and immediate credibility.

Contrast that with what could have been. A Robbie Keane appointment would have walked into immediate division. Every result would have been scrutinised through the lens of controversy. Every setback amplified. Every misstep weaponised. It would have been a circus before a ball was even kicked.

Instead, Celtic have unity. Or at least, the closest thing to it they have had in a long time. That matters more than the board seem to realise.

Because when Celtic are aligned, when the support, the manager, and the players are pulling in the same direction, the club becomes a different animal entirely. History has shown that time and again. And Martin O’Neill knows how to harness that energy better than most.

But while this appointment deserves credit, it does not absolve the hierarchy of their wider failures. Far from it. If anything, it raises the stakes. Because now there are no excuses left.

The board must back O’Neill properly in the transfer market. Not with panic buys. Not with short-term gambles. But with targeted, strategic recruitment that addresses the squad’s weaknesses and raises the overall level to do battle domestically and in Europe.

They must modernise the football operation. Invest in scouting networks that identify talent before it becomes obvious. Integrate data analytics into recruitment and performance analysis in a meaningful way, not as a token gesture, and not using some custom software from a two-bit English lower league flop of a manager masquerading as a football doctor.

They must build a structure that outlasts any single manager. And perhaps most importantly, they must start thinking about the future - properly.

Because Martin O’Neill, for all his qualities, is not a long-term solution in the traditional sense. At 74, even with the option of a second year, this is clearly a short-to-medium term appointment. That is not a weakness. It is an opportunity.

An opportunity to genuinely plan for what comes next. No more scrambling. No more reactive appointments. No more last-minute decisions driven by convenience or familiarity. The next Celtic manager should be identified, evaluated, and prepared well in advance.

That process should already be underway.

Because if there is one lesson the last few years have taught us, Celtic cannot afford another cycle of chaos.

O’Neill’s return is a stabilising force. A reset button. A chance to rebuild not just a team, but a football club that has drifted too far from the standards it once set.

And yet, for all the analysis, all the structural talk, all the criticism of the board, there is something else at play here. Hope. Real, tangible hope.

The kind that comes from seeing a familiar figure stride back into the dugout and knowing, deep down, that he understands. That he gets it. That he will demand what needs to be demanded and deliver what needs to be delivered.

The challenge is enormous. The expectations are relentless as ever. The margin for error is non-existent. But Celtic are no longer stumbling into the new season blind. They have a leader. They have continuity. They have, for the first time in a long time, a sense of direction.

Martin O’Neill is back. And now, finally, Celtic can get to work.

There is a particular kind of dread that settles over a Celtic supporter in moments like this. Not the dread of losing, though that is painful enough, but the dread of watching your club stumble at a moment when clarity and decisiveness are desperately needed. We are at such a moment now. The managerial appointment that Dermot Desmond is about to make - and we all know it is down to him and him alone - will either launch Celtic into a new era of genuine ambition or condemn them to another cycle of stagnation dressed up as progress. The stakes could not be higher, and the warning signs could not be clearer.

By the end of this week, if reports are accurate, Desmond will have held talks in London with both Martin O’Neill and Robbie Keane, the two men now at the front of the queue to take charge at Parkhead next season. No other candidates are in the frame. In the space of a few days, the future direction of Scotland’s biggest and most successful club will be decided and if Desmond and the Celtic board get it wrong again, the consequences will reverberate far beyond a single season - although the pessimist in me, thinks that Desmond has already made his mind up before the talks.

Let us begin with some honesty about what Celtic actually faces. This is not a routine appointment. The club has just won a remarkable league and cup double under O’Neill, a man who was brought back with the club in crisis and performed a near-miracle by steadying the ship - not once but twice. That achievement deserves genuine respect and gratitude. But the summer ahead is not about sentiment. It is about construction. Celtic need a substantial rebuild of their squad before the Champions League play-off in mid-August. The new manager must be given as much time as possible to reshape the group, but leeway is tight and the margin for error is almost non-existent. Whoever takes this job must be someone capable of hitting the ground running. Is that man Keane? Or is it the present incumbent Martin O’Neill?

The Ghost of Wilfried Nancy

Before Celtic’s hierarchy commits to anyone, they owe themselves and the club’s supporters one long, uncomfortable look in the mirror, because the Wilfried Nancy episode should haunt this process like a spectre.

Nancy arrived at Celtic Park with what fans were told were ‘impressive’ credentials from his time in the MLS with CF Montréal and Columbus Crew. Some of us were less than impressed before a ball was kicked under his management. Yet the theory was sound enough - a young, dynamic coach who had overperformed in league ranked higher than the SPFL, an attractive prospect on the face of it. The reality was a complete and utter catastrophe. Nancy was a deeply poor fit for the demands of Scottish football let alone the pressures of managing Celtic, where expectation is not just high, it is relentless, total, and unforgiving. He made mass changes more or less immediately. The players clearly lost confidence in his methods or didn’t have a clue how to implement them. The results were dire. The atmosphere at Parkhead curdled. In the end, his dismissal after 33 days was inevitable, his tenure damaged Celtic’s title winning chances, with the majority of fans and pundits alike seeing any title win as nigh on impossible.

The lesson was not simply that Nancy was the wrong man. The lesson was that Celtic cannot afford to appoint the wrong man. Not even once. Not even for a short while. Not even when the choice looks intriguing on paper. The club’s season is simply too compressed, the pressure too immediate, the cost of a false start too severe. And yet here we are, on the verge of another appointment, with the clock ticking and the Champions League barely two months away.

A repeat of the Nancy situation, even a milder version, could cost Celtic Champions League qualification once again. That cannot happen. The hierarchy needs to be right, first time, and then back whoever they choose with the full financial and structural support the job demands.

Martin O’Neill: The Safe Harbour

There is a compelling case, built on emotion and pragmatic logic in almost equal measure, for simply handing Martin O’Neill the job on a permanent basis and letting him see out one more chapter with the club he loves.

O’Neill is a Celtic legend. There is no denying that. His first tenure between 2000 and 2005 transformed the club, producing that astonishing run to the UEFA Cup final in Seville in 2003, along with some big results domestically and in Europe. His connection to the supporters is deep and visceral. When he walked back into Parkhead last season, the support from the stands was immediate and real. And then he delivered. Against the odds, against the pressure, against the chaos of a season that had already been derailed, O’Neill guided Celtic to a league and cup double. That is no small feat given the state that the club was in on and off the park.

He has also, crucially, already said he would not rule out starting the new season in the dugout. The infrastructure he has built around him with Shaun Maloney, Stephen McManus, and Mark Fotheringham provides a ready-made coaching unit that knows the club, knows the players, and knows exactly what Scottish football demands.

But O’Neill himself has been the most honest voice in this conversation. He is 74 years old. He has stated plainly that he does not see himself as the right candidate if Desmond is looking for someone to lead a long-term project. And that, ultimately, is precisely what Celtic needs. Not a custodian. Not a caretaker elevated to permanence. The club requires a coach who will be here in three years’ time, who will recruit with a plan that extends beyond one window, who will embed a playing identity that develops over multiple seasons. O’Neill is a brilliant football man. But there is something almost noble in his own recognition that this job, in its full scope, might belong to someone younger.

That said, if the alternative being offered is Robbie Keane - with everything that brings - then O’Neill’s case strengthens considerably, and a shorter-term arrangement might still be the wiser choice for a club that has no long-term strategy when it comes to the football side of the business.

The Robbie Keane Problem

Let us talk about Robbie Keane. And let us do so without pretending the full picture does not exist.

On paper, certain elements of Keane’s candidacy make sense. He is a self-confessed Celtic supporter. He played for the club on loan in 2010. He has managed Ferencvaros in Hungary, where he won the league and cup double in an 18-month stint; and before that, Maccabi Tel Aviv in Israel, where he also claimed the title. He is 45 years old, young enough to commit to a multi-year project, which he is reportedly willing to do for three years. He has reportedly already identified former Celtic players Scott Brown and Johnny Hayes as potential backroom figures. There is a vision, a timeline, and an enthusiasm from the man himself.

These are not nothing. Keane is clearly serious about this opportunity, and his managerial record, while not extensive, is not without merit.

But there is a dimension to this candidacy that a substantial portion of Celtic’s support finds deeply uncomfortable, and it would be an act of cowardice to ignore it.

Robbie Keane managed Maccabi Tel Aviv. Maccabi Tel Aviv is not merely a football club that happens to be Israeli. It is an institution with explicit ideological commitments, a club whose ultras and ownership have shown unwavering support for Israel’s military operations in Gaza - operations that have been described by United Nations officials, international legal bodies, human rights organisations, and any right-minded individual as ethnic cleansing and genocide. The images of Maccabi supporters celebrating military strikes, of club officials making statements that aligned the club with state violence, are not fabrications. They are well-documented.

Celtic’s fanbase has one of the most visible and passionate records of Palestinian solidarity in world football. The Green Brigade’s display of Palestinian flags during a Champions League match in 2016, which resulted in a UEFA fine that supporters crowd-funded and doubled as a donation to Palestinian charities, became a symbol recognised worldwide and celebrated. For a significant, vocal and principled cohort of Celtic supporters, the idea of appointing a man who managed Maccabi Tel Aviv while that institution supported the genocide in Gaza is not merely uncomfortable. It is a line they will not cross in silence.

This is not a fringe view. It is not the position of a tiny minority of militant Celtic fans who can be safely dismissed. It is the considered moral position of thousands of Celtic supporters for whom the club’s identity - rooted in the Irish diaspora, in solidarity, in the historical understanding of what it means to be dispossessed and persecuted - cannot be separated from what is happening in Gaza. For those supporters, the appointment of Keane would represent a betrayal of something they believe is fundamental to what Celtic means.

Dermot Desmond, as we all know, cares not one iota about what the Celtic fans think. One of the few businessmen in the world that controls a business with such a sizeable following and treats them like shit. But if he thought last season was a bump in the road, he needs to think again, he would be making a serious error if he dismissed concerns around Keane simply as noise. The atmosphere at Parkhead, the energy in the stands, the relationship between the club and its most passionate supporters, these are not peripheral to Celtic’s success. They are central to it. A manager who takes the job under a cloud of protest, who is met with banners demanding his removal before he has taken a single training session, begins at a significant disadvantage. That is a problem of Desmond’s making once again if he ignores the signals - which he undoubtedly will.

Back Them. Properly. Generously. Without Hesitation.

There is one more thing that must be said, clearly and without qualification - whoever is appointed as Celtic manager must be backed fully.

Not with promises. Not with vague assurances about “investment.” With actual money, actual first-team ready players, actual structural support - delivered quickly, delivered decisively, and delivered in proportion to the scale of the task at hand.

This squad needs significant rebuilding. That is not an opinion; it is a fact. The last-gasp nature of Celtic’s title win, secured through the extraordinary efforts of a manager brought back from semi-retirement, was not the product of a cohesive, well-constructed team operating at full capacity. It was the product of experienced heads, a dramatic late run, and a monumental intervention by a man who should have been allowed to enjoy his retirement in peace. The underlying structural issues in the squad have not been resolved with the title win, they have simply been papered over.

The Champions League play-off in August is not a formality. Celtic will be a side at the start of their rebuilding process, with a new manager barely weeks into his tenure, will be vulnerable unless that rebuild is completed at pace and with genuine quality.

The new manager must be given a budget that reflects the ambition this club is supposed to represent. He must be given the authority to move players on without bureaucratic delay. He must be supported in the recruitment of his own backroom staff. And he must be trusted to make decisions - even difficult ones, even expensive ones - without having to fight the boardroom for every signature. Which seems to be the norm with this Celtic hierarchy.

The Nancy disaster was not only about managerial quality. It was also about what happens when a club fails to create the conditions for success. When the support is thin, when the backing is hesitant, when the institutional structures creak under the weight of mismanagement and half-measures. Celtic must not repeat that failure.

The Moment of Truth

Dermot Desmond is, by all accounts, leaning towards Robbie Keane. He controls Celtic despite not having a majority shareholding and by the looks of it he is the only one making the decision on who our new manager is.

But he should make it with full awareness of what he is choosing. He should make it knowing that a significant portion of the club’s most committed supporters will regard a Keane appointment as a moral failure, and that the noise will not disappear once the announcement is made. He should make it knowing that O’Neill, for all his age and acknowledged reservations about the long term, has already demonstrated this season that he can still manage at the highest level of Scottish football. And he should make it knowing that getting this wrong again, in the way Celtic got it wrong with Nancy - is not an option the club can afford.

Whatever the outcome of those London meetings, one truth remains non-negotiable: Celtic cannot stumble into this appointment. They cannot hedge, or compromise, or choose a name for the optics of it rather than the substance. They cannot appoint someone and then fail to fund the rebuild. They cannot, once again, let the summer drift past in uncertainty and political manoeuvring while the squad stagnates and the Champions League looms.

The double is won. The celebrations are over. Now the real work begins.

The supporters are watching. The empty Parkhead seats of a future campaign and a continued boycotting of merchandise etc. will be the verdict, if they do not.

The loudest voices are often the least interested in the truth. In the days leading up to Celtic’s title-clinching 3-1 win over Hearts, Scottish football descended into a familiar frenzy. Referees were accused of bias. VAR was framed as a weapon. Pundits who should know better flirted with language like “corruption” and “cheating” as if these were reasonable interpretations of contentious decisions rather than serious allegations requiring serious proof.

Now, with Referees chief Willie Collum stepping forward on Friday night to publicly review those same flashpoints, the gap between fact and fiction has been laid bare. And it is not a flattering look for those who rushed to outrage.

Collum’s intervention on Sky Sports’ Scottish Football Review was not emotional. It was not tribal. It was methodical, technical, and grounded in process. In other words, it was everything the public discourse around these incidents has not been.

Take the much-debated penalty awarded to Celtic at Fir Park on May 13. Branded “disgusting” by Hearts manager Derek McInnes and loudly dismissed by sections of the media and rival fanbases, it quickly became Exhibit A in the case for supposed systemic corruption.

Collum dismantled that narrative with calm precision. There was, he explained, clear evidence. Not vague interpretation. Not guesswork. Clear evidence, supported by imagery, both photographic and video, showing the relationship between head, hand, and ball. The VAR team conducted a thorough check. The referee reviewed it at the monitor. All involved reached the same conclusion - it was handball, and it was punishable. That is not controversy. That is process working as intended.

But as well know the outrage that followed, was never really about the decision itself. It was about who benefited from it. Because when Collum pulled back the curtain further, the narrative began to collapse entirely.

In the same breath as defending that Celtic penalty, he admitted Hearts should have been awarded one of their own days earlier against Motherwell. VAR advised a review. The referee declined to overturn his on-field call. Collum’s view was clear - the expected outcome should have been a penalty.

So much for the idea of a system rigged in Celtic’s favour.

He went further. Celtic, he said, should have had a penalty against Hibs when Josh Campbell clearly shoved Benjamin Nygren. That one was missed both on the field and by VAR. Another decision that went against the eventual champions.

Again, where is the conspiracy?

Even in reviewing the much-discussed Alistair Johnston challenge, Collum backed the officials in not issuing a red card, explaining it did not meet the threshold for excessive force or endangering an opponent. A subjective call, yes, but one grounded in established criteria, not bias.

What emerges from Collum’s review is not a pattern of favouritism, but a pattern of human decision-making. Some calls right. Some wrong. Some benefiting Celtic. Others going against them. The exact same reality that exists in every league, in every season, in every sport. Yet that nuance was nowhere to be found in the days of hysteria that preceded it.

Instead, we were treated to a torrent of accusations, many of them reckless, some of them outright defamatory, suggesting that Scottish football’s integrity had been compromised to deliver Celtic a title. This is not analysis. It is grievance dressed up as insight. And it is made all the more absurd when viewed through the wider lens of the season.

Football titles are not decided by one decision, or two, or even five. They are shaped across 38 games, hundreds of incidents, and countless moments of fortune and misfortune. Hearts can point to one penalty they did not receive. Celtic can point to one they were denied. That is the game. But to isolate a handful of incidents in May and ignore everything that came before is not just intellectually dishonest, it is wilfully misleading.

Even if every single disputed call in those final weeks had gone the other way, the broader reality would remain unchanged - Celtic earned their title over the course of the season.

And that is what makes the cries of “corruption” so hollow.

Because if we are going to talk about cheating in Scottish football, then we should at least have the courage to talk about the one case where it has been definitively proven.

Rangers Football Club.

Not alleged. Not debated. Proven.

Through the use of Employee Benefit Trusts, Rangers systematically paid players in a way that ultimately breached tax rules and circumvented financial regulations. This was not a minor infraction. It was a sustained strategy over an 11 year period designed to secure players the club could not otherwise afford.

Former Rangers manager Alex McLeish admitted in a BBC interview, stating that their successes would not have been possible without those payments. Former Rangers owner David Murray was equally candid, acknowledging the system allowed them to sign players beyond their financial reach.

That is sporting advantage. By definition. And yet, the Nimmo Smith commission concluded there was none. A ruling that defies logic, evidence, and basic understanding of competitive sport to this day.

Even Hugh Keevins, hardly a fringe voice, acknowledged in a conversation with yours truly for my Scotzine podcast over a decade ago, that Rangers cheated. The highest courts later confirmed the tax breaches. The club was fined for failing to disclose payments. The evidence is overwhelming.

And still, their titles remain. Five league championships and a haul of domestic trophies won during that period sit untouched, despite being built on a foundation that would not have existed within the rules.

If ever there was a case of sporting integrity being compromised, this was it. The game was, for a decade, fundamentally distorted. And yet here we are, listening to supporters of that very institution lecture others about fairness, integrity, and corruption. Demanding Celtic’s title be stripped because of one refereeing decision and one pitch invasion.

It would be laughable if it were not so brazen.

Because while Rangers fans shout about conspiracies, the historical record tells a very different story - one of actual rule-breaking, actual financial doping, and actual competitive imbalance.

The irony is suffocating.

And then there is the selective memory. The same refereeing system now accused of favouring Celtic is the one that, for years, saw the phrase “Penalty to Rangers” become a standing joke in Scottish football. Decisions flowed. Patterns formed. Narratives emerged - not of conspiracy, but of consistency in who seemed to benefit.

Even Andrew Dallas, dragged into the current storm for his role in Celtic’s penalty against Motherwell, once awarded Rangers four penalties in a single match against St Mirren.

Four.

But that, apparently, does not fit the narrative of him being in Celtic’s pocket. Because narratives, once formed, are rarely concerned with facts. They are sustained by emotion, by rivalry, and by a refusal to engage with inconvenient truths.

Hearts, for their part, have every right to feel aggrieved about individual decisions. That is football. That is competition. But grievance is not evidence, and frustration is not proof of bias.

Rangers fans, however, would do well to sit this one out entirely. After finishing third, despite spending £40 million in an attempt to buy both the title and Champions League qualification, their instinct has always been to look outward rather than inward - just as they did when Rangers died in 2012. To blame referees rather than results. To question integrity rather than performance.

It is easier, certainly. But it is not credible. Because when you strip away the noise, the reality is simple. Referees made calls. Some were right. Some were wrong. Over the course of a season, those decisions balanced out in the way they always do - as fans have been told for decades.

Celtic won the title because they were the best team at the end of the day. Not because of a penalty at Fir Park. Not because of a missed call at Easter Road. Not because of some imagined grand corrupt conspiracy. But because across 38 games, they delivered when it mattered most.

We all know that Willie Collum’s review should be the end of the debate. It won’t be. Because for the usual suspects - including in the media - the truth is less appealing than the story they have already chosen to believe. But the facts remain, stubborn and unyielding. There is no evidence of corruption. No proof of systemic bias. No credible case that Celtic’s title was anything other than deserved. And until those shouting loudest can produce something more substantial than outrage and insinuation, their claims belong where they started.

In the realm of fiction.

The story was written before the evidence was produced. In fact, the evidence was never produced at all.

In the hours and days following Celtic’s title-clinching 3-1 win over Hearts, a narrative took root with remarkable speed and even more alarming certainty, that Celtic fans had assaulted Hearts players during the pitch invasion. It spread across broadcasts, columns, and social media feeds with the confidence of established fact.

There was only one problem. It has never actually proven. Not one shred of evidence to back up the narrative being perpetuated about Celtic fans.

Now, nearly two weeks on, we have something far more concrete than speculation. Police Scotland have confirmed they have received not a single report or complaint from Hearts regarding any assaults on their players or club staff. None. Not a single formal report. Not one player statement. Not one verifiable incident submitted for investigation. Hearts TV will have their own footage from the day - as they would have been looking to document their title win if they had managed not to lose. Why haven’t they shown their behind the scenes footage?

That should stop the conversation in its tracks. But we all know it won’t. Because this was never really about evidence. It was never about proof. It was about a narrative to paint Celtic and their fans as the bad guys - from referees being in their pockets, to robbing Hearts of the title, to fans assaulting Hearts players. It was never about facts, it was all about covering up Hearts’ latest bottle job.

Let’s deal in reality for a change - I know it will be tough for Hearts and Rangers fans. This was one of the most heavily recorded matches in Scottish football history. Tens of thousands of mobile phones. More than twenty live broadcast cameras. Every conceivable angle captured, dissected, slowed down, and replayed. If Hearts players had been assaulted, we would have seen it. Immediately. Repeatedly. Indisputably.

Instead, what did we get? Silence where evidence should be.

Not a single Hearts player has come forward publicly to say, “I was assaulted.” No images of injuries. No clips showing a clear attack. No testimony. Nothing that meets even the lowest threshold of proof in an era where everything is filmed.

What we do have, however, is footage that tells a very different story.

We see Lawrence Shankland reacting aggressively, lashing out at Celtic supporters who were mocking him as his and his teammates’ bottle crashed on the final day. We see him being physically restrained by his own teammates, officials, and stewards, desperate to pull him away from confrontation. This is not the behaviour of a player who has just been assaulted or from someone fearing for his life. It is the behaviour of a player who has lost control in a moment of sporting humiliation - and it started when Maeda scored the second goal for Celtic and his actions towards the Japanese forward following it.

We also see Frankie Kent knocking a phone from a supporter’s hand and attempting to destroy personal property by stamping on it. That is not alleged. That is visible. That can be proven undeniably by video evidence. That is, in itself, a criminal act by the letter of the law.

Yet somehow, in the retelling of events, these moments will be ignored or conveniently reframed to suit the false narrative doing the rounds, while unproven claims of fan violence are given headline status.

Then there is Hearts co-owner Tony Bloom, whose intervention only added fuel to a fire already burning without substance. His claim that “one or two” Hearts players were assaulted was delivered without detail, without evidence, and without even the certainty of a specific number. Nearly two weeks later, there is still nothing to back it up.

If this were a genuine case of player assault, it would not take two weeks to produce proof. It would not take two weeks to file a complaint. It would not take two weeks for someone - anyone - to step forward with clarity. Especially, raging Rangers fans painstakingly looking through every second of footage available to prove that Celtic fans were worse than them, that they should be stripped of the title, all they can make themselves feel better as they ignore their club blowing £40 million on players only to finish third.

Instead, we have had a vacuum filled by insinuation.

And into that vacuum stepped sections of the Scottish media, all too willing to amplify the claim without doing the basic work of verification. Pundits spoke as if incidents had been confirmed. An entire support was painted with the brush of criminality.

Tom English. Pat Nevin. Even Pat Bonner, who claimed to have seen an assault - yet no such incident has been substantiated, reported, or investigated. If they saw the assaults, where is the proof? Have they been in touch with Police Scotland to give witness statements?

When I first heard of the Hearts players being assaulted, it was on Sky Sports from presenter Eilidh Barbour, who was pushing a narrative that had been fed to her by someone off camera. A narrative that was quickly dismissed less than an hour later by Sky Sports who then changed the tone of the coverage from assaults to goading.

These are not minor slips. These are serious allegations with real consequences. They shape public perception. They inflame tensions. They damage reputations. These pundits are allowed to run unchecked and it is time that Celtic Football Club stand up to these shit stirring fools.

Meanwhile, Celtic supporters did what the media should have done in the first place. They went through the footage. Frame by frame. Clip by clip. Searching not to disprove something - but to find the truth. Because no fanbase wants to harbour individuals who decide to invade the pitch and assault players - unless you support Ranger and they assault Celtic players or officials it seems.

What did they find? Nothing.

Martin O’Neill said it plain as day, there is no evidence at this time. If proof emerges, apologies will follow. That is how this is supposed to work. Evidence first. Judgment second.

Instead, Scottish football ignored that and become judge, jury, and executioner.

Hearts spoke of “player safety” and “danger,” yet have not followed through with a single formal complaint to Police. Their initial statement suggested cooperation with authorities. The authorities now say no such cooperation has taken place in the form that matters.

So what are we left with?

A title decided on the pitch. A dramatic, emotional conclusion to the season. And an attempt - intentional or otherwise - to attach a stain to that moment without the evidence required to justify it. This cannot simply be ignored.

Because if allegations of this magnitude can be made, amplified, and then quietly abandoned without accountability, it sets a dangerous precedent. Not just for Celtic, but for every club, every fanbase, and every major moment in the game.

Now don’t get me wrong, the fans should never have been on the pitch in the first place, but emotions run high and sometimes people act before they think. This was one of these times.

If Hearts have evidence, they should present it. Immediately. Clearly. Transparently.

If they do not, then no apology is owed to the Tynecastle side at all and Celtic must take Bloom to task for his comments.

And as for those in the media who ran with this story as if it were fact, the question is no longer about what happened on the pitch. It is how Celtic will hold these liars and charlatans to account. Because in the absence of evidence, the loudest voices chose a false narrative for clicks, over the truth.

And that is a far more damaging problem for Scottish football than any pitch invasion.

Paul Lambert has played under some of the most respected managers in modern football, but when it comes to leadership, few have left a mark quite like Martin O’Neill at Celtic.

The former Hoops captain, who won four league titles with the Scottish champions, places O’Neill’s influence alongside elite company. Having worked under Champions League-winning coach Otmar Hitzfeld and title-winning boss Wim Jansen, Lambert experienced contrasting styles at the highest level. Yet it was O’Neill’s ability to inspire, rather than instruct, that defined his impact.

“We all knew the game, we knew our roles,” Lambert reflects. “What we needed was someone we could follow.”

That distinction sits at the heart of O’Neill’s management. He was not a coach who micromanaged or immersed himself in players’ personal lives. Instead, he maintained a distance that commanded respect, fostering a dressing room culture where commitment was non-negotiable.

“He never got too close to us,” Lambert explains, “but you would run through a wall for him. That’s the key - you’ve got to have people who will work for you.”

It is a trait Lambert tried to carry into his own managerial career. While he acknowledges the influence of Hitzfeld’s tactical excellence, O’Neill’s leadership - his authority, clarity, and emotional intelligence - provided a template for handling pressure and uniting a squad.

That same leadership, Lambert believes, has been vital in Celtic’s recent campaign culminating in a league and cup double.

Amid a turbulent season marked by inconsistency, managerial upheaval, and what he describes as a clear drop in standards, Lambert insists there was only one man capable of rescuing the situation.

“If there was anybody who was going to get them out of that predicament, it was him,” he says.

O’Neill’s return injected belief into a side that had faltered under both Wilfried Nancy and Brendan Rodgers at different stages. According to Lambert, the turnaround was not rooted in tactical overhaul but in restoring fundamentals - effort, unity, and purpose.

“The Celtic players were not performing for Wilfried Nancy or at the start with Brendan Rodgers, so I don’t know what happened there. But then the manager came in not once but twice and gave them a new lease of life. Not once, but twice. That tells you everything.”

Still, Lambert is clear-eyed about the broader picture. While Celtic ultimately won the title on the final day, he does not see the current level as sustainable, particularly in Europe.

“It’s not top-level standard. It’s obvious,” he admits. “Celtic have to improve, not just for Europe but even to dominate the league again.”

The campaign, he suggests, should serve as a warning. Both Celtic and Rangers were pushed to their limits, exposing vulnerabilities that cannot be ignored.

“For both clubs, it’s been an eye-opener. They won’t let that happen again.”

As attention turns to the summer, Lambert outlines what he sees as a critical rebuild. Incremental changes will not suffice; Celtic require quality additions with immediate impact.

“They need three or four players coming in there to enhance several positions, but the players have to be top level. They should be players that help Celtic make a mark in Europe.”

Key positions will demand attention, including goalkeeper, with Kasper Schmeichel’s departure. Even though Viljami Sinisalo has done well since replacing Schmeichel as Celtic number one, Lambert suggests Celtic may still need to strengthen.

Beyond individual roles, however, he emphasises mentality.

“Carter-Vickers is going to come back at some point. I think Celtic will need a few players, but they’ll need players that are ready made. You might get away with one or two younger ones coming in, but you need that core as well that know second place is last – and certainly third is way off the scale. We just don’t finish third.”

It is a philosophy forged during his own time at the club, where standards were absolute and expectations unrelenting.

Lambert, speaking to Betway, also highlights the importance of unity - something Celtic clearly lacked during difficult spells earlier this season.

“Celtic is a difficult place to play when things are against you, but when there’s unity at the club, it’s an incredible place to play. So when they had that divide this season, that was certainly detrimental to them. But all credit to the team, they stuck in and got the title.”

That cohesion, restored under O’Neill, proved decisive in the title run-in. And while questions remain over whether O’Neill will continue in any capacity, Lambert is unequivocal about his standing in Celtic history.

Jock Stein, he says, will always be the benchmark. But just behind him sits O’Neill - a manager whose influence spans generations.

“I would put Martin O’Neill just slightly behind him [Stein], and that’s the biggest accolade I can give him. Not just because of what he did for us when we were there, ” Lambert says, “but for what he’s done for this team as well.”

For Celtic, the challenge now is to ensure that resurgence is not temporary. With the right recruitment, stronger leadership structures, and lessons learned from a chaotic season, Lambert believes the club can reassert itself - both domestically and in Europe.

But as his reflections make clear, success at Celtic is never just about talent. It is about standards, mentality, and having someone worth following.

And in Martin O’Neill, Lambert sees exactly that.

Celtic win the league. Again. Five in a row. Done. Sealed. Finished.

And yet, instead of talking about what actually happened on the pitch, Scottish football has spent the last week drowning in a swamp of paranoia, bad faith, and outright fiction fuelled by a club that should know better and a media class that, frankly, should be ashamed of itself.

Let’s not dress this up. What unfolded after Celtic’s 3–1 win over Hearts was not confusion. It was not misunderstanding. It was not even emotion spilling over in the heat of the moment.

It was calculated. It was cynical. And it was dangerous.

Hearts’ statement on Wednesday night wasn’t just wide of the mark it was a deliberate attempt to keep a lie alive long enough for it to take root. They questioned the ending of the match, raised the spectre of a “troubling precedent,” and pushed the idea that the game had somehow been cut short improperly due to a pitch invasion.

All of this, every last word of it, was said despite the fact that the truth was already known.

That referee, Don Robertson, did not randomly blow the whistle early. He spoke to Derek McInnes. McInnes agreed to end the game. The game was effectively over at 3–1, with seconds left and no realistic path back for Hearts.

That’s not opinion. That’s not interpretation. That’s fact, now backed up by the released audio between Robertson and the other match officials.

So what, exactly, were Hearts playing at?

Because there are only two options, and both are damning. Either the club is in such disarray that its manager, its executives, and its communications team don’t speak to each other, which would be laughable if it wasn’t so serious. Or, and this is the far more believable version, they knew the truth and chose to ignore it.

They chose outrage instead.

They chose to feed a narrative they knew would spread like wildfire among their own support and the usual online echo chambers. They chose to throw match officials into the firing line, fully aware of the climate Scottish football is operating in right now. And make no mistake that climate is toxic.

We are not operating in a vacuum here. Just days before the final day of league action, referee John Beaton needed police protection because his home address was circulating online. Let that sink in. A referee in Scotland couldn’t go about his daily life without fearing for his safety, because of the hysteria whipped up around officiating decisions by pundits, politicians, journalists and others who should know better.

And into that environment, Hearts decided to lob in a statement questioning the integrity of how a match was handled, despite knowing the reality for days.

That’s not just irresponsible. That’s incendiary. It is insidious.

But if Hearts lit the match, large parts of the Scottish media gleefully poured on the petrol.

For days, the narrative being pushed was clear, something didn’t add up, something wasn’t right, Celtic had benefited from a questionable call once again. The insinuation hung heavy in the air, they were never quite stated outright, but never challenged either.

And the usual suspects were right at the front of the queue.

Keith Jackson and the Daily Record cabal. The Herald’s Rangers fan blogger pack. The Scottish Sun’s professional agent provocateur . The same names, the same angles, the same leading questions while carefully avoiding the truth.

So instead, they ran with it. They fed it. They let it grow legs.

And then, only then, when the Scottish FA released the audio and the whole thing collapsed in on itself, we got the quiet pivot.

Graham Spiers suddenly telling us that, actually, Derek McInnes had been happy for the game to end. That this was known for days. That it just couldn’t be “said openly” before.

Couldn’t be said? Or wouldn’t be said? Because that distinction matters.

If journalists knew the truth or even had strong indications of it, then choosing to sit on it while a false narrative spread is not caution. It’s complicity.

It allowed days of lies to flourish. It allowed conspiracy theories to take hold. It allowed officials to be painted, once again, as corrupt.

And for what? Engagement? Traffic? The approval of a baying horde that demands outrage on tap when it comes to Celtic and their supporters?

That’s not journalism. That’s performance and it comes with consequences.

Because while column inches were being filled and hot takes were being fired out, real people were dealing with real fallout. Officials already under pressure were dragged deeper into the mud. The temperature after the game, already far too high, was cranked up another notch. All based on a version of events that simply wasn’t true.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, along came Hearts co-owner Tony Bloom to add another layer of smoke.

“One or two” Hearts players allegedly assaulted during the pitch invasion, he claimed.

One or two. Think about that. Days after the event, with access to footage, reports, and internal briefings, that’s the level of clarity we’re getting? Not a definitive number. Not a specific incident. Just a vague, floating accusation that sounds serious enough to alarm but vague enough to avoid scrutiny.

It’s textbook. Because “one or two” doesn’t need to be proven. It just needs to be heard. And once it’s out there, it does the job. It feeds the narrative. It adds another log to the fire.

Celtic, to their credit, did what adults do in these situations. They reviewed the footage. They looked for evidence. They stated clearly that nothing had been found to back up such claims. Even manager Martin O’Neill came out and addressed it head-on - if something happened, it would be taken seriously. But as things stand, it hasn’t been proven. That’s called responsibility.

What Bloom offered was something else entirely. And here’s the bigger issue, why should anyone take these claims at face value anymore?

Why should Hearts be trusted after putting out a statement that doesn’t align with reality? Why should unverified allegations be given oxygen when they arrive wrapped in ambiguity and without proof? Credibility isn’t a given. It’s earned.

And over the past few days, Hearts have burned through a significant chunk of theirs.

From the moment the title slipped away, this has felt less like a club processing blowing another final day title decider and more like a club trying to rewrite the narrative. The quick exit from Celtic Park. The dramatic language about safety. The refusal to front up and face basic questions about the match itself.

All of it points in one direction - deflection.

Because the truth is brutally simple. Hearts lost. They lost a title decider. They lost control of the game. And when it mattered most, they blew it once again.

Celtic didn’t cheat. The officials didn’t conspire. There was no grand plot. They were just a better team, managed by a better manager, delivering under pressure, again.

Everything else is noise. Manufactured, amplified, and irresponsibly broadcast. But here’s the problem with that noise, it doesn’t just disappear. It lingers. It poisons. It shifts the baseline of what’s considered acceptable in public discourse. It makes it easier, next time, for even more extreme claims to be taken seriously.

And that’s where Scottish football is heading if this continues unchecked. A place where facts are optional. Where narratives are decided first and evidence is hunted later. Where officials operate under a cloud of suspicion that has been built not on reality, but on repetition.

And the media, already struggling for relevance, already haemorrhaging trust, are choosing to accelerate that decline. Circulations are falling. Advertising is shrinking. Readers are tuning out. And still, instead of doubling down on accuracy and credibility, too many outlets are chasing the quick hit. The easy outrage. The story that spreads fastest, not the one that stands up.

It’s short-term thinking of the worst kind.

Because every time they get it wrong, every time they push a narrative that collapses under basic scrutiny, they lose a little more of what authority they have left. And eventually, that runs out.

This episode should be a line in the sand.

Not just for Hearts, who need to take a long, hard look at how and why they chose to handle this the way they did. Not just for Tony Bloom, who should understand that serious allegations demand serious evidence. But for the journalists who allowed this to spiral. Who amplified before verifying. Who hinted without proving. Who, when the truth finally emerged, quietly adjusted course without ever really owning the role they played in spreading the allegations and conspiracy theories.

Because accountability cannot be selective.

If players, managers, and referees are expected to answer for their performances, then so too should those who shape the narrative around them. No more hiding behind “questions.” No more shrugging and moving on when a story falls apart.

If you get it wrong, especially on something this serious, you say so. Clearly. Publicly. Without spin. Anything less just confirms what more and more fans already suspect, that too much of Scottish football coverage isn’t about truth at all. It’s about outrage.

But through all of it, one thing remains unchanged. Celtic are champions. Again.

No statement can alter that. No column can twist it. No amount of outrage can bury it.

Five in a row league title winners.

And all the shouting in the world won’t change a single second of it. Suck it up buttercups!

Scottish football didn’t lose the plot last week. The people who watch it and cover it did.

One refereeing decision. One handball. One penalty. And suddenly the sport in this country was being portrayed as corrupt, rigged, and fundamentally broken- not just by fans on message boards, but also by pundits, politicians, podcasters, and journalists, who should know exactly what they’re doing when they press publish or hit record.

The Sam Nicholson handball decision didn’t just decide a game. It triggered a full-blown meltdown among the media.

And the fallout? A referee needing police protection. His home address plastered online by a twisted teenager. Officers stationed outside his house. An escort required just to carry out basic, everyday tasks like going down to the shops.

That is not football debate. That is what happens when reckless voices whip people into a frenzy and then step back as the consequences land.

Because let’s not pretend this came out of nowhere.

This was built. Brick by brick. Tweet by tweet. Headline by headline.

The outrage didn’t grow organically - it was manufactured.

You had Scottish mainstream journalists pushing insinuations instead of analysis. You had bloggers and podcasters- many of them openly aligned to Rangers and Hearts - presenting opinion as fact and feeding their audiences a steady diet of grievance [and I have done it myself over the years]. You had English pundits, who barely watch Scottish football outside of the Glasgow derby, parachuting in to pass judgement on a league they don’t watch simply from one single refereeing decision.

Gary Lineker. Simon Jordan. Voices with huge platforms, offering strong opinions with minimal context. Even Ally McCoist, having woken up from his drunken stupur claiming his pals were calling the decision corrupt - when he didn’t have the balls to say it himself on Talksport.

And then, inevitably, the politicians arrived. Because nothing says “measured football discourse” like elected and unelected officials weighing in on VAR decisions. Some of whom support Hearts.

All of them circling the same narrative - something wasn’t right here. That it looks like the title had already been predetermined.

Not “that’s a tough call.” Not “I’ve seen them given.” No - this was framed as something darker. Something suspicious. Something corrupt. Something that demanded outrage.

And outrage is exactly what they got.

But here’s the part that tells you everything you need to know, what they didn’t talk about.

They didn’t talk about Daizen Maeda being taken out earlier in the same game. A clear penalty shout. Ignored.

They didn’t talk about Hibs captain Joe Newell’s handball in the previous match. Another decision that went under the radar.

They didn’t talk about the countless marginal calls- week after week, across the entire season - that didn’t spark days of hysteria because they didn’t fit the narrative.

And they certainly didn’t talk about VAR actually getting something right on the final day either. It was another penalty for Celtic - surprise surprise.

Because while everyone was busy screaming about corruption, VAR stepped in to prevent one of the most embarrassing offside decisions you’ll ever see. Flag up. Wrong player. Wrong call. Goal wrongly chalked off - until VAR corrected it.

Daizen Maeda scores to give Celtic the lead and the upper hand in the title race on the final day of the season.

Silence.

No outrage. No panel debates. No moral grandstanding. No calling out the linesman for one of the worst decisions ever seen this season - and that is coming from someone who has watched a ton of football this season both north and south of the border. And you can throw European and International football into the mix also.

Because that doesn’t sell.

What sells is grievance. What sells is controversy. What sells is the suggestion - subtle or otherwise - that the whole thing is bent in favour of one club - Celtic. Why? Because they were all rooting for Hearts to break the Glasgow monopoly on the league title or at least prevent Celtic from winning it again for the 14th time in 15 years.

And once that idea is out there, it takes on a life of its own.

Suddenly every decision is evidence. Every call is suspect. Every official is under scrutiny - not for competence, but for integrity.

That’s the leap Scottish football made last week.

And it’s a dangerous one.

Because when you stop debating decisions and start questioning honesty and integrity, you change the stakes entirely.

John Beaton wasn’t just criticised - he was vilified. Not just wrong, but corrupt. Not just mistaken, but part of something bigger.

That language matters.

It matters when it’s coming from pundits with national platforms. It matters when it’s being echoed by journalists. It matters when it’s repeated by influencers with thousands of followers hanging on every word.

Because someone, somewhere, is always going to take it further.

And this time, someone did.

A teenager posts an address online. A line is crossed. And suddenly we’re no longer talking about football - we’re talking about safety.

But by then, the people who helped create the environment for that to happen have already moved on to the next story, the next outrage, the next talking point.

No accountability. No reflection. Just noise.

And plenty of it.

Take the latest conspiracy doing the rounds from the weekend game, the claim that the title-deciding match wasn’t properly ended. That there’s a “missing minute.” That somehow, incredibly, Celtic’s title win is built on a procedural cover-up.

The SPFL shuts it down quickly. Clear statement. The referee followed protocol. The game was completed.

Hearts have had the audio since Sunday.

And yet… the theory lives on.

Why? Because it’s useful. Because it keeps the anger simmering. Because there’s an audience that wants to believe it.

And once again, instead of challenging it, parts of the media indulge it.

Journalists giving airtime to claims they would normally dismiss in seconds. Bloggers doubling down. Podcasters turning it into content.

It’s not about truth. It’s about traction.

The same pattern played out after the final whistle.

Initial reports- pushed out quickly, eagerly - claimed Hearts players had been assaulted during the pitch invasion. Serious allegations. Strong language. Picked up and spread far beyond Scotland within minutes.

There was just one problem.

The footage aired didn’t back it up.

What it showed was unacceptable, yes - fans on the pitch, goading, gesturing, getting in players’ faces. It should never have happened. But assault? That’s a very different claim.

And yet that’s the word that was used.

Until it quietly wasn’t.

“Assault” became “goading.” “Attacked” became “accosted.” The language softened as reality set in.

But where were the corrections? Where were the explanations? Where was the accountability for getting it wrong in the first place?

Nowhere to be seen.

Because by then, the damage had already been done. The narrative had travelled. The outrage had landed.

And in the current media landscape, that’s all that really matters.

Scottish football has always had tribalism. It’s part of the fabric of the game. Fans argue, disagree, shout, and moan. That’s normal.

What’s not normal is the scale and intensity of the amplification we’re now seeing.

Social media accelerates it. Podcasts monetise it. Mainstream outlets package it. And suddenly, a single refereeing decision becomes a national scandal.

Not because of what actually happened - but because of how it’s framed.

And make no mistake, framing is everything.

When similar - or worse - incidents happen elsewhere, the reaction is nowhere near as sustained.

Objects thrown at players? A day or two of coverage.

Sectarian chanting? Addressed when convenient, ignored when not.

Fans bringing weapons into stadiums? A headline, then gone.

But a contentious decision involving Celtic?

That’s a week-long event. Panels. Columns. Phone-ins. Social media storms. Endless dissection.

Because it guarantees engagement. It guarantees clicks. It guarantees attention.

It’s easy. Too easy.

And that’s the real issue here.

This isn’t about one penalty. It’s about a culture that rewards exaggeration over accuracy, outrage over balance, and noise over substance.

It’s about a media ecosystem that too often acts like a participant rather than an observer - fuelling the very fires it then reports on.

And yes, Scottish football needs to improve transparency. The current system invites suspicion. Sanitised review shows with no real scrutiny don’t build trust - they erode it.

Release the audio. Show the conversations between match officials and even with players. Invest in proper VAR technology instead of a cut-price version.

Give fans clarity.

But even that won’t fix what we’ve just witnessed.

Because this isn’t just a governance problem. It’s a credibility problem.

And it sits squarely with those who shape the conversation.

Celtic didn’t win the league because of one decision. They won it because, over the course of a season, they fought tooth and nail through chaos on and off the field to take it down to the final weekend of the season and were the best team on the day.

They handled pressure. They found results. They delivered when it mattered.

Hearts didn’t lose the title because of one moment. They lost it across a campaign - dropped points away from home, missed opportunities, and ultimately falling short when the stakes were highest.

Rangers didn’t fall behind because of referees. They fell behind despite spending £40 million this season and expectation from their supporters following the 49ers takeover.

These are uncomfortable truths for some.

So instead, we get a simpler story. A louder story. A more convenient story.

One decision. One villain. One club. One grand conspiracy.

It’s easier to sell.

It’s easier to believe.

But it doesn’t make it true.

And the longer Scottish football allows that kind of narrative to dominate, the more damage it does - not just to referees, not just to clubs, but to the credibility of the entire game.

Because if everything is corruption, then nothing is.

And if every decision is framed as evidence of bias, then the sport stops being about football altogether.

It becomes something else. Something uglier.

That’s where we are right now.

Not because of a handball.

But because too many people decided that outrage was more valuable than honesty.

The latest controversy to hit Scottish football – centred on the pitch invasion by Celtic fans after their team snatched the title from Hearts’ grasp – has become less a sporting issue than a piece of political theatre.

Almost immediately after the title was decided on the final day of the season, several Labour politicians descended with complaints and calls for inquiries, turning a sporting collapse into a political spectacle. None more so than Lord George Foulkes – the former Hearts chairman and Labour peer – and Ian Murray MP, also a Hearts supporter.

Foulkes has now escalated his grievance to FIFA and demanded an official inquiry after failing to get the answers he wanted from the SPFL. He projects all the air of a politician who’s smelled blood in the water, hopping on the latest bandwagon in a bid to reignite a career that, by any honest measure, has long since run its course. At this stage, they are little more than political lame ducks, sponging off the taxpayers while pretending to care about the state of the country and sporting integrity.

What we’re witnessing is the sour taste of political opportunism mixed with football allegiances. Two Labour politicians, both Hearts supporters, are using whatever power and influence they have left in their dwindling careers to push a false narrative into the glare of public scrutiny – an attempt to steal back a league title their club blew on the final day at Celtic Park. This is not about justice or sporting integrity. It is about two political losers rattled that their team lost.

Celebrations spill onto the pitch at Celtic Park

Despite Hearts taking the lead through Lawrence Shankland in the first half, Arne Engels levelled the match from the penalty spot just before the interval. Celtic then took control after the break, with goals from Daizen Maeda and Callum Osmand sealing a 3–1 victory and confirming a fifth consecutive Scottish Premiership title.

The third goal was followed by jubilant scenes at Celtic Park as home supporters spilled onto the pitch to celebrate the title win. With the celebrations unfolding after Osmand’s injury-time goal, the match was brought to a halt. The SPFL later confirmed that referee Don Robertson had already blown for full-time.

He who is without sin, let him cast the first stone – not you, George; sit down!

Yet Foulkes was having none of it. After receiving short shrift when he sent a formal complaint to the SPFL, he escalated the matter to a contact he has at FIFA.

Foulkes, a lifelong Hearts fan, took to Twitter to highlight that the result left a bad taste in the mouth – perhaps the complimentary wine in hospitality was corked, George? – and implied that the result had appeared to be predetermined. This is a Labour peer who has jumped on the bandwagon of conspiracy theorists, Hearts & Rangers fans, clueless English football pundits, and clickbait merchants masquerading as journalists, all claiming that Scottish football is corrupt and that referees are cheating in favour of Celtic.

This rhetoric came mere days after referee John Beaton required police protection outside his home and when he went to the shops, after a disgruntled 19-year-old Rangers fan posted his address online. Beaton had awarded a late penalty to Celtic to beat Motherwell 3–2 at Fir Park, setting up the enthralling end to the season we saw on Saturday afternoon.

Foulkes’s rhetoric is dangerous – whether fueled by complimentary alcohol or not – and clearly he is hurting after watching his side blow another title to Celtic, just as they did 40 years ago. But is this purely down to football, or is there something darker within Foulkes?

You would think that a Lord sitting in the House of Lords would have a spotless record, rewarded for years of service with a peerage, and that when such a peer goes public on matters, it should be from a moral position Unfortunately, for Lord George Foulkes, he is less than squeaky clean – in fact, he is a convicted criminal and sectarian bigot who fathered a convicted hooligan and sectarian bigot.

A troubled past

Foulkes, who posted his disgust at Celtic fans invading the pitch on Saturday and peddled the unproven narrative that Hearts players were assaulted, was in July 1993 himself convicted of assaulting a police officer and of being drunk and disorderly outside the Houses of Parliament. He was returning to his place of work from a Scotch Whisky Association reception nearby. He pleaded guilty to both charges at Bow Street Magistrates Court, was ordered to pay a fine of £1,050 and a further £500 in costs and compensation, and got off very lightly – an ordinary member of the public would almost certainly have been jailed for assaulting the officer alone.

He did step down from his position on the opposition front benches, but returned to government several years later under Tony Blair, who made him an unelected life peer in 2005, a month after he stepped down from the House of Commons.

The Labour Friends of Israel member was also caught up in the 2008 expenses scandal when he claimed around £55,000 on expenses as a member of the House of Lords. He labelled those participating in the Iraq War enquiry in 2008 as “a procession of primadonas and the usual suspects grandstanding for the TV” – a bit rich, saying that now, eh George?

The darker side of Foulkes - sectarianism and hypocrisy

But here is the something darker with Foulkes that I alluded to earlier.

Foulkes was one of 50 signatories to a letter published in The Guardian in 2010 calling for Pope Benedict XVI not to be given a state visit. They rejected the “masquerading of the Holy See as a state, and the Pope as a head of state”, seeing it as a “convenient fiction to amplify the international influence of the Vatican”.

He also accused the Catholic Church of increasing the spread of AIDS and promoting segregated education – an education system that exists worldwide, yet the only two countries that have issues with Catholic schools are Scotland and Northern Ireland. We all know why that is, don’t we, George? And it has nothing to do with Catholics.

We can also look back to the day when Celtic manager Neil Lennon was attacked by a Hearts fan at Tynecastle in May 2011. Foulkes joked that if Celtic moved to the Irish League, that would solve the problem.

It is clear to me that this self-confessed Humanist is nothing more than a sectarian bigot in sheep’s clothing, with a hatred of Catholics, the religion itself, and Celtic Football Club. And as they say, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Like father, like son

People generally say that sons mirror their fathers, unconsciously learning and modelling their mannerisms, work ethics, and social attitudes after them by observing them from a young age. The “like father, like son” proverb dates back centuries and implies that sons will follow in their fathers’ footsteps, sometimes inheriting their flaws as well as their strengths.

This is where Alex Foulkes comes into the picture. George’s son was convicted of being a football hooligan and sectarian bigot in 2000 . The then-25-year-old Hearts supporter was arrested and charged for hurling sectarian abuse at Celtic fans during a game at Parkhead, subsequently pleading guilty and being fined £450 after he changed his plea from not guilty when his younger brother admitted that he had hurled abuse at the Celtic support.

Alex Foulkes had ignored repeated warnings from officers and was eventually arrested after sustained and vile sectarian abuse. When taken to the detention area at Parkhead, he threatened officers that they’d be in trouble because his mother was on the Police Board and that his dad was an MP. Sadly, the threats of influential parents didn’t help the nepo baby on this occasion.

So who did Nepo Baby Foulkes learn his sectarian beliefs from George?

Get your own house in order, George

So while Foulkes waddles to his FIFA contact, he needs to remember to get his own house in order before lecturing others – at a time when a game of football rattled him during another one of his drunken stupors.

Celtic Park on title day was a scene of pure, unfiltered joy and, yes, a scene that careened into disorder when a minority of supporters flooded the turf to celebrate a moment they had waited for all season and thought was out of their reach only months earlier. No serious supporter worth their salt excuses that.

But the story that has been spun in the 48 hours since the final whistle, that Hearts players were “seriously assaulted” by a rampaging fanbase and that Celtic’s entire fanbase should be denounced, investigated, and punished to the fullest extent - is a different thing entirely. It is a narrative in search of facts, and the facts so far do not support the worst of the claims being thrown around.

Let’s be blunt about the evidence. Forty-eight hours on, with hundreds of hours of phone footage, broadcast coverage and social video floating around the internet, there remains no footage that shows Hearts players being physically assaulted in the way the Hearts-coined phrase “serious physical abuse” implies. There is, however, footage of Celtic fans swarming the pitch, goading opposition players, jostling, and - in the chaos of people surging forward and around - a mobile phone being knocked from the hands of a Celtic fan and stamped on by a Hearts player. There are clips of players reacting, pushing away, clearing space, and in at least one widely-discussed moment, Lawrence Shankland being forcibly removed from the pitch by club officials, team-mates and stewards as he looked like he wanted a fight after initially hitting out at a number of Celtic fans goading him. That is not a neat fit with “assault” on the balance of the public evidence; it looks more like provocation met with poor judgement and heated reactions.

That matters. Words shape law. When Hearts’ own statement referred to “reports” of serious physical and verbal abuse it was within their rights to seek an investigation and to protect their players. But it’s also a fact that once broadcasters and pundits - on live air and social platforms - adopt a line as the default truth, the claim becomes a headline which is then amplified by every grievance ecosystem hungry for confirmation bias. Sky Sports’ Eilidh Barbour’s early post-match commentary carried the “assault” framing to millions, and from there the story metastasised as right-wing clickbait merchants in Northern Ireland and England gleefully fed on the outrage.

It’s worth noting the sequence here, Celtic score late, fans erupt, supporters spill onto the turf, rookie-level crowd control fails to prevent the incursion, players react to being goaded at the edge of the melee - media provides a tidy, outraged narrative - political actors and online trolls weaponise that narrative. The real story should be the first three parts; instead we were rushed to the last two and told to accept the whole package as gospel without evidence.

Make no mistake, fans should never have entered the pitch. It is a breach of safety, of common sense, and doesn’t paint the club in a great light at one of its greatest moments in recent memories. The club has publicly apologised, and that apology is the right thing to do. The SPFL has the authority to investigate and to sanction where it finds failings - fines, ticket reductions, suspended sanctions, partial stand closures - these are in the domestic disciplinary toolkit and have been used before. Celtic should expect to be held accountable for stewarding failures and be required to demonstrate concrete steps to tighten perimeter security, and entry control going forward. That is the narrow, targeted response a legitimate football regulator should be pursuing.

But accountability is not the same thing as moral condemnation for crimes that have not been proven. Hearts’ statement understandably sought to protect their players and push for investigation, but there is a critical difference between “verbal abuse and intimidation” (which the footage supports) and the kind of violent, sustained assault that many pundits and political commentators were quick to allege. If the SPFL, the Scottish FA, or Police Scotland find evidence of assault, those responsible should be prosecuted; if they do not, it is irresponsible to let the “assault” narrative calcify into accepted fact.

The Shankland episode is worth unpicking because it encapsulates the complex truth. On the footage available, Shankland is rattled and confrontational after Celtic’s second goal as he targeted Saracchi and especially Maeda who he kicked out at, tried to bully, and even grab him by the throat. Arguably, his conduct in that moment not only merited a yellow and another yellow would have seen him sent off; that is an on-field discipline matter, separate from post-match disorder. But it also highlights an enduring truth in modern football - players are human beings, they can be goaded, and we should not pretend they are models of restraint in a situation engineered to provoke them. Shankland looked as if he wanted to be part of the fight; that does not justify the invasion, but it complicates the simplistic “players were helpless victims” story that has been spun. He had to be physically dragged off the pitch by club officials, teammates, and stewards as Celtic fans goaded him and stick their fingers up, and made wanker gestures. The smart play from Shankland was to run off the pitch and not look back, he chose to stay on that pitch looking for a fight.

We then saw the Hearts team leaving Celtic Park due to the ‘menacing and threatening atmosphere’ forcing their quick exit. Yet, video footage showed the Hearts players calmly getting onto their team bus, none with physical signs of assault, some even reacting to Celtic fans laughing at them for blowing the title on the final day. The pitch invasion, in my opinion, played into Derek McInnes’ hands - he knew he blew it. He knew the public scrutiny from the press would be immense and knowing how much of a bitter loser he is when it comes to Celtic, he did a runner as he spat the dummy.

And let us not ignore how the aftermath has been weaponised. For days prior, the usual suspects had been peddling narratives about corruption and cheating in Scottish football. When you have a large audience primed to believe the worst about Celtic, any chaotic scene can be retold as evidence for the pre-existing theory. A line that begins life on a pundit’s microphone suddenly becomes “proof” on message boards, then “evidence” in newspaper columns, and finally a talking point for politicians who have an appetite for headlines more than for the messy patience of an organised public enquiry.

Which brings us to jurisdiction and the reasonable course of action. The SPFL is the appropriate body to assess whether Celtic breached domestic rules on stewarding and supporter control, and the Scottish FA and Police Scotland have roles for disciplinary and criminal matters respectively. Yet we have a hurting Hearts supporting unelected Labour politician running to FIFA, because he didn’t get the answers that he liked from the SPFL. FIFA’s remit covers international governance, not routine club-level crowd issues, and nor for that matter can UEFA - which George Foulkes bypassed completely in his raging stupor. The sensible path is that the SPFL investigates for rule breaches and sanctions as appropriate within their own remit; Police review footage and evidence for criminality; the club impose bans on identified offenders; and the game takes a cold, practical look at stewarding and stadium safety protocols. That is how you get real outcomes - punish proven wrongdoing, plug the holes that allowed it, and stop turning ambiguity into a moral panic.

Now a candid opinion about the bodies who get the most attention after these incidents - broadcasters, pundits and politicians. Too often they act like prosecutors and judges without the evidentiary burden those roles actually require. In this instance, the “serious assault” framing served as a shortcut to outrage - it is media catnip, and it gets clicks and soundbites. But it does a disservice to justice and to the truth. The responsible route is to distinguish between the emotional truth (Celtic fans were ecstatic and a minority took it too far), the factual truth (there is evidence of goading and naughty hand signs aimed at players) and the legal truth (is there proof of assault that would sustain criminal charges?). Those are three separate things and we should treat them as such.

An uncomfortable home-truth for Celtic fans - the invasion was avoidable and indefensible. We should own that and stop denying any wrongdoing in that respect. A pitch invasion, by definition, is a failure of stewardship, policing, crowd management and fan self-control. Celtic have apologised and they must now show they have learned; that will be the cleanest route to avoiding heavier sanctions down the line. But being accountable does not mean accepting a false, inflated narrative that paints tens of thousands of celebrating fans as violent thugs. That is lazy, it is vindictive, but it gets clicks.

Which leads to a systemic reform suggestion I want to see in Scottish football - ditch the cheap steward model and professionalise in-stadia crowd management. Relying on part-time, low-paid stewards - often students or casual workers with no training - to stop a pitch invasion is asking the unaskable. These aren’t policemen; they don’t have police powers, nor the training for volatile interventions. Asking a private contractor’s handful of stewards to physically repel surging crowds is not a public-safety strategy, it’s a gesture, it’s paying lip service to it. If we want to prevent future pitch invasions, the solution is not more rhetoric from politicians, media hacks, or football officials; it is proper investment in trained, professional security personnel, better entry controls, CCTV coverage throughout that actually protects players and identifiable sanctions that hit offenders where it hurts - season tickets, travel access, and lifetime bans for repeat violent offenders. If Scottish football is serious about safety, it will stop outsourcing the job to whoever is cheapest on a zero-hours contract.

And don’t forget, this incident isn’t a one-off, we have seen Rangers fans rampaging across the Ibrox pitch trying to attack Celtic players, officials, and fans after they were knocked out of the Scottish Cup on penalties and Celtic fans took to the field to celebrate. We are still to hear anything from investigations into the disorder from the Scottish FA and Police Scotland - as they both look to circle the wagons and pass the buck onto others. Yet this wasn’t an isolated incident either, we can go all the way back to Celtic manager Neil Lennon being attacked at the side of the pitch at Tynecastle by a Hearts fan who took exception to the Northern Irishman celebrating his side scoring a goal. We also had Celtic players attacked on the pitch, a Celtic physio bottled and needing medical attention, and then we saw Joe Hart calling match officials over in a derby match after he spotted broken bits of bottle around his six yard box risking his safety, and all players safety whether they are Rangers or Celtic fans. We have heard that Police Scotland had arrested a number of Union Bears members prior to a Glasgow derby match as they had been caught with weapons inside Ibrox as they were setting up displays. Yet we didn’t see the media scrutiny or outrage over these incidents, as we have seen the past 48 hours, over a pitch invasion with no evidence backing the assault allegation narrative.

There is also a cultural problem. We see it across the sport - pyrotechnics and pitch invasions are romanticised as passion rather than treated as criminal conduct - and I have to admit that I do love a good natured pitch invasion. Clubs, authorities and fans need to align on the principle that passion ends where another person’s safety begins. That principle should be non-negotiable.

Finally, I will say this as plainly as I can, Celtic do not need patronising treatment and faux outrage from people whose real agenda is to see them fail, to be stripped of the league title that they fought hard to win, just because their club(s) failed to win. There’s a political dimension to the outrage that can’t be ignored. When the first version of events suits a pre-existing bias - “Celtic are cheats,” “the league is corrupt,” “the refs are biased” - those voices will push the most extreme version of events because it fits their broader narrative. That’s not journalism; it’s campaigning. And when professional commentators and columnists like Gary Linekar, Simon Jordan, and Jeff Stelling indulge that, they weaken the case for real accountability.

The proper course now is simple and proportionate, let the SPFL carry out a clear, evidence-led investigation and apply what sanctions they can do where rule-breaking is proven; let Police Scotland follow the criminal angle where there is credible video evidence or eyewitness testimony of assault; and let Celtic do the hard, often invisible work of internal discipline, ban enforcement and security reform. In parallel, the media should dial back inflammatory language until legal or disciplinary bodies have reached conclusions. Fans, for their part, should know their club loves them and expects better behaviour.

I also have to further add that the SPFL is controlled by the clubs, the clubs agree on the rules, they then expect the likes of SPFL chief executive Neil Doncaster to administer and manage the league governing body. If the clubs are so protective of their players from fan misconduct - why did all but three vote against Strict Liability in 2019? Hearts voted against it, Celtic voted against it, Rangers voted against it - only Partick Thistle, Queen of the South, and Annan Athletic voted in favour of introducing it in relation to fan misconduct. The same rules that UEFA enforce in European competitions, has seen significant fines dished out to Celtic and Rangers, while Rangers have seen fans banned for sectarian and racist singing, and suspended stadium bans. Yet domestically, no club wants to even consider the idea. So maybe look at another vote on strict liability, and this time vote in favour of it, rather than run to trusted mouthpieces in the press to get your faux outrage and narrative out there while refusing to give the league actual powers to deal with it in the first place.

Celtic won the league. To every Celtic fan who stormed that pitch in an ecstatic, foolish rush - your moment mattered, but your actions had and will have consequences. To the wider public, the pundits and the politicians who want to turn this incident into a moral crusade - wait for the evidence before you open your mouth and act against every incident not just the ones that get the most headlines for you in your latest bandwagon jumping escapade.

Celtic did not just win the title on the final day; they stole it back with a brutal efficiency that left Hearts sprawling on the turf in tears and their season in tatters. For a club that spent most of the campaign at the summit, this was not just a collapse, it was another historic bottle job for the Tynecastle side, and Celtic’s fifth league title in a row will be remembered as much for Hearts cracking under the pressure as for Celtic’s extraordinary comeback.

Hearts needed only a draw at Celtic Park to clinch their first league title in 66 years, after leading the table since September. Instead, they were dragged into the kind of pressure cooker that decides champions, and when the heat was turned up ahead of the final day, Derek McInnes’ side simply could not hold their nerve and buckled up into the fetal position.

Celtic were not perfect, but they were ruthless when it mattered. They came from behind to win 3-1, with Daizen Maeda and Callum Osmand delivering the late goals that tore the trophy away from Hearts’ sweaty clammy hands at the very last moment. The final kick of the game made the point brutally clear - champions do not beg for help, they do not whine, they do not spit the dummy, they take.

Hearts’ approach looked like a team trying to smother the occasion rather than win it, and that is precisely where the danger lay. The time-wasting, the stoppages, the rolling over faking injuries, the delay tactics, the constant attempt to drag Celtic into a grim, nervous trench battle all felt designed to protect a draw rather than seize a title with a victory. That may work on an ordinary afternoon, but against a Celtic side with 60000 fans behind them and the clock turning into an ally, it was a suicidal game plan from Derek McInnes.

Hearts started playing for the point pretty much as soon as the second half kicked off, making a substitution with seconds of the restart to try to knock Celtic out of their rhythm. They invited Celtic to take the game to them and they duly delivered, and with nerves kicking in on and off the field it is this point in time where title-winning sides often find their edge. The late push from Hearts, including the goalkeeper going up for a set piece, only made the eventual damage worse, because it left the door wide open for Celtic to finish the job on the break and send the tens of thousands of Celtic fans in the stadium, and hundreds of thousands worldwide delirious - not to mention the Hibernian fans who had been biting their fingernails down to their knuckles throughout.

Celtic’s Chaotic Season

This title will stand apart because of everything Celtic endured before they reached the final day. Brendan Rodgers quit, Martin O’Neill returned in interim charge, Wilfried Nancy arrived and was then gone 33 days later, and O’Neill came back again to shepherd the team across the finish line. It was a season of upheaval, noise and constant turbulence, the sort of internal mess that usually ends in failure, not trophies.

And yet Celtic somehow strung together seven straight league wins to close it out, including a 3-1 demolition of Rangers that effectively ended the Ibrox side’s title hopes, and a last-gasp penalty against Motherwell that kept the title run alive. That sort of finish is not the product of serenity or neat planning; it is the product of a club deciding, at the point of maximum disorder, that the title was still theirs for the taking.

It is almost comical that Martin O’Neill, mocked by rivals and written off by plenty of hacks as a ‘pensioner in a trackie’, has ended up writing one of the most unlikely title wins in Celtic history. The man who was dismissed as a nostalgic or a desperate appointment has steadied a side that looked broken in January and turned them into a team capable of winning when the season was at its most poisonous.

That does not mean Celtic suddenly became a well-oiled machine. It means O’Neill understood exactly what was required from a team in distress - simplicity, belief, and enough tactical nous to stop the collapse becoming permanent. In a season full of chaos, he was the nearest thing Celtic had to a constant, and that alone deserves its own chapter in the story of this title.

The Boardroom Rot

This was never just about what happened on the pitch. The club AGM descended into disorder, the board walked out amid protests, Peter Lawwell departed claiming threats and abuse, merchandise boycotts gathered pace, and Dermot Desmond’s son talked down to supporters in the way only an insulated nepo baby elitist can manage. It was the kind of boardroom toxicity that makes a football club feel far larger than its football problem, because every bit of unrest spills straight into the team.

That the supporters still found a way to drive the team forward to the title should embarrass everyone who helped create the mess. Celtic’s hierarchy spent all season long acting as if the noise around them was the problem, when in reality the noise was the warning. The fans were right to protest, right to boycott, and right to call out a structure that too often behaves as though the club belongs to them rather than the people who live and breathe it.

Hearts blew it

There is no sugar-coating this for Hearts, just as they did in 1986, they had the title in sight and let it slip through their hands in the ugliest possible manner. A club top for so long, a club with all the momentum, a club that had every incentive to play the occasion with courage, chose caution and then paid for it in the harshest way possible.

That is the pain of bottling a title race. It is not just losing on the day, it is spending months as the benchmark and then discovering that the one afternoon that mattered most was the one you could not handle the pressure. The departure of the Hearts team on buses following the full time whistle and in the aftermath of a pitch invasion, spared McInnes and his charges the question marks around the game plan, why they looked like a deer in headlights late on, why their captain Lawrence Shankland resorted to bully boy tactics after Celtic went 2-1 up and escaped a sending off for kicking out at and grabbing Daizen Maeda by the throat, and why they ultimately struggled against a Celtic side that is arguably the worst in a generation.

What the title means

For Celtic, this is a fifth consecutive championship and a 56th top-flight title, won in a season. It is one of the most hard-earned titles in the club’s recent history, not because the football was always dazzling, but because everything around it seemed determined to drag them under and stand in their way.

That is why the scale of the achievement matters. A team with fractured leadership, ugly boardroom politics, awful windows in summer and January, injuries to key players, fan unrest, bans and internal upheaval somehow found enough juice in the tank to finish on a seven-game winning run and snatch the league at the death. That is not normal title-winning behaviour, that is survival turning into triumph.

So yes, Hearts bottled it. Top since September, had the league within their clutches, and when the moment came, they blew it, and Celtic did what champions do - they punished hesitation, tore the script up, and strutted off with the trophy.

But the season is not finished yet. Celtic still have the Scottish Cup Final to come against Dunfermline, a proper teacher-versus-pupil clash as Martin O’Neill goes toe-to-toe with Neil Lennon, the former Celtic captain and manager. It is a fitting final act to a mad, chaotic season, and one more chance for Celtic to put silverware on the table before the summer arrives. Or lose to the Pars and consign rivals Rangers to the Conference League - surely that wouldn’t happen? Wink wink nudge nudge.

Because once the cup final is done, all eyes will turn to the World Cup in America, while Celtic will be left with something far more important than tournament chatter - a monumental rebuild. If this season has taught us anything, it is that another year like this cannot be allowed to happen. The club needs proper planning, proper recruitment, and proper leadership if they are to avoid turning next season into another exercise in damage limitation.

Referee John Beaton went home under police protection this week. Let that sink in. Not after a riot. Not after a pitch invasion. Not after some extraordinary, unprecedented controversy. After awarding a penalty in a football match following advice from VAR.

And from there, the descent into something far uglier was immediate and predictable. Personal details leaked online. A referee’s home turned into a potential target. A family dragged into the crosshairs of people who have long since lost any sense of proportion, decency, or basic humanity.

Let’s call it what it is, this is scumbag behaviour. Pure and simple.

The Scottish FA didn’t dress it up either. Their statement pulled no punches: “John Beaton and his family spent last night at home under police surveillance following a leak of personal details online. The Scottish FA condemns in the strongest possible terms attempts to compromise the safety of match officials… Such vigilantism… is a scourge on our national game.”

And yet, as damning as that is, the most important part of the statement isn’t the condemnation of the act itself. It’s the uncomfortable truth about how we got here.

“We are also clear… that this is the inevitable consequence of the heightening criticism, intolerance and scapegoating demonstrated this season by media pundits, supporters… clubs, players, managers and former match officials.”

There it is. The part many won’t want to hear.

Because this didn’t start with one decision on Wednesday night. It didn’t start with a penalty at Fir Park. It has been building for months, years even, fuelled by a culture where every contentious decision is framed not as human error, but as evidence of corruption, bias, or conspiracy.

And who has been pouring petrol on that fire?

Not just anonymous accounts on social media. Not just fan channels chasing clicks. But former players. Pundits. Broadcasters. People who know exactly how the game works, and know better.

Or at least, they should.

Instead, we’ve had a steady stream of insinuation and outrage. Decisions dissected not with balance, but with agenda. Every mistake amplified into something sinister. Every referee painted as either biased or corrupt.

It’s reckless. It’s dishonest. And now it has consequences.

Because when you spend months telling supporters, explicitly or implicitly, that officials cannot be trusted, that results are being manipulated, that there’s something rotten at the core of the game… you don’t get to act shocked when some take that to its logical, dangerous conclusion.

You don’t get to shrug when someone decides to “do their own research” and publishes a home address.

You helped build that environment. And don’t pretend otherwise.

The Scottish FA went further, highlighting the wider damage: “This is the consequence of a hysterical media narrative, fuelled by irresponsible knee-jerk post-match media interviews, commentary and official social media posts.”

Hysterical is the right word. When pundits who never watch a single Scottish Football game outwith of the Glasgow derby, jump in with two feet claiming it is the worst decision they have ever seen in football - all because they want Hearts to break the Glasgow monopoly.

Scottish football has become trapped in a feedback loop of outrage, where reason is drowned out by noise, and perspective is sacrificed for engagement. It’s easier to scream conspiracy than accept your team lost. Easier to blame a referee than question a missed sitter, a defensive error, or a manager’s decisions.

As the SFA bluntly put it: “Referees are not infallible… just as managers will pick the wrong team, goalkeepers concede soft goals and strikers miss from five yards out. Yet the reaction to these inevitabilities could not be more contrasting.”

Exactly. Mistakes by players are “part of the game.” Mistakes by referees are treated as crimes, labelled corrupt. And now, we’re at the point again where officials need police protection for doing their job. That is not passion. That is not rivalry. That is not “what makes Scottish football special.”

That is a rot.

And here’s where the hypocrisy becomes unbearable. There will be plenty of voices condemning what happened to Beaton. Carefully worded statements. Strong tweets. Concerned tones on radio and television.

But how many of those same voices have spent the season questioning integrity? Hinting at bias? Stoking distrust? Alleging corruption?

You can’t have it both ways. You can’t spend months feeding paranoia and then act appalled when it mutates into something dangerous.

And for those peddling nonsense about institutional bias or corruption - despite the Scottish FA having, the CEO of Hearts sitting as Vice President - what exactly is the endgame here?

Think it through.

Are we really suggesting a system rigged in favour of one club while senior figures from rival clubs sit at the very top of the governing body? Or is it far more likely that football, as it always has been, is chaotic, subjective, and occasionally unfair?

One explanation requires evidence. The other requires only anger.

The SFA has drawn a line: “We will not allow this to become the norm… We will not allow a situation where match officials require special provision to protect their children at school… We will not allow a situation where staying at home with the front door locked… becomes a coping strategy.”

Good. Because if that line isn’t held, the Scottish game doesn’t just have a refereeing problem, it has a future problem.

Who would become a referee in this environment? Who would progress through the ranks knowing that one decision could put their family at risk? Scottish referees went on strike for less 16 years ago, when their integrity was called into question, what do you think they will do if their safety and the safety of their families are at risk?

Strip away officials, and the entire structure collapses. And all of this, off the back of a penalty decision in a 3–2 game - where another penalty decision wasn’t given to Celtic earlier in the match - that has set up a title decider between Celtic and Hearts.

That should be the story. A final day showdown. Drama. Competition. Everything Scottish football claims to thrive on.

Instead, we’re talking about police surveillance, leaked addresses, and a thug culture that has spiralled out of control.

Enough is enough.

Condemn the individuals who crossed the line, absolutely. But don’t stop there. Challenge the culture that emboldened them. Call out the pundits, the ex-pros, the commentators who have spent too long playing to the gallery, chasing the clicks, instead of telling the truth.

Because until that happens, this won’t be the last time. And the next time, it could be worse.

This is it. No safety net, no second chances, no excuses left to hide behind. Ninety minutes at Celtic Park to decide everything.

Hearts arrive one point ahead. That’s the reality. Celtic don’t get to manage this game, don’t get to ease into it, don’t get to hope something falls their way. They have to take it. From the first whistle to the last, this has to be relentless, aggressive, and utterly uncompromising.

There can be no passengers on Saturday. Not one. You don’t get to drift through moments like this. You don’t get to hide behind a teammate or wait for someone else to step up. Every single player in that dressing room must take responsibility, must demand the ball, must win their battles. Titles are not handed out, they are ripped from the hands of whoever dares to stand in your way.

And Celtic have men who know exactly what that takes.

They have a captain in Callum McGregor who must set the tempo, dictate the fight, and drag every last ounce out of those around him. They have a midfield that must dominate, not just compete. They have a defence that cannot afford a second of complacency - no risks, no nonsense, just clear your lines and win your duels. And going forward? Be sharp, be direct, be ruthless. Test their keeper again and again until something gives.

Above all, they have Martin O’Neill in the dugout. A man who understands what this club and supporters demand. A man who has delivered glory, who has felt the agony of coming up short, and who will not accept anything less than everything his players have to give. This is his final chapter in management. A chance to sign off the only way that matters at Celtic - by winning.

If that doesn’t light a fire, nothing will.

Because the supporters will bring it. Sixty thousand of them. Every roar, every chant, every surge of belief pushing this team forward. Celtic Park will not be a stadium on Saturday - it will be a force. And those players need to meet it, match it, and feed off it.

Wearing that shirt is not a right. It never has been. It is earned, every single week, through effort, through fight, through refusing to accept defeat.

This season has tested that belief. From boardroom failures to chaos in the dugout, from cup final disappointment to the noise and accusations of cheating from outside, Celtic have been questioned at every turn. Now comes our reply.

Forget the noise. Forget the narrative. Forget what anyone outside thinks will happen.

Go out there and make it happen.

Take the game to Hearts. Push them back. Hurt them. Show them exactly what it means to come to Celtic Park with everything on the line. Make sure that little bigoted malcontent McInnes travels back along the M8 raging and in tears.

Let there be no doubt, no debate, no controversy - just a Celtic team that wanted it more, fought harder, and refused to let it slip.

Make no mistake, the recent furore over the correct decision being made over a handball - while ignoring another clear cut penalty for Celtic - will pile huge pressure on the match officials. Make sure that we are good enough so that they do not influence the game either way.

And when that final whistle goes, make sure there is nothing left. Not a sprint unmade, not a tackle unfought, not a moment wasted.

Because this is Celtic.

And this is what Celtic do.

Get intae them.

One game. One point. One shot at chaos, glory, and immortality.

Celtic, written off back in January, are somehow still standing. Not just standing - but breathing down Hearts’ neck with 90 minutes left to decide the Scottish Premiership title. Whatever happens on the final day, this is already one of the most extraordinary turnarounds in modern Scottish football.

And at the centre of it all stands Martin O’Neill.

When he walked back through the doors after the Wilfried Nancy experiment imploded in just 33 disastrous days, Celtic were finished. Dead and buried. A team devoid of structure, belief, and quality. Arguably the worst Celtic side in a generation.

Yet here we are.

It hasn’t been slick. It hasn’t been dominant. At times it’s bordered on unwatchable. But it has been something far more powerful - relentless, chaotic, nerve-shredding football that refuses to die. O’Neill hasn’t rebuilt a great team; he’s dragged a flawed one, kicking and screaming, into a title race through sheer force of will.

That is management. That is leadership. That is, frankly, miraculous.

Last night at Fir Park was the perfect snapshot of this Celtic side. Fragile yet defiant. Exposed yet unbreakable. Twice they looked like they had blown it against a sharp, dangerous Motherwell team. And yet, in the dying moments, they found a way.

Of course, the talking point is the penalty. It always is.

Cue the outrage. “Disgusting.” “Corrupt.” “A disgrace.”

Except… it wasn’t.

Sam Nicholson doesn’t just catch Austin Trusty with an elbow - he also handles the ball in the process. It’s clear on replay. Clear in stills. Clear enough that even Alex Rae, not exactly a card-carrying Celtic apologist, admitted the ball strikes Nicholson’s hand.

You don’t need forensic analysis, a conspiracy board, or a degree in physics to work this one out.

But that won’t stop the noise. It never does.

Apparently, Scottish football is now rigged in Celtic’s favour, despite Celtic having six penalties awarded against them this season. Despite blatant decisions going the other way, like Maeda being wiped out by the Motherwell keeper earlier in the same match. Despite Nygren being shoved in the box against Hibs in the game before or the Hibs captain Joe Newell handling the ball before scoring with nothing given.

And let’s not forget - zero penalties conceded by Hearts all season.

Yes, clearly, the grand conspiracy is working exactly as planned by fenian fifth columnists.

Then there’s Derek McInnes, who managed to turn a title race into a personal grievance tour within seconds of the final whistle. Branding the decision “disgusting” is one thing. Launching a full-scale assault on the integrity of match officials on live television is another.

It’s unprofessional. It’s irresponsible. And it’s the kind of rhetoric that, not so long ago, saw referees in Scotland withdraw their labour altogether. Surely, he must be dragged in front of a disciplinary panel over his comments?

The irony? Hearts thought they had it won. Three goals up. Celebrations practically underway. Crates full of Premiership champions livery sitting outside Tynecastle, ready to be erected.

Then Celtic refused to read the script.

Now it all comes down to this - Celtic need to win. Hearts just need to avoid defeat.

On paper, the advantage lies with Hearts still. In reality, the pressure sits squarely on their shoulders. They’ve led this race since September. They’ve had control. They’ve had consistency.

Now there is a huge expectation.

Celtic, meanwhile, arrive fuelled by momentum, defiance, and a manager who has turned desperation into belief. They may be running on fumes, but they’re still running.

And they’ll do it in front of nearly 60,000 at Celtic Park, with fewer than 800 Hearts fans watching on.

The stage couldn’t be bigger. The stakes couldn’t be higher.

This isn’t about corruption. It isn’t about bias. It’s about two teams who have taken completely different paths to the same destination - one built on stability, the other on sheer survival instinct.

And now, only one gets to finish the job.

So buckle up.

Because Saturday will have everything - controversy, drama, limbs, fury. McInnes raging. O’Neill bouncing like a man half his age. Ecstasy for one side. Agony for the other.

And maybe, just maybe, another chapter in Hearts’ long, painful relationship with destiny.

Forty years on from Albert Kidd, the ghosts are still there.

And if Celtic complete this, they won’t just win a title.

They’ll complete one of the most absurd, improbable, and glorious heists Scottish football has ever seen.

It took the Boston Red Sox 86 long years to break the Curse of the Bambino, let’s make Hearts wait another year to break their Curse of the Kidd.

The 3–1 victory over Rangers at Celtic Park was not a performance for the ages, nor was it a statement of complete dominance. It was something far more familiar under Martin O’Neill this season - controlled, resilient, and ultimately decisive when it mattered most. In a campaign that has twisted and turned beyond expectation, Celtic once again found a way to apply maximum pressure at exactly the right time.

For Rangers, this was the day their already faint title hopes finally expired. They arrived in the east end with the occasion framed as an opportunity to end Celtic’s chances of winning the title. Instead, they left having confirmed what has felt inevitable for weeks, this is not a team capable of matching Celtic when it truly matters.

There was a certain symbolism in how it unfolded. Amid the noise and choreography, and the presence of the Union Bears [despite Celtic imposing a ban on them], Rangers delivered a performance devoid of authority. They did not collapse spectacularly; they simply faded, unable to impose themselves on a game that demanded personality and conviction.

For James Tavernier, it was a fitting final Glasgow derby. After 11 years at Ibrox, his tenure will divide opinion for years to come. Trophies have been scarce relative to the expectations of his role, and while his individual numbers often drew praise, the broader context is unavoidable. Captains at Rangers are measured by silverware; by that standard, his era falls short significantly. That he exits the derby stage not with a defining moment, but as part of another decisive defeat to the chorus of Celtic fans cheering and waving him off the pitch, feels entirely in keeping with the story of his captaincy.

Celtic, on the other hand, continue to evolve in real time. This was not their slickest display. There were periods where the game drifted, where control wavered, and where Rangers were allowed to linger longer than they should have. But crucially, Celtic carry a fight and a desire that has re-emerged under Martin O’Neill and at the right time.

Daizen Maeda embodies that resurgence. With speculation surrounding his future growing, the Japanese forward has delivered when Celtic needed him most. His overhead kick to seal the victory was not just a moment of technical brilliance - it was a reminder of the unpredictable, match-winning quality he brings. In tight title races, those moments define outcomes.

And make no mistake, this is now Celtic’s title race to lose. Two games remain. The gap is a single point. Hearts, under Derek McInnes, still hold control on paper, but the psychological landscape has shifted dramatically after this weekend. Celtic have momentum, belief, and the experience of navigating these pressure moments. Hearts, by contrast, must now prove they can withstand the pressure while their sphincters-twitch uncontrollably, with memories of Albert Kidd and 1986 haunting them 40 years on.

That looming final day at Celtic Park hangs over everything. It carries both promise and peril. The prospect of Celtic sealing the title in front of their own supporters is tantalising; the alternative, allowing Hearts to celebrate on that same turf, is unthinkable.

What makes this season so compelling is precisely that tension. Celtic looked out of it in February - in fact, I wrote them off. The narrative then was one of inconsistency, missed opportunities, and a team falling short. Yet here they are, two matches from the finish line, having dragged themselves back into contention through persistence rather than perfection.

Martin O’Neill deserves immense credit for that. He has not produced a flawless Celtic side, but he has built one that refuses to disappear. Again and again, when the stakes have risen, Celtic have responded.

Sunday was another example. Not a classic, but significant all the same. Because in title races, it is not always about how you play. It is about when you win.

The Union Bears have issued their latest instructions to Rangers fans ahead of Sunday’s Glasgow derby - wear black.

On the surface, it’s framed as a clever workaround. Banned from Celtic Park, eventually agreed to by their own club after the SPFL sided with Celtic on safety grounds, the plan is to blend into the crowd. Become indistinguishable. Invisible. A sort of ultras guerrilla warfare via wardrobe choice.

But let’s not insult anyone’s intelligence here. This isn’t strategy. It’s muscle memory.

Because if there’s one thing Rangers fans have perfected in recent years, it’s the aesthetic of mourning.

Another season, another failed title challenge dressed up as “progress.” After torching £40 million in their attempts to buy the title, Rangers now sit on course to finish third- adrift of a Celtic side that is arguably the worst in a generation and a Hearts team that spent less than 10% of what Rangers did.

So yes, black feels less like a protest against Celtic banning them and more like a dress rehearsal for another funeral.

We’ve seen this all before though. When Steven Gerrard left for Aston Villa, Rangers fans didn’t just complain, they staged a mock funeral. A life-size cut-out. A full-blown send-off. It was grief reimagined as theatre, equal parts hilarious and revealing.

And now? The same support that buried Gerrard is quietly floating the idea of his resurrection. Sack Danny Rohl. Bring Stevie back. Let him rise from the dead and save their club from more mediocrity - despite him winning just one trophy out nine Rangers competed in during his three and a half years at Ibrox. And he needed Covid, a dodgy Northern Ireland Covid testing facility, and no fans attending games to do it.

You almost have to admire their commitment.

Because nothing says long-term planning like recycling a former manager as a messianic figure after spending tens of millions to go backwards. Nothing screams stability like demanding a Lazarus act before the ink is dry on the latest failed rebuild.

And nothing, absolutely nothing, says “we’ve got this under control” like organising a stadium infiltration plan that doubles as a visual metaphor for yet another failed title push.

Black isn’t unity. It’s not defiance. It’s not even particularly subtle.

It’s the colour of inevitability.

So when Rangers fans file into Celtic Park this Sunday, dressed head-to-toe in funeral tones, they may well succeed in letting the Union Bears blend in. Not as undercover ultras, but as participants in a ritual they know all too well.

Another title challenge laid to rest.

Another set of expectations buried.

Another trophyless season.