The Independent Review into the events at Ibrox on 8 March 2026 has delivered a devastating verdict on Scottish football’s disciplinary architecture. It read, “Sanctions are too modest, too deferred and too inconsistently applied to alter the behaviour of the clubs, groups and individuals they are designed to deter.”

This is not a failure of individual cases or isolated incidents. It is a systemic collapse. The disciplinary framework exists to reverse the upward trajectory of unacceptable conduct. The evidence of this review is that, in its current form, it is not doing so.

But here is the uncomfortable truth that the review dances around, this is not an accident. The current disciplinary framework’s inadequacy is the direct result of a deliberate choice by Scottish clubs, a choice they have consistently reaffirmed over more than a decade. It is the product of collective self-interest masquerading as principle, of hypocrisy dressed as practicality, of clubs who want opposition fans punished while refusing to accept responsibility for their own.

A Framework Designed to Fail

The review identifies nine damning observations about the Scottish FA and Scottish Professional Football League frameworks. The Scottish FA has not imposed a single immediate crowd restriction as a first-response measure in the 2025/26 season. Every venue closure sanction was suspended. The Scottish FA’s maximum immediate financial penalty applied in 2025/26 would not deter a club operating at any professional level. The SPFL’s cash equivalent for suspended ticket reductions is of similarly low consequence.

The Scottish FA applied the full three-limbed charge - prevention, identification, and sanction - in only one of its three 2025/26 cases. The other two were limited to the prevention duty alone. By contrast, the SPFL applied the three-limbed charge consistently across its proceedings. The Scottish FA must match that consistency, but the review stops short of explaining why it hasn’t.

Most revealing is the review’s observation that a charge of unacceptable conduct brought by the Scottish FA in a cup competition and a charge brought by the SPFL in a league fixture are treated as separate proceedings with no mechanism for one to compound the other. This is structurally inadequate. A club carrying a suspended sanction in one competition that commits an equivalent offence in another should not have its later charge treated as a first breach. The frequency of misconduct is the relevant fact, not the competition.

The review notes that “the continued independence of the Scottish FA and Scottish Professional Football League sanctioning regimes produces an outcome that is neither coherent nor credible.” This is diplomatic language. The reality is that the disciplinary framework is a two-headed monster, each head capable of ignoring the other, each head empowered to block meaningful reform, each head serving the interests of its member clubs rather than the integrity of the game.

The 2013 Vote on Strict Liability

In June 2013, Scottish clubs voted against implementing stricter regulations to combat hooliganism, racism and sectarianism. The proposals included longer player suspensions, points deductions, and stadium bans. Members decided against the introduction of automatic sanctions. Then-SFA chief executive Stewart Regan admitted the plan had been “too onerous” and that “to move to strict liability from where we are now was quite a leap.”

The SFA president called the result “disappointing.” Anti-sectarian charity Nil By Mouth responded with a devastating assessment that still resonates today: “Football was asked to stand up and be counted, and was found wanting. It certainly sends out the wrong sort of message, not just in Scotland but around European football.”

A BBC Sport Scotland survey revealed that just three of the 42 SPFL clubs supported strict liability: Partick Thistle, Queen of the South, and Annan Athletic. Fourteen clubs were against, seventeen would not comment, and eight - including Celtic, Rangers, Hearts, and Kilmarnock - did not respond at all.

SPFL chief executive Neil Doncaster’s response to the survey was revealing in its naked self-interest: “Strict liability doesn’t work anywhere in the world. If you start to make away clubs responsible for their fans, very quickly you will see away clubs stopping selling tickets to the away fans.” This is the logic of convenience, not principle. The argument is not that strict liability is ineffective as a deterrent; it is that clubs might be inconvenienced by having to sell fewer tickets. Safety, accountability, and the integrity of the game are secondary considerations.

Article 28.10: The Get-Out Clause

Even if the Scottish FA were to implement strict liability - and there is no indication that it will - its own Articles of Association would allow the SPFL to opt out.

Article 28.10 states: “The provisions of Articles 28.1 to 28.9 (both inclusive) shall not apply in the case of any match played under the jurisdiction of the Scottish Professional Football League, unless the board of directors of the Scottish Professional Football League shall request the Board to invoke the powers granted to it under these Articles.”

This is a structural get-out clause. The SPFL can simply decline to request the introduction of the SFA’s disciplinary powers. Given that only three SPFL clubs were in favour of strict liability in 2019, the likelihood of the SPFL board voluntarily subjecting itself to stricter sanctions is remote.

The review acknowledges this problem without fully addressing its implications. It notes that “the continued independence of the Scottish FA and Scottish Professional Football League sanctioning regimes produces an outcome that is neither coherent nor credible.” But it does not explicitly tackle the fundamental obstacle that the SPFL clubs have the power to block any meaningful reform. The review’s recommendations are directed at the Scottish FA, but the SPFL can simply ignore them.

The Hypocrisy of Complaints

The disciplinary framework’s inadequacy is compounded by the hypocrisy of clubs who complain about opposition fans’ behaviour while refusing to accept responsibility for their own supporters.

The review notes that “the volume and variety of incidents documented across seasons 2024/25 and 2025/26 - pyrotechnics, objects thrown, pitch incursions, anti-social behaviour and targeted intimidation of players and officials - is not a statistical fluctuation. It is a trend.” Every club has been affected. Every club has complained. Every club has demanded action.

Yet when the opportunity to create meaningful deterrents arose - including strict liability, immediate stadium closures, and points deductions - the vast majority voted against them. The reason is clear, clubs do not want to face fines and potential stadium bans for the actions of their own fans. They want the benefits of passionate support without the consequences of disorder. They want opposition fans punished while their own supporters are indulged.

This is turkeys voting for Christmas. Clubs want opposition fans punished for misconduct, but they refuse to accept the consequences when their own supporters transgress. The current “reasonably practicable” defence allows clubs to avoid sanctions by arguing they took adequate steps, regardless of whether those steps were effective. This creates a perverse incentive structure where clubs have minimal motivation to confront or curtail their Ultra groups.

The Offensive Behaviour Act: Criminalising Emotions, Not Solving Problems

The review’s criticisms of the disciplinary framework must be understood against the backdrop of the Scottish Government’s own legislative failures. The Offensive Behaviour at Football and Threatening Communications (Scotland) Act (OBFA) of 2011 was a piece of reactionary SNP legislation designed to criminalise fans rather than address root causes.

The Act created offences concerning “offensive behaviour” in relation to regulated football matches, with a broad definition that included “behaviour that a reasonable person would be likely to consider offensive.” This vague and subjective standard allowed prosecutors to target fans for emotional reactions rather than actual harm. Thousands of charges were brought under the Act, with the total number of charges under Section 1 (Football) fluctuating between 65 and 287 annually.

The Act was eventually repealed due to significant public and political pressure, but its legacy remains, a punitive approach that criminalised fans rather than holding clubs accountable for failing to manage their supporters. The Scottish Government and football authorities have consistently preferred to blame individual fans for systemic failures, rather than confront the clubs that profit from their attendance.

The review’s recommendations - immediate sanctions, section closures, financial penalties scaled to revenue - represent a different approach. They are club-focused rather than fan-focused. They recognise that the primary responsibility for supporter conduct lies with the clubs that profit from their attendance. But they face the same obstacles that defeated strict liability in 2013. Clubs do not want to accept responsibility. They will continue to complain about opposition fans while refusing to confront their own.

Selective Enforcement: The Celtic-Rangers Divide

The review’s framing of the two clubs’ approaches to discipline is revealing, though it stops short of drawing the uncomfortable conclusions.

Celtic has taken meaningful action against the Green Brigade. The review notes that Celtic imposed a banning order on approximately 200 identified members of the Green Brigade for the period November 2025 to April 2026, preventing access to Celtic Park and away match tickets. This was a club-imposed restriction that, while imperfect in implementation, demonstrated a willingness to confront difficult issues. The review also notes that Celtic “openly discussed the group’s intended drums and seating locations” at pre-operational meetings - this is evidence of responsible planning, not complicity. Celtic were upfront about the challenges posed by their Ultra group and sought to manage them within the framework available.

Rangers’ relationship with the Union Bears is qualitatively different. The review describes how Rangers, “through season ticket allocations, have agreed to position Union Bears members centrally within the lower tier of the Copland Stand.” This placement afforded the group “the most direct and unimpeded access to the pitch, and the greatest capacity to influence crowd behaviour at moments of high tension and emotion.” The review does not explicitly criticise this arrangement, but the implication is clear, Rangers has facilitated the Union Bears’ access to the most sensitive area of the stadium.

The contrast is stark. Celtic has sought to restrict its Ultra group; Rangers has facilitated its access and influence. The review’s treatment of the two groups as equivalent - both described as operating “like organised crime groups” - omits this fundamental difference. It allows Rangers to avoid scrutiny of its role in facilitating the Union Bears’ activities, while Celtic is implicitly blamed for the Green Brigade’s conduct.

The hypocrisy extends to Rangers’ complaints about Celtic’s actions. When Celtic demanded the banning of Union Bears members from the May 10th derby match last season, Rangers complained to the football authorities. A club that has not taken meaningful action against its own Ultra group for invading the pitch on March 8th objected when the opposition club did so.

The Review’s Recommendations: Necessary but Not Sufficient

The review’s recommendations are sound in principle. REC01A calls for immediate sanctions as the default first-response, financial penalties scaled to club revenue, consistent application of the three-limbed charge, and a published escalation tariff. REC01D proposes a rolling three-year escalation tariff. REC02 recommends a Joint Safety and Security body with independent oversight.

But the review does not adequately confront the fundamental obstacle, the clubs will block meaningful reform because meaningful reform would cost them money and restrict their operations. The review notes that “the Scottish FA, as the primary regulatory body responsible for the governance of supporter conduct at Scottish Cup and all other Scottish FA-governed fixtures, and as the commissioning body for this Report, is best placed to assume a lead position in opening structured dialogue with the Scottish Professional Football League.” This is a polite way of saying that the SFA needs to persuade the SPFL to accept reforms that the SPFL clubs have repeatedly rejected.

The article 28.10 get-out clause remains. The SPFL can simply decline to request the introduction of the SFA’s powers. The clubs that voted against strict liability in 2013 will not suddenly embrace it in 2026. The structural misalignment between the SFA and the SPFL is not a technicality; it is a fortress built by clubs to protect themselves from accountability.

Words Without Action

The review’s final observation is that “action is greater than words - greater than a report.” This is correct. But the report itself is words. The action required - meaningful disciplinary reform, immediate sanctions, club accountability - has been consistently rejected by the clubs that would need to implement it.

The Scottish Football Association has the power to lead, but it has consistently chosen to consult. It has the authority to impose sanctions, but it has consistently chosen to suspend them. It has the mandate to reform, but it has consistently chosen to negotiate. The result is a disciplinary framework that is structurally aligned on paper but operationally misaligned in practice.

Until clubs are prepared to accept responsibility for their own supporters’ conduct, the disciplinary framework will remain inadequate. Until the SPFL is prepared to subject itself to the same sanctions as the Scottish FA, the structural misalignment will persist. Until clubs stop complaining about opposition fans while refusing to confront their own, the hypocrisy will continue.

The review’s recommendations are necessary. But they are not sufficient. The problem is not a lack of good ideas or sound proposals. The problem is a lack of political will among the clubs that control the game. The problem is a disciplinary framework that exists to serve the interests of its member clubs rather than the integrity of the game or the safety of its players, staff, and supporters.

Scottish football has been here before. The Bowen Report after the 2016 Scottish Cup Final disorder between Rangers and Hibernian fans made similar recommendations. The Roberts Report on football policing in 2019 identified similar problems. Baroness Casey’s review of the Euro 2020 final at Wembley offered lessons that Scotland could have learned from, but haven’t. The cycle of disorder, report, recommendation, and inaction is well established.

The question is whether this time will be different. The evidence suggests it will not. The clubs have not changed their position. The SPFL has not changed its stance. The Scottish FA has not demonstrated the courage to impose reform against the will of its members.

The review’s observations on Ultra groups are particularly instructive. It notes that these groups “exercise a power over clubs and the wider supporter base that is disproportionate to their size.” The majority of supporters are being held hostage to the behaviour and demands of a disorderly, vocal, and at times threatening minority. The majority of clubs have demonstrated a reluctance to confront this dynamic, in part because of the atmospheric value Ultra groups provide, and in part through fear of the consequences.

This is not a failure of the disciplinary framework. It is a failure of the clubs to exercise the authority they have but have been reluctant to use. The Scottish FA and SPFL cannot solve the problem of Ultra group misconduct if the clubs are unwilling to confront the groups that operate within their grounds.

The review’s recommendation that clubs must formally sanction Ultra groups as a condition of continued stadium access may be seen by some as a good one. But it will only work if the clubs are willing to enforce it. And the clubs - outwith Celtic - have consistently demonstrated that they are not. Especially Rangers.

Scottish football’s disciplinary framework is not a failure of design; it is a failure of will. The clubs have the power to create meaningful deterrents. They have consistently chosen not to. They have voted against strict liability, refused to endorse immediate sanctions, and maintained a “reasonably practicable” defence that allows them to avoid accountability.

The review’s recommendations are necessary. But they are not sufficient. Until the clubs are prepared to accept responsibility for their supporters’ conduct, the disorder will continue. The turkeys will keep voting against Christmas. And Scottish football will continue to pay the price.

The final word belongs to the review itself, though it is a verdict the review does not fully embrace: “The question is not whether the tools exist. It is whether there is the will to use them.” On the evidence available, the answer is clear. The will does not exist. And until it does, Scottish football will continue to reap what it has sown.

This is the third and final article on the recent Scottish FA Independent Review into the disorder during the Scottish Cup Quarter Final tie between Rangers and Celtic on March 8th.

The Independent Review into the events of 8 March 2026 at Ibrox Stadium runs to 37 pages of detailed analysis, recommendations, and observations. It is, in many respects, a thorough piece of work. But like all documents produced by established institutions and corporate executives, it carries within it the fingerprints of the very institutional biases it purports to transcend.

The review’s central framing - that both sets of supporters were equally culpable in the disorder - is convenient, predictable, and fundamentally dishonest. It allows the authorities to wash their hands of the uncomfortable truth that while Celtic fans engaged in a jubilant - albeit illegal - pitch invasion, Rangers fans engaged in something far darker, a coordinated, violent attempt to attack celebrating Celtic fans, and anyone who stood in their way.

The Ticket Breaches: A Failure of Security, Not a Moral Equivalence

Let us address head-on the behaviour of the Celtic supporters who breached the security cordon on 8 March. The facts are not in dispute, a significant number of Celtic fans forced their way through the Broomloan Road search lanes, overwhelmed stewards and police, and created dangerous conditions at the point of entry. Some gained unlawful access through Exit Gate 31, where a steward was subsequently arrested for accepting payments and directing supporters to turnstiles and fire exits. The review estimates that 30 to 40 fans entered through this compromised gate, contributing to overcrowding within the Broomloan Stand. The turnstiles were closed for 28 minutes by the Safety Officer in an attempt to regain control, a decision that itself created additional crush risk as fans continued to build up outside.

These actions were inexcusable. They put fellow Celtic supporters at risk of crushing and overcrowding, and they could have prevented legitimate ticket holders from gaining entry to the stadium they had paid to access. Placing stewards and police officers in dangerous positions as well. The individuals who engaged in this behaviour- whether through forcing gates, using forged tickets, or doubling up at turnstiles - bear direct responsibility for their actions. The review’s observation that “supporters without tickets and with forged tickets rushed to the turnstiles and tried to gain entry by doubling-up and forcing Exit gates” is a damning indictment of a minority who prioritised their own desires over the safety of thousands of their fellow Celtic supporters.

But the review’s framing of these events is incomplete. It fails to adequately address the institutional failures that made these breaches possible and more importantly, it uses these breaches to construct a false equivalence between the behaviour of Celtic fans outside the ground and the violent attacks perpetrated by Rangers fans inside it.

The breaches were not merely the result of fan misconduct, they were the foreseeable consequence of operational failures. The review itself acknowledges that “non-compliant supporters surging past police and stewards created real and foreseeable crushing risk.” The word “foreseeable” is crucial. Rangers and Police Scotland knew or should have known that their arrangements were inadequate. The Green Brigade’s likely non-compliance with the club-imposed ban was treated as a planning assumption, not an exception. The review explicitly notes that “the treatment of the likely non-compliance by the Green Brigade with the club-imposed ban on them as a planning assumption by Clubs and Police Scotland rather than an exception indicates a failure in the effectiveness of such bans.”

This is not to excuse the behaviour of the Celtic fans who breached security. They acted illegally and irresponsibly. But their actions must be understood in the context of a security operation that was, by the admission of its own architects, aspirational rather than operational. The failure to anticipate and plan for known risks created the conditions in which breaches became almost inevitable.

And here is where the review’s framing becomes problematic. The breaches by Celtic fans outside the stadium are presented as part of a continuum of misconduct that includes the violent attacks by Rangers fans on the pitch. This is a false equivalence. The Celtic fans who breached security did so to get into the stadium to watch their team play a historic cup tie. Their actions, however reckless, were not motivated by a desire to cause harm. The Rangers fans who ran onto the pitch were motivated by something far darker, a desire to attack, to intimidate, and to reclaim what they perceived as their territory through violence.

The review’s own evidence supports this distinction.

The review’s recommendations on ticketing and security are welcome, but they cannot be allowed to obscure the fundamental point that the behaviour of Celtic fans outside the stadium, however irresponsible, was significantly different from the behaviour of Rangers fans on the pitch after the penalty shoot out. One group created a risk of crushing and overcrowding, the other actively sought to cause harm. One group was poorly managed by a failed security operation; the other was enabled by a club hierarchy that has consistently facilitated its hooligan activities.

The Celtic Incursion: Jubilation, Not Violence

Let us be absolutely clear from the outset, the Celtic supporters who entered the pitch after the penalty shootout victory on 8 March broke the law. They had no legal right to be on the playing surface. Their actions were inexcusable from a regulatory standpoint and it helped to somewhat overshadow the victory against Rangers at their own stadium. They put themselves, their fellow supporters, and stadium staff at risk. These are facts that cannot be disputed.

But context matters. The review itself acknowledges that the Celtic fans “were the first to enter the pitch in jubilation.” This was a spontaneous outpouring of emotion following Celtic winning a cup tie at Ibrox - a moment of significance for the club and its supporters. The celebration was born of joy, not malice.

The sequence of events is telling. Celtic player number 22 [Julian Araujo] ran to the Broomloan Stand and swung on the crossbar to celebrate. Two to three supporters joined from the stand to celebrate. A significant number rapidly followed. The momentum built organically, driven by the emotional release of a brilliant victory.

Contrast this with what followed. The review records that “the Union Bears and other home supporters left the Copland Stand for the track and pitch. They ran en masse towards the Celtic supporters to violently confront them.” This was not jubilation. This was a planned, coordinated response driven by fury and a desire to attack celebrating Celtic fans. Pure hooliganism.

The Rangers Response: A Calculated Attack

The Rangers fans who entered the pitch did so with clear intent. They were not celebrating; they were attacking. The review documents that “masked home fans armed with poles and reinforced gloves came within a very small margin of a violent mass confrontation.” These individuals were equipped for violence. The masks and weapons were not spontaneous, they were brought to the stadium with the specific purpose of causing harm.

The violence perpetrated by Rangers fans was not limited to confronting Celtic supporters. The review records that:

• A Stand Manager was “confronted by a masked Rangers fan - assumed to be an Ultra group member - and hit in the face and hospitalised.” This individual is receiving “ongoing treatment to the inner ear following a traumatic injury.”

• A Celtic staff member was assaulted from the Main Stand Enclosure.

• A flare was thrown between the two groups six times, striking a Rangers security operative and the CCTV operator.

• A steward was struck by a bottle.

• The Deputy Safety Officer was assaulted by a player - note this occurred during the disorder triggered by the Rangers incursion.

This is not a pattern of behaviour that can be equated with a spontaneous celebration. This is organised violence, perpetrated by individuals who came prepared to cause harm.

A Pattern of Targeting Celtic Personnel

The review’s observation that “Celtic staff and players have faced increasing attacks and targeting from Rangers fans over the years” is buried in the fine print, but it deserves far greater emphasis. This is not an isolated incident. It is part of a pattern of behaviour that has been escalating for years.

Celtic players have been subjected to racial abuse, as noted in the review when “J Tavernier (RFC) reports racial abuse from away supporter.” While Tavernier was right to report the abuse he allegedly faced, it is somewhat ironic that at the same time as he reported this to the referee, his own club’s supporters were violenty assaulting Celtic personnel. Yet both sets of fans are treated as equally culpable in the report’s framing.

The targeting of Celtic staff is a recurring theme over the past few years. The review also noted that a Celtic supporter bus was attacked on Helen Street, with a supporter left unconscious in the road requiring emergency hospital treatment. This was not a spontaneous act; it was a targeted attack by Rangers fans on a vehicle clearly identifiable as carrying Celtic supporters.

The Convenient Equivalence: Why Both Sides Are Treated Alike

The review’s treatment of the two Ultra groups is particularly revealing. Both the Green Brigade and the Union Bears are described as operating “like organised crime groups” with “internal hierarchy, coordinated planning, operational security awareness, and the use of intimidation in securing best position.”

This framing is intellectually dishonest and politically convenient. While it is true that both groups exhibit organisational characteristics, their activities and outcomes are fundamentally different.

The Green Brigade, for all their faults, occasional excesses, and front page incidents, have a long-established record of charitable work. They have raised hundreds of thousands of pounds for good causes, including food banks, refugee charities, and community projects. This does not excuse their behaviour overall, but it provides a context that the review conveniently ignores.

The Union Bears, by contrast, have a documented history of criminality that extends far beyond football. The review’s framing fails to acknowledge that several prominent Union Bears members have been convicted of serious crimes, including drug trafficking and violent assault. These are not isolated incidents; they are evidence of a culture of criminality that the Rangers hierarchy has been complicit in facilitating.

The relationship between Rangers Football Club and the Union Bears is not one of passive tolerance; it is one of active facilitation. The club has provided the group with unprecedented access to the stadium, promoted their donation drives through official channels, and turned a blind eye to their activities in exchange for “atmosphere” and the avoidance of fan protests against the board.

This is not speculation. The evidence is well-documented. During a tifo setup ahead of a derby game against Celtic, weapons including hammers and knives were discovered hidden among the Union Bears’ banners in a storage bin. The club’s response? Silence. No investigation, no distancing, no meaningful action.

The former Union Bears leader, Ross McGill, used his position within the group to launch a criminal enterprise involving organised crime and drug dealing before fleeing to Dubai. Another prominent member, Lloyd Cross, was jailed for his part in a £100 million plot to import cocaine. Yet the club continues to facilitate the group’s activities, even as its members engage in violent attacks on opposing fans, staff. and Rangers’ own stadium staff.

This is not a failure of oversight; it is a choice. The Rangers hierarchy has decided that the benefits of keeping the Union Bears onside outweigh the risks of their criminality. They have entered into what can only be described as a Faustian pact, trading the safety and reputation of their club for a quiet life.

The Celtic Board: A Tougher Stance

In contrast, Celtic’s board has taken a significantly tougher line against the Green Brigade. The review notes that Celtic imposed a banning order on approximately 200 identified members of the Green Brigade for the period November 2025 to April 2026, preventing access to Celtic Park and away match tickets. This is not the action of a club that is complicit in the activities of its Ultra group; it is the action of a club that is targeting the group head-on - whether it is right or wrong in the eyes of the Celtic support.

The review acknowledges that Celtic “openly discussed the group’s intended drums and seating locations” at pre-operational meetings, but this is not evidence of complicity - it is evidence of responsible planning. Celtic were upfront about the challenges posed by their Ultra group and sought to manage them within the framework available.

The contrast with Rangers could not be starker. While Celtic has taken meaningful action against its Ultra group, Rangers has actively facilitated the Union Bears’ activities, providing them with legitimacy and support even as their members engaged in criminality.

The Convenient Narrative: Why the Report Fails

The review’s failure to adequately differentiate between the two sets of supporters is not accidental. It reflects a broader pattern in Scottish football governance - the tendency to treat both sides of the Glasgow divide as equally culpable, regardless of the facts. This approach is politically convenient, it allows the authorities to avoid difficult questions about the differing behaviours of the two fan bases and the respective responses of the two clubs.

But it is also fundamentally dishonest. The evidence in the review itself contradicts the equivalence it seeks to establish. The Celtic fans who entered the pitch did so in jubilation. The Rangers fans who entered the pitch did so in anger, armed with weapons, intent on causing harm. These are not equivalent acts.

A Pattern of Violence

The violence directed at Celtic supporters and personnel is not an isolated incident. It is part of a pattern that has been escalating for years. Celtic players have been subjected to racial abuse, physical attacks, and threats. Celtic supporters have been attacked on the streets, their buses targeted, their pubs vandalised.

The review’s treatment of this pattern is inadequate. It acknowledges the targeting of Celtic personnel but fails to connect the dots, to recognise that the violence on 8 March was not spontaneous but part of a broader culture of hostility directed at Celtic and its supporters.

This culture is facilitated by the Rangers hierarchy’s complicity in the Union Bears’ activities. By providing the group with legitimacy and support, the club has created an environment in which criminality and violence are ignored, even tolerated. The Union Bears are not a symptom of the problem; they are the problem, and the Rangers hierarchy is actively facilitating their criminality.

A Missed Opportunity

The Independent Review of the events of 8 March was an opportunity for Scottish football to confront uncomfortable truths. Instead, it has produced a document that, while detailed in its analysis of operational failures, falls short in its treatment of the fundamental issue - the differential behaviour of the two sets of supporters and the complicity of the Rangers hierarchy in facilitating the Union Bears’ hooliganism.

The review’s treatment of the two Ultra groups as equivalent is intellectually dishonest. The Green Brigade’s charitable work, however inconvenient to the narrative, demonstrates a fundamental difference in culture and purpose. The Union Bears’ criminality, demonstrates a culture of violence that extends far beyond football.

By treating both sides as equally culpable, the review has done a disservice to the thousands of law-abiding Celtic supporters who were subjected to violence and intimidation on 8 March. It has also given comfort to the Rangers hierarchy, allowing them to continue their Faustian pact with the Union Bears without meaningful accountability.

The blood that will inevitably be spilled in future incidents - whether on the pitch, on the streets, or in the stands - will not just be on the hands of the thugs. It will be on the hands of the men in suits who chose complicity over accountability, convenience over courage, and silence over truth.

The review’s final observation that “action is greater than words” is correct. But the action required is not just operational reform - it is a fundamental reckoning with the culture of violence that has been allowed to flourish at Ibrox, facilitated by a hierarchy that has prioritised a quiet life over the safety of everyone connected to Scottish football.

This is the second article of three in the series reporting on the Scottish FA Independent Review.

The Scottish Cup Quarter-Final tie between Rangers and Celtic on 8 March 2026 was not, in the final analysis, a football match. It was a near-disaster dressed in sporting colours - a catastrophic convergence of institutional complacency, operational incompetence, and a breathtaking abdication of duty by those charged with keeping 51,215 supporters safe.

The Independent Review, led by Mark Blackbourne, has delivered a damning assessment of what transpired at Ibrox that day. Yet in the hours following the disorder, while the smoke from flares still hung in the Glasgow air, senior figures at Police Scotland rushed to the press to lay blame at the feet of supporters solely. Now, four months later, with a report that systematically dismantles their operational planning, they have fallen conspicuously silent. The hypocrisy is as staggering as the failures it seeks to obscure.

Rangers FC: A Catalogue of Negligence

Let me be unequivocal, primary responsibility for what occurred on 8 March rests with Rangers Football Club. As the host club, they bore the legal obligation for safety and security at Ibrox Stadium. The evidence presented in the review reveals a culture of complacency so deeply embedded that it borders on institutional negligence.

The Risk Assessment prepared by Rangers for the match was, in the review’s own words, “near-identical” to that used for the league fixture just seven days earlier. This despite the fact that the Cup tie involved 5,600 additional away supporters, the jeopardy of extra time and penalties, and the possibility of Celtic winning a cup tie at Ibrox. Police Scotland added 34 police officers to their match day team for the Cup game, despite the rise in 5600 additional away supporters!

The host club’s safety team rated the risk of a pitch incursion as “Unlikely” - a prediction that proved spectacularly wrong within minutes of the final whistle.

This was not a failure of foresight; it was a failure to exercise basic professional judgement. The review noted that “a number of interviewees independently used the word: complacency.” That word should haunt every executive at Ibrox who signed off on planning that treated the most significant fixture of the season as a logistical afterthought.

The ingress plan devised by Rangers and Police Scotland for Celtic’s 8,042 supporters was, by the admission of the Event Police Lead, “aspirational.” Let that phrase sink in. The plan for getting 8,000 people safely into a stadium was described by its own architects as aspirational. No fan-flow calculations were carried out. Five search lanes were deployed for 8,042 supporters, while seven lanes had been used for 5,600 fewer supporters at the previous fixture a week before. This was not planning; it was guesswork dressed up as operational strategy.

Perhaps most tellingly, Rangers’ Safety Officer did not consult his Celtic counterpart on the away ingress plan, a plan that would affect the safety of thousands of Celtic supporters. When concerns were raised, they were dismissed. The Celtic Safety Officer was “not consulted in the planning stage.” This is not merely poor practice and unprofessional; it is a fundamental failure of the duty of care owed to visiting supporters - whatever club they support.

The review also highlighted that Rangers’ mascot was twice observed “provoking the away support,” with the Safety Officer personally warning the individual concerned. In a high-risk fixture, when tensions are already at boiling point, such behaviour is not harmless banter - it is a preventable provocation. The club’s music was also audible throughout the stadium from 10:30am, when only Celtic supporters were present. These may seem like minor details, but in the context of a powder-keg fixture, they represent a failure by Rangers to manage the environment.

Police Scotland: Command Failures and Convenient Silence

If Rangers’ failures were operational, Police Scotland’s were strategic and, in some respects, more concerning. The review reveals that 590 officers were deployed on matchday, of which only 111 were located inside the stadium. When the pitch invasion began, additional Public Order officers were delayed in reaching the scene because they had to negotiate CBRN barriers before entering the stadium - barriers that were placed there as part of Police Scotland’s own security planning.

The delay in response, however brief, occurred during “a period in which life-threatening violence was possible.” The review assesses that on two fronts - inside the stadium and outside at the Broomloan Road search lanes - the match was a “near miss.” This is not hyperbole. This is a professional assessment that lives were put at risk.

When the incursion occurred, it took four minutes and twenty-eight seconds for police to establish control. In that time, masked Rangers fans armed with poles and reinforced gloves came within a “very small margin of a violent mass confrontation” as they tried to attack Celtic fans celebrating on the pitch after their penalty shootout win. A flare was launched by a Rangers supporter before it was thrown between groups of supporters six times, striking a Rangers security operative and a CCTV operator. A Stand Manager was hospitalised after being assaulted by a masked Rangers supporter. A Celtic supporter was seriously assaulted after being attacked by three Rangers fans and left severely injured and unconscious on Helen Street, requiring emergency hospital treatment.

The most disturbing revelation, however, concerns the culture within Police Scotland itself. The review records that at a post-match Glasgow City Council Special SAG meeting, “time-served Police Scotland officers are described as ‘petrified’ of policing another match at Ibrox Stadium.” Let us read that again, police officers - seasoned professionals - were described as petrified. This is not a reflection on the courage of individual officers, many of whom stood shoulder to shoulder with colleagues in holding the line against violent, organised disorder. It is an indictment of the operational environment that their leadership allowed to develop.

Yet it was these same leaders who, within hours of the disorder, briefed the press to blame the fans. The narrative was swift and convenient - hooligans, Ultras, an entitled generation with no consequences. And there was truth in that characterisation - the behaviour of certain supporters was inexcusable. But the rush to judgment, the eagerness to deflect attention from their own institutional failures, reveals a Police Scotland leadership more concerned with protecting its own reputation than with honest transparency and accountability. Which further highlights why they refused to answer any of my freedom of information requests citing operational security concerns.

Now, with the publication of this Independent Review, Police Scotland’s senior figures are notably absent from the public conversation. Where are the mea culpas? Where is the acknowledgement that their operational planning was as flawed as any other stakeholder’s? The silence is deafening, and it speaks volumes about a culture that prioritises self-preservation over genuine reform.

The Stewarding Crisis: A Workforce on the Brink

The review’s findings on stewarding are equally alarming. Rangers engaged five separate steward agencies to deploy 655 stewards - an indication of the chronic shortage of qualified personnel. Post-Brexit and post-COVID, the pool of qualified stewards has “reduced,” with it now being “commonplace for personnel to be brought in from south of the border.” Many of whom are unqualified, not trained, and ill-equipped to deal with such a fixture.

More troubling still, the review notes that “it is not uncommon for stewards to be working at the stadium for the first time” at fixtures between the two Glasgow clubs. The Stand Managers’ post-match debrief recorded that “some of the stewards will be sufficiently unnerved to decline future role at Ibrox.”

Consider this, men and women are being deployed to manage crowds of thousands -in one of the most hostile, high-tension environments in football - with no prior experience of the stadium or the game itself. They are being paid national minimum wage to face the threat of violence, the risk of being hospitalised (as one Stand Manager was), and the psychological toll of working in conditions that would be unacceptable in any other industry.

This is not a criticism of the stewards themselves, it is a damning indictment of the system that treats their safety as an afterthought. The review found that “there is an obvious challenge to the Safety Officer and the Stand Managers each matchday to position stewards in best fit locations.” This is not a challenge; it is a failure of workforce planning that puts both stewards and supporters at risk.

And further solidifies my past comments on stewarding, that they should not be given a job without the proper training, qualifications, and experience - when it risks their own safety as well as the safety of thousands of fans around them.

At Gate 31, a steward was arrested for accepting payments and directing supporters to turnstiles and fire exits. The review does not dwell on this, but it should. A steward - a person entrusted with the safety of thousands - willingly compromised that safety for personal gain. This is not merely a failure of integrity; it is a failure of the recruitment and vetting processes by private security firms hired by Rangers that allowed such an individual to be placed in a position of trust.

Deflecting Blame: The Easy Out

In the days following the match, the public narrative was dominated by condemnation of the fans. And rightly so, the behaviour of certain individuals and groups was wholly inexcusable. The Green Brigade members who forced their way through search lanes, the Union Bears who rushed the pitch to attack Celtic supporters, the individuals who threw coins and flares and bottles - they bear direct responsibility for their actions.

But the rush to blame the fans served a convenient purpose, it deflected attention from those whose job it was to prevent such disorder from occurring. It allowed Police Scotland to portray themselves as heroic first responders rather than as architects of a flawed operational plan. It allowed Rangers to avoid scrutiny of their role in creating the conditions for chaos. It allowed the football authorities to distance themselves from a regulatory framework that is manifestly failing.

Now, with the publication of the Independent Review, the truth is undeniable. The fans were not the only ones who failed on 8 March. The institutions that were supposed to protect them failed as well. And the failure was not one of individual incompetence but of systemic dysfunction, culture, and leadership.

A Path Forward: Honesty and Action

The review contains 30 recommendations, ranging from legislative change to operational reforms. They are detailed, practical, and in many cases, urgent. But recommendations are only as good as the willingness to implement them. And we all know how much Police Scotland, the SPFL, and the Scottish FA love to implement recommendations from reviews into their handling of issues.

What is required now is not more reports, more meetings, more expressions of regret. What is required is honesty, honesty from Police Scotland about their operational failures, honesty from Rangers about their complacency, honesty from the football authorities about the inadequacy of their disciplinary frameworks.

And above all, what is required is accountability. The review notes that “the majority of stewards and police officers present that day faced the highest level of non-compliance, intimidation, threats and violence from individuals with disorderly and criminal intent and they held the line.” Their actions deserves praise. Their leadership, however, deserves scrutiny and they must be held accountable.

The senior figures who briefed the press within hours of the disorder, blaming the fans while remaining silent on their own failures, should reflect on their own conduct. The Scottish public and the football community deserve better. The ordinary officers and stewards who put themselves in the middle of those scenes we witnessed deserve better. And the genuine majority of supporters, who came to watch a football match and instead witnessed scenes of chaos and danger, deserve better.

Mark Blackbourne concludes his review with a stark assessment: “This is Scottish Football’s ‘Wembley 2021,’ a watershed season, where action is greater than words - greater than a report.”

He is right. The words are now on the page. The question is whether Scotland’s football institutions, and the police who support them, have the courage to act. If they do not, the next near-miss may not be a miss at all.

First article in a series of Three in relation to the Independent Review.

Gianni Infantino’s FIFA is not just tweaking the World Cup; it is steadily reshaping the tournament around a more American sports-business model, and that shift deserves to be questioned. The issue is not simply whether a halftime show is entertaining. It is whether FIFA is changing the character of football’s biggest event to suit a market that does not even value the sport, let alone the World Cup, as highly as much of the rest of the world.

The World Cup was never built like the Super Bowl

Football’s global showpiece has always had its own rhythm. The game is structured around 45-minute halves, a short interval, and a flow that is meant to be continuous and unpredictable. That is part of football’s identity. The World Cup has historically respected that structure, even when it has borrowed some spectacle around the edges with opening ceremonies, pre-match entertainment, and choreographed ceremonies before kick-off.

That is why the growing appetite for a more American-style halftime spectacle feels like more than a harmless production choice. A halftime show changes the logic of the event. It turns a match into a televised platform with an entertainment break built around it, rather than a football match with a show attached. The point is not that football should never evolve. It is that the evolution here seems to be driven less by sporting need and more by commercial packaging.

We’ve even got the World Cup winners being awarded Championship rings rather than medals - with a thousand more available for ‘fans’ to buy. Why?

America is not the natural centre of the World Cup

The argument often made for Americanising the World Cup is that the United States is a huge growth market. That is true in a narrow commercial sense. But it does not mean the World Cup’s existing audience wants the event turned into something closer to an NFL-style broadcast. The World Cup is already one of the world’s biggest sporting products without needing to mimic American television conventions.

FIFA itself has shown that the 2022 World Cup final drew in only 35 million viewers in the U.S., compared to 24 million in France, 12 million in Argentina, countries with less than a fourth of U.S. population. The broader picture is that the tournament’s deepest cultural roots and strongest emotional markets are still outside the U.S., where football is not just a television product but part of national life. The numbers don’t lie - 1.5 billion people watched the World Cup Final in 2022 as Argentina beat France on penalties after a 3-3 draw, compared to an average of 150 to 200 million viewers watching the superbowl worldwide.

That matters because when FIFA adapts the tournament to suit the American market, it is not responding to the majority of its global fanbase. It is chasing a market that is still secondary in football terms, even if it is valuable in commercial terms. That is the key distinction. A sport can be globally huge without bending itself around the country that happens to generate the biggest corporate upside.

Revenue comes first

The most persuasive criticism of FIFA’s Americanisation is that it appears to be about money before fans. FIFA presents itself as a non-profit, but its commercial scale is immense and its “not-for-profit” status does not mean money is irrelevant. It means the organisation says it reinvests surplus funds back into football. In practice, that makes revenue growth even more politically useful, because more income means more projects, more grants, more patronage, and more influence.

The commercial logic is easy to see. Bigger productions attract bigger sponsors. Bigger sponsors mean more broadcast inventory, more hospitality packages, more branded content, and more opportunities to monetise every inch of the event. A halftime show is not just a show; it is another revenue-friendly asset in the premium entertainment economy. It creates more social content, more clips, more ad slots, and more event-day buzz for broadcasters and corporate partners.

That is why the Americanisation argument rings hollow when FIFA says it is about expanding the game. The real effect is to make the tournament more monetisable, more network-friendly, and more attractive to U.S.-style commercial partners. Football fans are told this is about growing the sport. But in many cases it looks more like growing the income stream around the sport.

Infantino’s own incentives

This is where Gianni Infantino becomes central to the debate. He has built his presidency on expansion, spectacle, and revenue growth, and those things strengthen his political position inside FIFA. The bigger the money flow, the easier it is to justify his leadership as successful. The more member associations that receive increased funding, the more support he can cultivate. That is not necessarily corruption, but it is clearly power politics.

His reported pay package of roughly 6 million Swiss francs a year underlines the scale of the incentives surrounding FIFA leadership. Whether or not his personal compensation rises directly with every commercial gain in the exact way critics suggest, the broader system clearly rewards a president whose tenure produces more revenue, more visibility, and more influence. In other words, the commercialisation of the World Cup strengthens Infantino’s Presidency as much as it strengthens the tournament.

His relationship-building with Donald Trump also fits that pattern. It is branding, access, and image management rolled into one. Infantino knows that association with U.S. power gives him reach, legitimacy, and headlines. The Trump connection is less about football than about positioning himself as a global sports statesman with political weight. That helps Infantino, not the average supporter.

The non-profit claim is too neat

FIFA’s defenders often say the organisation is a non-profit and therefore the money goes back into football. That is technically true, but it is also too convenient. A non-profit can still behave like a highly lucrative political machine. It can still concentrate power, reward allies, and treat commercial growth as an end in itself so long as it claims the proceeds are reinvested.

The question is not whether FIFA keeps the money. The question is who controls the money, how it is allocated, and whose interests shape the product that generates it. If the World Cup becomes more Americanised because that helps increase earnings, then the process is being driven by commercial logic rather than football culture. The fact that FIFA can later distribute funds to federations does not erase the original distortion.

That is especially relevant when the organisation is about to benefit massively from a larger and more theatrical U.S.-hosted tournament. The bigger the event becomes, the more money FIFA can funnel into its structures, and the more it can justify its own central role in world football. A “reinvested surplus” can still be part of a system designed to maximise revenue first.

What fans actually lose

The danger is not simply aesthetic. It is cultural and structural. Football’s appeal lies partly in the fact that it does not need the same kind of scripted presentation as American sports. It has pauses, tension, momentum shifts, and a universal format that already translates across borders. Trying to graft on a halftime entertainment model dilutes that simplicity.

It also changes the message of the event. The World Cup should feel like the pinnacle of the sport, not like a globalised version of a U.S. broadcast template. Once you start adding entertainment features to increase “viewer engagement,” you are no longer treating the match as the main event. You are treating it as the container for a content product. That is a big philosophical difference.

Simply put, US fans watch the Super Bowl because it has changed from what was a simple championship game into an unofficial national holiday and a massive cultural event. People tune in not only for the football but for the multi-million dollar commercials, the halftime show, and as an excuse to socialise and eat with friends.

There is also a risk of mission creep. If a halftime show can be justified, then why not longer pre-game content, more sponsor integration, more branded fan zones, more celebrity tie-ins, more broadcast-friendly interruptions? Every step can be defended as modernisation. But the cumulative effect is a tournament that feels less like football and more like a sports-entertainment business show.

A better way to grow the game

If FIFA genuinely wants to grow football in America, there are better ways to do it than rewriting the World Cup’s presentation language. Grassroots investment, better youth development, stronger domestic competition, smarter media coverage, and more culturally resonant storytelling would do far more than importing Super Bowl aesthetics. Growth comes from participation and habit, not just spectacle.

That is the part that gets lost in the marketing. The World Cup does not need to become American to become bigger in America. It needs to be understood on its own terms and sold with respect for what makes football different. The danger is that FIFA confuses visibility with belonging. Just because an American-style production can generate attention does not mean it creates deeper football culture.

In that sense, the halftime debate is symbolic. It is not really about a 15-minute show. It is about whether football’s global governing body believes the sport should adapt to the market, or whether the market should adapt to the sport. Under Infantino, the answer increasingly seems to be the former.

The real question

So is the Americanisation of the World Cup about fans? Partly, but not primarily. Is it about growing football in the U.S.? Yes, but again only partly. The stronger case is that it is about revenue, leverage, and political power inside FIFA. The spectacle helps sponsors, broadcasters, and executives long before it helps ordinary supporters.

And yes, it likely strengthens Infantino personally as well. Not necessarily because every commercial decision directly adds to his pay packet, but because a more lucrative, more visible FIFA makes his presidency more powerful and more defensible. A larger financial pie also means more goodwill to distribute across the global federation system that keeps him in office.

Football does evolve. That is unavoidable. But evolution is not automatically progress. If the sport’s biggest event is being redesigned to satisfy an American entertainment model that its core global audience never asked for, then the burden of proof should be on FIFA to explain why that serves football rather than just FIFA.

Celtic are in crisis, and let’s stop pretending otherwise. This is not just a bad spell, not just a transfer hiccup, not just one or two unfortunate decisions. This is a club that is fractured from top to bottom, with the supporters left to pick up the pieces once again.

The anger is there for a reason. Fans can see what is happening - poor planning, mixed messaging, public embarrassment, and a boardroom that seems far more interested in control than accountability. When players walk away, when deals collapse, when excuses come thick and fast, that is not bad luck - that is a failure of governance.

And here’s the brutal truth: Celtic are a football club with no football strategy. They are a club reacting to pressure, reacting to headlines, reacting to outrage after the damage is already done. That is how reputations rot. That is how trust disappears. And that is how a club starts to feel like a machine running on fumes. That is Celtic Football Club present day under Dermot Desmond and Michael Nicholson.

The club is being dragged into one crisis after another, and far too many people in power are insulated from the consequences. Meanwhile the fans are expected to keep paying, keep turning up, and keep swallowing the same tired spin. Celtic are in crisis because there are no standards set, the accountability is non-existent, and the gap between the boardroom and the support is a chasm.

Celtic’s real problem is power

Celtic’s crisis is not just about one bad window or one undercooked transfer strategy. It is about power, who holds it, how it is exercised, and why a 34.64% shareholder can dominate the culture of a club without ever owning a full majority. Dermot Desmond’s stake was built through a long sequence of investment, underwriting and share-issue support, and today it remains the single most important lever in Celtic’s governance.

That is the central issue supporters need to confront, because every argument about managers, CEOs and recruitment eventually runs into the same wall: the boardroom structure that Desmond has shaped for decades.

The anger around recent transfer failures has only sharpened that point.

How Dermot Desmond’s holding grew

The history matters because it explains why this story is not simply about a wealthy investor. Public reporting places Desmond’s shareholding at 34.64%, with his position as the club’s largest shareholder stretching back to the mid-1990s. It’s also noted that he underwrote significant share issues in the 2000s, helping Celtic stabilise the balance sheet and fund projects such as Lennoxtown - since 2005 he has not invested his own money in the club, taking more money out in dividends in the past 21 years - reportedly around £7.5 million!

In plain terms, that meant Desmond was not just buying stock; he was repeatedly using his financial strength to absorb what other investors did not take up, and that is how influence grows in practice.

A 34.64% stake is not a formal majority, but it is large enough to shape outcomes, block hostile moves, and set the tone of governance. If other big shareholders are institutional and effectively aligned with financial stability, then the practical outcome is a voting bloc that rarely shifts against him. That is why criticism of the current regime cannot simply focus on the CEO and one or two cronies; it has to move up the entire corporate structure that empowers the CEO and the board.

What the law allows

The legal route is more serious than a noisy and chaotic AGM, because company law gives minority shareholders tools that are real, narrow, and potentially disruptive. Section 994 of the Companies Act 2006 allows a member to petition the court where a company’s affairs are being conducted in a way that is unfairly prejudicial to members’ interests. Section 260 also allows a derivative claim in the company’s name for breach of duty, although the permission threshold is not easy to clear. And section 303 allows members to require directors to call a general meeting, which matters if enough organised shareholders can actually coordinate.

That is the real battleground - not internet anger, but organised shareholder action. The law does not let a 34.64% shareholder simply become the club’s day-to-day owner by force of personality; directors still have statutory duties, and company affairs still have to be run in the interests of the company as a whole.

If supporters want leverage, they need to think like shareholders, not just like customers or match-going fans. That means records, coordination, formal complaints, and pressure that can survive beyond the news cycle.

Why unity matters

This is where the split among supporters becomes self-defeating. If different groups pull in different directions, the board can simply wait for the noise to fade and for the anger to disperse. When fans are divided between competing banners and personalities, the club’s leadership does not face a single, disciplined challenge; it faces several smaller ones that can be ignored, co-opted, or patronised.

That is exactly how entrenched power survives.

So the focus should be on one serious campaign with one clear target - governance reform and accountability. “Not a Penny More” only matters if it becomes part of a broader shareholder strategy rather than a slogan floating above disconnected pressure groups. A unified front can force better scrutiny of the board’s decisions, the handling of recruitment, and the relationship between executive management and the dominant shareholder. Division only helps the people who already control the platform.

The transfer damage

The latest transfer stories are not just about failed negotiations; they are about reputational damage.

Kelechi Iheanacho has left for Bursaspor after Celtic allowed his contract option to lapse and then failed to agree terms after reportedly lowballing him, while Marcelo Saracchi’s situation has also become a public embarrassment for the club after he took to Instagram to call out the club. Whether the wage demands were justified or not, the optics are terrible, two players who had contributed to Celtic’s success last season and wanted to stay at the club have become public evidence of a club at war with its own credibility.

Even if Celtic had rational reasons for rejecting demands, the board has clearly not managed the optics or the messaging well enough to avoid looking chaotic and incompetent.

That matters because modern football is not just played on grass. It is a commercial product, a reputation machine, and a trust economy, and Celtic are damaging all three when key exits are handled badly. Supporters do not need to claim a conspiracy to see the pattern. They only need to look at the accumulation of poor outcomes and ask who has been accountable for them.

So what is the board’s end goal for their continued incompetence, mismanagement, and organised decline of the football club? Why are they hoarding tens of millions of pounds when strengthening would help towards securing Champions League riches?

Where pressure should go

The most productive pressure point is not emotional outrage at one director or one deal, but sustained corporate challenge. That means asking whether the board is serving the club’s long-term interests, whether minority shareholders are being sidelined, and whether the governance model has become too dependent on one dominant figure.

It also means using the remedies that company law actually provides, rather than pretending that one dramatic AGM speech or a raft of questions and criticisms will topple a system built over 30 years. The law is slow, but it is far more dangerous to an entrenched board than social media fury.

The uncomfortable truth is that Celtic’s leadership has become too insulated from consequence, because they know they have the power. If supporters want change, they need to move from noise to structure, from divided camps to one coalition, and from broad anger to specific legal and shareholder actions. That is how power is challenged in a company, and Celtic is a company before it is anything else.

Until fans act like that, the board controlled by Dermot Desmond will keep winning by default.

The one lever ordinary fans still have

Ordinary Celtic fans do not have a seat in the boardroom, and they do not control the share register. What they do control is the one thing the club cannot replace with spin, proxy votes, or polished statements - their money. Outside of the “Not a Penny More” idea aimed at merchandise and hospitality, the most powerful pressure point supporters have is ticket sales, because that is where the board can actually feel the consequence of fan anger in real time.

That is the uncomfortable truth at the heart of the season-ticket trap. Supporters are constantly told that missing out is too risky, that giving up a renewal means losing their seat. The club knows that fear works. It turns loyal fans into reluctant consumers, and reluctant consumers into predictable revenue. Once that fear takes hold, the board can survive almost anything because it knows the crowd will keep coming back. They are taking advantage of fan loyalty.

Why the board notices empty seats

Merchandise boycotts matter, but only up to a point. They sting, they send a message, and they can create noise, but they are easier for a club to absorb than a visible drop in attendance or a clear dent in season-ticket sales. Empty seats, shrinking renewal numbers, and visible dissatisfaction are harder to dismiss, because they travel beyond supporter circles and into every discussion about atmosphere, money, and momentum.

That is why ticket sales remain the one battleground the board actually notices. A club can always explain away online anger. It can always hide behind weather, form, fixtures, or a noisy minority. But it cannot easily explain away supporters voting with their feet. When the terraces tell the story, everyone else has to listen.

The season-ticket trap

The problem is that the season-ticket model is built to make protest feel personal. Fans are not just buying access to football; they are buying identity, habit, and continuity. That makes withdrawal difficult, because it feels less like a political choice and more like walking away from part of your life. The board understands that emotional leverage very well, and it uses it to keep people compliant even when trust has been lost.

That is why any serious campaign has to be honest about sacrifice. If supporters want leverage, they cannot simply vent online and still renew without pause. The whole point of a boycott threat is that it must have consequences the club believes in. Otherwise it becomes background noise, and background noise is exactly what an insulated board can live with indefinitely. And why the call to hold off renewing until the very last day was always doomed to fail.

Questions around Haughey

That is also why Willie Haughey’s Season Ticket Alliances’ sudden appearance and just as sudden disappearance deserves serious scrutiny. A campaign that arrives with noise, launches itself with a high-profile figure like Paul McStay as its ambassador, and then disappears once renewals are in the bag naturally raises questions about its purpose and timing. I am not saying that proves a hidden arrangement; I am saying the optics are hard to ignore, and supporters are entitled to ask what the real objective was from Haughey.

If a campaign emerges, captures attention, and then goes quiet exactly when the most uncomfortable pressure should begin, people will draw their own conclusions. That does not automatically mean bad faith, but it does mean credibility takes a hit. In a support base already split by fatigue and suspicion, silence is never neutral. Silence looks like retreat, or worse, like a tactical pause designed to defuse anger at the moment it should be building.

The real test

The real test is not who says the boldest thing on a podcast or who posts the angriest blog online. The real test is whether ordinary fans can convert frustration into pressure the board cannot ignore. Ticket sales are still the sharpest edge of that pressure, because they hit the club at the core of its commercial model and expose the gap between loyalty and compliance.

Until supporters are willing to use that leverage, the board will continue to treat anger and protest as temporary, and renewal as inevitable. That is why the season-ticket issue matters so much. It is not just about seats in a stadium. It is about whether fans are prepared to stop financing a structure that is failing them and the club as a whole.

That is why the argument has to end where it really begins - with the shareholders. The noise around transfers, the anger around the board, and the frustration over season tickets all matter, but none of it will shift a structure as entrenched as Celtic’s unless it is turned into formal corporate pressure.

The next step is not another burst of outrage, another passing campaign, or another round of frustrated debates online. It is shareholders going down the corporate regulation route, using the legal rights available to them, demanding scrutiny, and forcing the club into a forum where the board cannot simply talk its way out of or ignore accountability. That means proper complaints, proper records, proper coordination, and a proper legal challenge.

Because if Celtic is ever going to change, it will not happen through spin or sentiment. It will happen when shareholders stop acting like passengers and start acting like owners with rights. That is the only route that can truly test the people running the club, and it is the only route that gives ordinary fans a chance of breaking the cycle for good.

For a country that hasn’t lifted a World Cup since 1966, England carry themselves off at every major tournament like defending champions. The shirts may change, the managers may rotate, and the golden generations may come and go, but the narrative remains stubbornly the same - this is the year, football is coming home.

Except, of course, it never does.

As a Scotland fan, there is something quite amusing about England’s perpetual cycle of expectation and collapse. It is not merely the defeats themselves, but the scale of belief that precedes them, and the scale of fallout that follows. England do not just enter tournaments; they arrive with a coronation already planned. And when reality intervenes, as it invariably does, the reaction is seismic.

The 2026 World Cup campaign followed a script so familiar it could have been written decades ago. Comfortable early victories against poor opposition fuelled the usual wave of optimism despite the manner of results. The pundits swelled. The tabloids roared. The phrase “this could be the one” was rolled out with increasing conviction. Yet when England finally encountered elite opposition - Argentina in the semi-final, the only top-10 ranked side they faced - the illusion dissolved once again. Beaten, exposed, and ultimately outclassed, they exited the tournament with the same lingering question - how does this keep happening?

Part of the answer lies in the ecosystem that surrounds the England team. Nowhere else in world football does hype operate with such relentless intensity. From the terraces to television studios to back-page headlines, there is a collective insistence that England are not just contenders, but rightful winners. The “football’s coming home” mantra, born in irony and nostalgia, has mutated into something closer to entitlement. It resurfaces every tournament, draped around the neck of the national side like a millstone.

This belief is not entirely without foundation. England possess resources that most nations can only dream of - the richest domestic league in the world, elite training facilities, and a player pool drawn from one of the most competitive environments in club football. But therein lies the contradiction. For all the Premier League’s global dominance, English players themselves make up only around 28 to 32 percent of registered squads in the English Premier League. The league’s excellence is, in large part, imported.

Look at the managerial landscape and the pattern becomes even clearer. Since the Premier League’s inception, the title has been monopolised by foreign coaches - Italian, Spanish, German, French, Chilean - and, even, Scottish. Kenny Dalglish and Sir Alex Ferguson set the standard; others followed. The last Englishman to win the top flight was Howard Wilkinson in 1992, before the First Division was rebranded. That is not a coincidence. It is a reflection of a system that markets itself as the pinnacle of English football while relying heavily on foreign expertise to sustain that status.

Yet when it comes to the national team, this context is conveniently ignored. The assumption persists that English players, by virtue of competing in the Premier League, should naturally dominate international football. It is a seductive but flawed logic. Club football is a curated environment, populated by the world’s best talent. International football strips that away. It demands cohesion, tactical discipline, and resilience under pressure, qualities that England have too often lacked when it matters most.

There is also the issue of performance against top-tier opposition. England’s record in major tournaments against elite sides is, at best, inconsistent. Time and again, they navigate the early rounds convincingly against weaker opposition, only to falter when confronted with teams of comparable or superior quality. The pattern repeated in 2026. It repeated in 2022. It repeated before that, and it will likely repeat again.

This is where their Napoleon complex becomes most apparent. There is a deep-seated belief within English football culture that success is not just possible, but inevitable - that England should be world champions because of their history, their league, their influence on the game. But football does not operate on sentiment or legacy. It operates on execution. And in the decisive moments, England have repeatedly come up short.

The aftermath of these failures is almost as predictable as the failures themselves. The search for scapegoats begins immediately. Managers are dissected, players are scrutinised, and individuals are singled out for blame. Gareth Southgate experienced it. Thomas Tuchel is experiencing it. Players like Bukayo Saka have borne the brunt of public frustration, often in ways that cross the line from criticism into something far more sinister.

This culture of blame is corrosive. It creates an environment where fear can outweigh freedom, where the weight of expectation becomes a burden rather than a motivator. Contrast that with nations who consistently succeed on the international stage. They manage expectation differently. They build structures that prioritise collective strength over individual hype. They understand that winning tournaments is as much about mentality as it is about talent.

England, by contrast, often appear caught between two identities. On one hand, they are a modern footballing nation with access to world-class resources. On the other, they are tethered to a narrative that inflates their standing beyond what results justify. It is a disconnect that manifests every time they face genuine contenders.

For those of us in Scotland, there is an undeniable schadenfreude in watching this cycle unfold. The rivalry runs deep, and England’s struggles are rarely met with sympathy. But beneath the humour and the digs, there is also a broader observation about how football cultures shape outcomes. Scotland, for all its limitations, does not enter tournaments expecting to win them. The expectations are different, the narratives more grounded. That does not guarantee success, but it does create a more realistic framework for evaluating performances.

England’s challenge is not a lack of talent. It is a lack of alignment between perception and reality. Until that gap is addressed, the pattern will persist. The hype will build, the hopes will soar, and the inevitable fall will follow.

As the dust settles on another World Cup campaign that promised much and delivered very little, the familiar questions resurface. Will this be the moment England finally recalibrate? Will the conversation shift from entitlement to pragmatism? Or will the same old chorus return when the next tournament rolls around?

If history is any guide, we already know the answer. Football is always coming home. It just never quite gets there. And as a Scotsman it is a beautiful sight indeed when the England fans come back.

At a club the size of Celtic, an institution that trades not only on domestic dominance but on its place within the wider European football system, the chief executive should be a visible, authoritative figure. Not necessarily a showman, but someone who understands the theatre of football, the politics of the game, a reputation, a standing, and the necessity of presence. Instead, what Celtic have is a CEO, in the guise of Michael Nicholson, who feels more like an seat filler at the Oscars than a driving force. A man whose public persona carries all the dynamism of a newt, and whose reputation has settled into that of Peter Lawwell’s quiet successor rather than his own man.

Say what you want about Lawwell and how his tenure ended, and there is plenty to say, but he was undeniably a figure within the game. He had standing. He had relationships. He had a personality, a presence that could operate within boardrooms, negotiation tables, and the corridors of UEFA with equal confidence. Lawwell may not have been universally liked, but he was known. That matters in football. It matters when deals are being struck, when pressure is applied, when credibility is currency.

Nicholson, by contrast, feels anonymous in a high-powered, high-paid role at a football club that does not permit anonymity.

Recent reports that he has spoken about the difficulties of dealing with player agents and competing financially with English Premier League and Championship clubs should not come as a revelation to anyone remotely familiar with Celtic’s operating environment. These are not new challenges. They are the structural realities of Scottish football, and they have been for decades. The gap between Celtic and even mid-table English clubs has long been a defining constraint and yet, successful periods at Celtic have come when the club has worked around that limitation, not simply acknowledged it. Complaining about financial disparity is not a strategy. It is stating the obvious.

Celtic’s recurring problem is not that they cannot outspend English clubs, it is that they continue to behave as though they are competing in the same marketplace without a sufficiently differentiated approach. Recruitment should be the club’s great equaliser identifying undervalued talent, moving quickly, and building a coherent player trading model that anticipates rather than reacts. Instead, what we see year after year is hesitation, delay, and a sense that the club is permanently one or two steps behind its own needs.

If Nicholson is indeed the central figure in negotiating with agents, clubs, and players, that raises a deeper concern. Football transfers are not legal exercises; they are human negotiations. They require persuasion, relationships, and, above all, presence. A deal is rarely won on contract terms alone it is won in the margins, in the trust built between parties, in the confidence a player or agent has in the person sitting across the table.

Celtic have placed a lawyer by trade and by disposition at the heart of a process that demands far more than legal competence. And while legal expertise has its place, it is not a substitute for footballing authority. The optics, rightly or wrongly, are that of a man out of his depth in a role that requires instinct as much as intellect.

In any other industry, leadership presence is non-negotiable. Across business, corporate strategy, or client-facing business, the most effective CEOs share a common trait - they can command a room. Not through bluster, but through clarity, conviction, and the ability to articulate a vision that others buy into. They set the tone. They drive momentum. They make decisions that signal intent.

Nicholson, by comparison, often appears like the proverbial substitute teacher dropped into a French class without speaking a single word of the language or even knowing where the classroom is. There is an air of detachment, of uncertainty, of someone reacting rather than leading. And in football, where timing is everything and perception shapes reality, that is a dangerous place to be.

The current transfer window only sharpens that concern. A month into one of the most critical periods of the season, Celtic have signed a single player - Camilo Duran - and handed a new contract to 33 year old Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain. Meanwhile, deals that should, in theory, be straightforward have stalled or drifted. Nicholson himself suggested that out-of-contract signings are easier to finalise, and yet the much-discussed move for Kelechi Iheanacho remains unresolved. A relatively modest £2 million deal for Saracchi hangs in the balance despite Boca Juniors making it clear he is surplus to requirements.

At the same time, the squad is far from settled. Four or five first team players are reportedly seeking exits, leaving gaps that will need to be filled not just numerically but strategically. With less than a month until a Champions League play-off and likely against opposition far more formidable than last season’s Kairat, the sense is not of a club building momentum, but one struggling to tread water.

And yet, off the pitch, the commercial machine rolls on uninterrupted. Three new playing kits. Multiple merchandise drops. A steady stream of retail activity designed to maximise revenue before a ball has even been kicked in anger. There is nothing wrong with strong commercial performance indeed, it is essential in the modern game but it becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the imbalance when football operations appear stagnant and unimportant to the club’s powerbrokers.

Supporters are not blind to this. They understand the financial realities. They accept that Celtic cannot outmuscle English clubs in the transfer market. What they struggle to accept is a lack of urgency. A sense that the club is repeating the same cycle -entering crucial qualifiers unprepared, weak, reacting to setbacks rather than pre-empting them, and ultimately paying the price on the pitch.

This is where leadership matters most. Because the role of a CEO at a club like Celtic is not simply to manage budgets or oversee operations. It is to set direction. To ensure that recruitment, football strategy, and commercial activity are aligned. To create an environment where decisions are made early, decisively, and with a clear understanding of the club’s competitive position. That is clearly missing under Nicholson.

The broader question is whether Celtic’s current structure is fit for purpose in a rapidly evolving football landscape. The club continues to operate within a model that is increasingly outdated - one that prioritises caution over ambition, process over proactivity, safeguarding Dermot Desmond’s control above everything else. Without a clear, modern recruitment strategy that leverages data, scouting networks, and market inefficiencies, Celtic risk repeating a pattern of perpetual catch-up.

And if the man tasked with overseeing that structure lacks the presence or authority to challenge it, then the issue is not just individual it is systemic.

There is still time in this window. Deals can be done. Squads can be strengthened. Narratives can shift quickly in football. But that requires decisiveness, clarity, and a willingness to act with intent rather than hesitation. That is not Nicholson.

If Celtic supporters thought last season was a mess, the early signs suggest this one could be worse. Not because the challenges are new or that our opponents are stronger, which they undoubtedly will be, but because the response from Celtic’s hierarchy to them feels all too familiar.

There is something uniquely tone-deaf, bordering on insulting, about the familiar spectacle of British politicians and media figures lecturing Scots on how they ought to feel about football, in particular the England national team.

With hours until England’s World Cup semi-final against Argentina kicks off, we are once again treated to a parade of Unionist earnestness calls for “unity”, accusations of “anti-English sentiment”, and a barrage of moralising pleas for Scotland to get behind the Three Lions. From Keir Starmer and Douglas Alexander to assorted Westminster voices and their cheerleaders in the commentariat, the message is clear - stop being petty, stop being tribal, and for once, just support England.

Fuck right off.

Let’s deal with the central fallacy first. Supporting England is not a moral obligation. It is not a test of decency, nor a litmus test for tolerance, nor some grand statement about the health of the Union. It is football. And in football, rivalry is not just tolerated - it is the point.

What these politicians fundamentally misunderstand or choose to ignore is that football rivalry in Scotland is not some shallow, performative pantomime that can be switched off when it becomes politically inconvenient. It is deep-rooted, generational, and culturally embedded. It is Celtic versus Rangers. It is Hearts versus Hibs. It is Dundee versus Dundee United. It is identity, community, and history wrapped up in ninety minutes of chaos and colour.

And crucially, it does not disappear just because a Westminster politician wants a feel-good headline.

The English Premier League, for all its global reach and financial dominance, has long since drifted into something resembling a tourist league - slick, sanitised, and often detached from the raw, local rivalries that once defined it. Manufactured narratives now fill the gaps where authentic hostility used to live. It is football as spectacle, not football as lived experience.

Scottish football, for all its flaws, has not gone that way. The rivalries are real. The emotions are real. And the idea that fans would simply cast that aside to cheer on a historic rival, because a politician told them to, is laughable.

Yet here we are.

We are told that failing to support England is somehow evidence of prejudice. That it reflects badly on Scotland. That it betrays a lingering “anti-Englishness” that must be confronted and corrected. It is a deeply patronising argument, rooted in a fundamental misreading of both football and Scottish identity.

Let’s be clear, not supporting England is not the same as hating England. It is perfectly possible to respect English people, culture, and even individual players, while still wanting their national team to lose. That is how football works. Irish fans do not rally behind England. Welsh fans do not abandon their loyalties in the name of British unity. Why, then, is Scotland uniquely expected to fall into line?

The answer, of course, lies not in football, but in politics.

This latest wave of outrage is less about sport and more about control, about reinforcing a particular vision of Britishness that demands conformity at moments of high visibility. A World Cup semi-final becomes an opportunity to stage-manage unity, to flatten difference, to insist that national distinctions are secondary to a broader British identity.

But that identity is not universally shared, and it certainly cannot be imposed through guilt-tripping football fans. Even more galling is the selective memory at play.

Where, exactly, was this call for unity during the weeks of build-up to this tournament? Where were the lectures about mutual respect when sections of the English media and yes, fans were busy belittling Scotland’s participation, mocking the Tartan Army, and reveling in familiar stereotypes?

Scottish fans were ridiculed, patronised, and dismissed. Their team was treated as an irrelevance. Their presence at the tournament was framed as little more than a novelty. And now, suddenly, we are expected to forget all of that. To rally behind the very same voices who spent weeks talking down to us.

It is not just hypocritical it is absurd.

Then there is the Falklands argument, perhaps the most cynical card of all. We are told that Scots should support England against Argentina out of respect for those who died in the Falklands War. That to do otherwise is somehow disrespectful, even dishonourable. It is a grotesque conflation of sport and conflict, one that cheapens both.

Football matches are not proxy wars. Supporting Argentina in a semi-final is not a political statement about the Falklands. To suggest otherwise is to exploit historical tragedy for the sake of a footballing narrative and to place an entirely inappropriate moral burden on supporters.

It is also worth noting the sheer inconsistency of this argument. If football loyalties are to be dictated by historical conflicts, where does it end? Are fans expected to conduct a geopolitical audit before every match? To align their support with the shifting sands of international relations?

Of course not. Because that is not how football works, and it never has been.

What we are really seeing is a kind of faux outrage, an orchestrated performance of indignation designed to shame Scots into compliance. The usual suspects wheel out familiar language, decrying “anti-English sentiment” while ignoring the very real and legitimate basis for footballing rivalry.

And then there are the Quisling Scots - the commentators, pundits, and self-appointed voices of reason who line up to tell their fellow countrymen to grow up, to get over it, to embrace a more “mature” perspective.

They present themselves as enlightened, as above the fray. But in reality, they are simply echoing the same tired arguments, repackaged with a veneer of intellectual superiority.

Football does not require that kind of sanitisation. It thrives on passion, on rivalry, on the very tribalism these voices seek to erase. To demand that Scottish fans abandon that in favour of a politically convenient narrative is not progressive, it is reductive.

And let us not pretend this pressure is evenly applied.

No one seriously expects English fans to support Scotland in similar circumstances. There is no chorus of politicians urging England to set aside rivalry and get behind the Tartan Army. There is no moral panic when English supporters celebrate Scottish defeats.

Because it is understood instinctively that football rivalry runs deep, and that it is entirely legitimate. Scotland, it seems, is not afforded the same understanding. Instead, we are subjected to lectures. To headlines. To a steady drip of commentary implying that our refusal to support England is somehow aberrant, something that needs to be explained, justified, or corrected.

It does not. It is normal. It is expected. It is, in many ways, the lifeblood of international football. And so we arrive at the inevitable conclusion.

These calls for unity are not about football. They are about optics. About projecting an image of togetherness that glosses over the very real differences in identity, culture, and perspective that exist within these islands, between all the home nations.

They are about telling Scots how they should feel, rather than listening to how they actually do. And they are about using football, a space that has always belonged to the fans, as a tool for political messaging to further attack the thought of Scottish Independence.

That is why they ring so hollow. Because you cannot manufacture genuine support through press releases, speeches in Parliament, and soundbites. You cannot override decades of rivalry with a well-timed appeal to sentiment. And you certainly cannot shame people into cheering for a team they have spent their entire lives wanting to see beaten.

So let’s dispense with the pretence. Scottish fans are under no obligation to support England. Not because of politics. Not because of history. And certainly not because a politician thinks it would look nice on television. They will support who they want. They will follow their instincts, their loyalties, and their traditions. And if that means backing Argentina in a World Cup semi-final, then so be it. That is not prejudice. That is football.

So to the out-of-touch politicians, the hand-wringing commentators, and the self-appointed arbiters of acceptable fandom, here is the reality - your appeals are not just unconvincing - they are unwelcome. Football does not belong to you. It never has. And no amount of faux outrage is going to change that.

Come on Argentina. Anyone but England.

Donald Trump’s boast to the press that he had “got the Balogun red card suspended” was not the triumph for America he craved. It was not a win for the US national team. It was not even a win for Trump himself.

Instead, it became a grotesque distraction that overshadowed the squad’s preparations for the Belgium knockout match, it handed the Belgians a perfect pre-match narrative to fire themselves up, and turned a football game into a battle over the integrity of the whole tournament. The US still lost. And now, the scandal will live alongside their World Cup exit as a permanent stain on how they are remembered as a host nation.

Not a win for Trump, not a win for America

On the surface, Trump’s intervention looked like a classic “I fixed it” moment. Folarin Balogun, the US forward who had been shown a straight red card for a reckless challenge on Bosnia‑Herzegovina, suddenly found himself available for the round‑of‑16 against Belgium. Trump told the press he had spoken to FIFA president Gianni Infantino, that he had asked FIFA to review the ban, and that he considered the referee’s decision “horrible” and “a little bit suspect”.

The result was that the automatic one‑match suspension was suspended for a 12‑month probationary period under article 27 of FIFA’s disciplinary code. The red card itself was not rescinded; the punishment was simply put on hold.

That might have been framed as a procedural victory. But it was not. Because the whole thing was not about a fair disciplinary process. It was about a sitting US president using his political weight to influence a decision in a World Cup match.

Trump wanted to be seen as the man who could bend institutions to his will. In football terms, he wanted to be the man who got results. But the outcome was not a clean victory. It was like everything else that Trump touches - a messy, controversial decision that drew outrage from Belgium, UEFA, criticism from other nations, and calls of corruption from fans. The US team did not go on to win the match losing 4-1 to the Belgians, in what can only be seen as a win for football, and are now eliminated from the competition. Yet every mention of Balogun going forward for the rest of his professional career will be tied to the story of presidential interference and FIFA corruption.

That is not a legacy Trump wants - and it is certainly not what Balogun wanted as a legacy as a footballer. It is not the kind of chapter that ends with “Mission accomplished.” It ends with “What did we just do to our own player and team’s reputation?”

Overshadowed US preparations

The knockout phase of a World Cup is about focus - not that a Scot would know about that mind you! Teams prepare in bursts, measured in hours, with video analysis, tactical briefings, and mental preparation all carefully managed. They would have already finalised their preparations without Balogun as an option. Into this came a political storm and it would have completed messed up the US game plan.

Every press conference was shadowed by queries about whether the decision had been influenced by presidential pressure. Every training session photo was taken against the backdrop of a controversy that had dominated global headlines for days.

The US coaching staff did not just have to prepare for Belgium. They had to prepare for the media, the fans, the politicians, and the international football community. They had to explain why their best attacker was in the match despite a straight red card. They had to deal with the accusation that the team had benefited from special treatment.

That is not a distraction US Football could afford, especially in a tournament they are hosting. The US team wanted to be seen as a credible competitor, a side that had beaten Bosnia in the last 32, and were ready to challenge Belgium on merit. Instead, they were constantly linked to a story about political interference.

For the players, that is destructive. No one wants to be told that their opportunity to play is not purely about their performance, but about whether a president happened to think the foul looked wrong. No coach wants to be asked whether he fought the appeal or whether he simply waited for a phone call from the White House.

The scandal did not just distract from preparations. It poisoned the atmosphere. It turned a football match into a political spectacle. And further poisoned the US in the eyes of the world.

Belgium got everything they needed to fire themselves up

Belgium did not need to invent a reason to feel aggrieved. They had a legitimate complaint, their opponent had an extra player available who, under normal interpretation of the rules, should not have been there. That complaint was amplified by UEFA’s outspoken criticism, by the Belgian FA’s criticism and subsequent appeal, and by public statements from the Belgian side that the decision was “astonishing”.

Trump’s refusal to back down and his insistence that he had “got the red card suspended” turned what might have been a behind‑the‑scenes administrative dispute into a public declaration of advantage. He told the world, openly, that the US team had benefited from his personal interference and that he was proud of it. That is not a boast another national team wants to face.

Inside the Belgian camp, the story was simple - the US had been given an unfair advantage, and the only way to respond now was to prove themselves on the pitch. That galvanises a team. It adds an extra layer of purpose to the game. When players feel they are not just fighting for qualification but also defending the integrity of the competition, that can sharpen their focus and raise their intensity.

Externally, the story was even more useful. Belgium could frame the match as a test of whether football could survive in the face of political interference. Every pre‑match interview could reference the controversy without sounding petty, because the controversy had already been created by Trump himself.

In the end, Belgium won the match 4-1 and eliminated the US. It is impossible to say exactly how much the Balogun dispute influenced the result, but it certainly shaped the context. The US were not just playing Belgium; they were playing a team that had been provoked by the perception that they had been unfairly favoured. They were also playing against a global audience of football fans supporting the Belgians.

Not the last we see of Trump at the World Cup

This will not be the last time we see Trump at the World Cup. He is already scheduled to be at the final to present the trophy to the eventual winners. And we will see once again, as we saw at the Club World Cup, that Trump will make it all about him.

From standing on the podium as the winners celebrate as if he is part of the winning team, to pocketing a medal himself, Trump will turn the final ceremony into another personal branding boost. He will not be content to simply hand over the trophy and step back out of the limelight. He will be front and centre, making sure that the moment is all about him, not the winning team.

It wouldn’t be surprising at all if Infantino has actually commissioned a golden replica of the trophy for Trump to lift himself on his own little podium. A separate podium, a separate trophy, a separate moment. All so that the president can be seen as the man who “delivered” the World Cup, even though bone spurs would have prevented him from taking to the playing field in his ‘prime’ as it did when he dodged the draft for the Vietnam War.

That is the pattern. Trump does not want to be a guest. He wants to be the centre of the event. He wants to be the reason people talk about the final, not just the winning team.

The scandal will live alongside the US in the World Cup

The US team’s future participation and potential future hosting of the World Cup will now no longer be about their footballing legacy, but as a tournament host and participating team that has been defined by scandal. The red card saga will live long as a permanent stain on how the US are remembered as a sporting nation.

Fans in the US, and around the world, will be left with a choice - either accept that the president of their country can influence disciplinary decisions in a World Cup, or reject the legitimacy of that decision. Both options are damaging. The first erodes trust in the competition; the second erodes trust in the team. And that is before the country is seen as a pariah in the sporting world.

For a tournament that is already under scrutiny for its commercialisation, its scheduling, and political interference on the likes of Iran, this was a blow that could have been avoided. The US Football Federation could have pursued a formal appeal. If that had been rejected, the team would have accepted the outcome and moved on. There would have been no global spectacle, no presidential boast, no narrative of preferential treatment.

By letting Trump turn it into a personal project, the US team lost control of its own narrative and they will forever be tarred by the scandal.

No one will forgive or forget.

Scottish football has a problem, and pretending otherwise does nobody any favours. The game keeps producing promising young players, only to watch richer clubs from England and elsewhere arrive early, identify the talent and take it for a pittance before the domestic system has had a chance to build a proper pathway. If Scotland wants to stop being a supplier of teenage talent, it needs to lower the age at which players can sign professional terms to 14 years old.

That argument will almost certainly make some people uncomfortable, and it clearly needs to be handled with care. Fourteen is very young. Any reform has to put welfare, education and safeguarding of the kids first. But the current system is already under strain, and the reason this debate has grown louder is because the rules are no longer matching the reality of the market. Scottish football is trying to protect young players with a framework that leaves too many of them vulnerable and too many clubs powerless.

The first thing to understand is why players cannot sign pro contracts before 16 in Scotland. Under Scots law and football regulations, 16 is the minimum age for a legally binding professional contract. Before that, youngsters are placed into the Club Academy Scotland system on youth or scholarship-style agreements rather than full professional deals. Those arrangements are not meaningless, but they are not the same as a proper contract, and it leaves clubs with limited options to hold on to elite prospects when stronger and richer suitors come calling.

That is part of the problem. The other part is the way youth registrations work in practice. Players aged 15 to 17 are often tied into two-year registrations, and critics argue that those agreements restrict freedom of movement because a contract can only be broken if both club and player agree. Child rights groups, the Children’s Commissioner and campaigners have all raised concerns about a system they believe can trap young players in situations they cannot easily leave, even when the club no longer feels like the right environment. So the current model is not just restrictive, it is also increasingly controversial.

That controversy matters because it cuts to the heart of the issue. The present setup appears to protect clubs, but in reality it doesn’t protect them enough. English and other European clubs are routinely targeting the best Scottish prospects, with Scotland losing too much talent too early - and potentially damaging the kid’s development also. When that happens, the domestic game gets the worst of both worlds, a rigid youth system that limits movement inside Scotland, and a porous border that allows the biggest clubs outside of the country to pick off the best players anyway.

This is why lowering the age for professional terms to 14 deserves serious consideration. It would not mean throwing children into adult football. It would mean giving clubs the chance to secure their best prospects earlier, in a way that is transparent, regulated and legally clear. At the moment, Scottish football sits in an awkward middle ground, players are too young for pro contracts but old enough to be heavily recruited, heavily managed and heavily constrained by youth agreements that have drawn scrutiny from the Competition and Markets Authority. That is not a stable system. It is a system under pressure.

Campaigners have gone further, alleging that Scottish football’s youth arrangements may amount to anti-competitive conduct, with complaints lodged over so-called “no-poach” practices and restrictions on movement. Those claims are serious, and they explain why the debate is no longer just about football development but about fairness, choice and control. If a player is old enough to be identified as a highly valued prospect, then the system should not be so clumsy that it either leaves them exposed to outside poaching or ties them so tightly to one club that their freedom becomes theoretical.

That is why reform is needed. Scottish clubs do not want to lose their best players, and they should not have to. They invest time, coaching and money into young footballers, often from the age of 8 or 9, and it is entirely reasonable that they should want stronger protection when a player begins to stand out. But protection should not come at the expense of the young person’s rights or wellbeing. The answer is not to cling to a broken framework, but to design a better one.

There is also a broader strategic argument. Scottish football cannot hope to compete financially with Liverpool, Chelsea or Man City, but it can compete structurally. It can create a framework that recognises the reality of youth football in 2026 - players are being scouted earlier, moves are being arranged earlier and the market is functioning earlier than the old rules anticipated. If the age for professional terms were lowered to 14, clubs would have a better chance to protect value before it disappears, and a clearer basis on which to build genuine pathways to first-team football.

That last point is crucial. Young players do not just want contracts. They want belief, opportunity and a sense that staying at home means something. Scottish clubs say they offer that pathway all the time, but ttoo many of the most talented youngsters end up elsewhere before they have had a meaningful chance to progress. If the pathway is real, it should be backed by rules that allow clubs to keep hold of players long enough for that pathway to matter.

Of course, there are real concerns about lowering the age. Fourteen is still a child, and any move in that direction would need strong safeguards around education, family support, mental health and informed consent. But those concerns are not an argument for doing nothing. They are an argument for doing the job properly. A well-regulated system can protect young players and protect clubs at the same time. That is the point of regulations in the first place - to stop stronger parties from exploiting weaker ones, whether those weaker parties are children, families or smaller clubs.

Scottish football likes to talk a good game about development, identity and community. Those values mean little if the game continues to lose its best young players to richer leagues before they have even properly developed. Lowering the age for professional terms to 14 would not solve every problem in the Scottish game, but it would be a serious step towards ending a pattern that has gone on for far too long. The choice is not between freedom and protection. It is between a broken system and a better one. Scotland should stop clinging to the broken one.

FIFA’s core statutes explicitly forbid any form of political or governmental interference in the affairs of its member associations. The USA, through President Donald Trump’s direct lobbying of FIFA president Gianni Infantino to overturn Folarin Balogun’s red card suspension, has violated that core principle. FIFA’s sudden intervention to reverse Balogun’s ban - and to undo Cristiano Ronaldo’s violent conduct sanction for Portugal prior to the competition kicking off - is not only inconsistent with its own rules but also exposes a grotesque double standard. The appropriate response is not to applaud this “political fix” but to demand that the USA be suspended from the competition, that Infantino face a criminal and disciplinary investigation, and that football associations worldwide block his re-election and call for a vote of no confidence to remove him as FIFA President with immediate effect.

The Third-Party Non-Interference Principle

FIFA’s statutes are built on the idea that football must be governed by football people, not politicians. Article 2(2) states that “government interference of any kind in the electoral process or composition of the elective body (general assembly or congress) of the association is not permitted” and that “government rules on elections shall not apply to the elected internal bodies of the association”. Article 15(c) goes further, requiring that member associations’ statutes “shall in particular contain, at a minimum, make provisions relating to the independence of the member association and avoidance of any form of political interference”.

These rules are not abstract. FIFA has repeatedly suspended national federations when governments or courts have tried to take control of their affairs. The All-India Football Federation was suspended in 2022 after the Supreme Court of India ordered the federation’s president to step down and a Committee of Administrators to take over. Zimbabwe was suspended in 2022 after its government-appointed Sports and Recreation Commission suspended the national football executive committee. Kenya, Chad, Pakistan and Nigeria have all faced similar suspensions when state authorities or courts intervened in football governance. And Nepal were suspended this year for third party interference in it’s Football Association.

Yet the principle is not limited to elections. It is about the independence of football associations as bodies, not just their personnel. Any external pressure from a minister, a court, or a head of state that seeks to dictate disciplinary outcomes, selection decisions, or operational matters is a breach of this principle. The USA’s case is not subtle, President Trump lobbied someone at FIFA directly - be it Infantino or one of his cronies - to urge Balogun’s red card be overturned, with his administration supplying additional evidence to support an appeal that was never formally lodged by the US Soccer Federation - in fact, according to FIFA rules during this World Cup, the red card couldn’t be appealed.

Trump’s Lobbying and the Balogun Red Card

The facts are clear. President Trump called Infantino/FIFA to ask for a review of Balogun’s red card and one-match suspension ahead of the USA’s last 16 World Cup match against Belgium. The US administration also provided a three-page memo from attorneys tied to Trump to the US Soccer Federation, suggesting that FIFA’s rules were vague enough to create grounds for an appeal. No formal appeal was submitted by the federation, but FIFA reversed the suspension on 5 July, allowing Balogun to play against Belgium.

This is not a normal disciplinary review. It is a direct intervention by a head of state and his administration into a sporting disciplinary decision, at the request of a national team that is competing in the World Cup. The New York Times, which first reported the call, described attorneys with ties to Trump providing legal arguments to support an appeal. FIFA’s own disciplinary rules only allow for an appeal if games are added to the initial suspension, meaning there was no formal legal basis for the reversal.

FIFA’s response was to cite its disciplinary rules and avoid mentioning Trump at all. That silence is telling. It is an attempt to normalise something that should be scandalous. A president of a World Cup-hosting nation lobbying the president of FIFA to change a disciplinary outcome in a match that directly affects his country’s chances is not “supporting the game”. It is bending FIFA to political power.

Croatia, Ronaldo, and the Double Standard

The Balogun case is not the first time FIFA has intervened in tournament disciplinary matters under political pressure. Cristiano Ronaldo received a three-match ban after he was sent off for violent conduct in Portugal’s qualifier against Ireland, which would have ruled him out of the first two group matches. FIFA later reversed that decision, allowing Ronaldo to play. That reversal came after considerable public and political pressure from the United States, Saudi Arabia, and Portugal themselves.

But the contrast with how FIFA has treated other nations is stark. In the build-up to the 2026 World Cup, the US administration prevented a section of the Iranian team from getting visas, they blocked a Somali FIFA referee from entering the country, and denied visas to fans from Muslim or other third world countries. Those actions were blatantly political and violated the spirit of the tournament, yet FIFA did not call for Trump to overturn the bans, they didn’t issue a formal condemnation, or intervene in any meaningful way. Instead, FIFA bent the knee.

Only now, when the USA itself is the beneficiary of political interference, does FIFA suddenly rediscover its ability to act. That is not neutrality. That is opportunism and corruption. It shows that FIFA’s rules on political interference are not applied equally but are tools that can be invoked when convenient and ignored when inconvenient.

Why the USA Should Be Suspended

If FIFA is serious about its own statutes, the USA must be suspended from the competition. The third-party non-interference principle is not a suggestion; it is a binding rule. Article 15(c) and 2(2) make it clear that political interference is a breach of FIFA’s core values. When a head of state of a World Cup-hosting nation directly intervenes in a disciplinary decision, that is interference.

The consequences of such interference are not just symbolic. They undermine the integrity of the entire tournament. If one nation can use political power to overturn disciplinary sanctions, then every sanction becomes negotiable based on political clout. That destroys the rule of law in football and turns the World Cup into a platform for geopolitical bargaining.

Suspension is not an extreme response; it is the standard response FIFA uses when principles are breached. Associations in India, Zimbabwe, Kenya, Chad, Pakistan and Nigeria were suspended for similar or less serious breaches of non-interference. The USA’s breach is more serious because it involves the head of state, not merely a domestic ministry or court.

The fact that Belgium is one of the nations that helped found FIFA adds a further layer of irony. Belgium is an integral part of the DNA of the organisation. To allow a host nation to use political power to overturn a disciplinary decision in a match against one of FIFA’s founding members is a betrayal of the very history FIFA claims to protect.

Infantino’s Corruption and the Need for Investigation

Gianni Infantino’s role in this is indefensible. He did not simply exercise disciplinary discretion; he responded or he allowed FIFA to respond to a direct call from a head of state. That is not leadership; it is subservience to political power. It also raises serious questions about improper communication, favouritism, and even corruption.

There must be a police investigation into Infantino and FIFA. This is not just about football rules; it is about whether a public official (in the US) and the president of an international organisation (Infantino) have engaged in improper conduct that amounts to corruption, undue influence, and abuse of power. The fact that the US administration provided legal arguments and evidence to support an appeal that was never formally lodged suggests a coordinated effort to pressure FIFA outside normal procedures.

Football associations around the world must not only block Infantino’s upcoming re-election campaign, but they must also call for a vote of no confidence and remove him from his position as FIFA President with immediate effect. He has brought the game into disrepute with his corruption and dealings with Trump. His willingness to bend FIFA’s rules to benefit a powerful nation and individual while ignoring breaches by that same nation in other contexts shows that he no longer stands for the principles FIFA claims to uphold.

The Scottish FA Must Make a Stand

The Scottish FA, in particular CEO Ian Maxwell and president Mike Mulraney, must stand up and be counted. Scotland has a proud footballing history and a tradition of defending the integrity of the game. This is the moment to show that integrity matters more than politics.

The Scottish FA should support Belgium and the integrity of the game by calling for Infantino to step down and for the USA to be disqualified from the competition for political interference. That is not anti-American; it is pro-football. It is a defense of the principle that no nation, no president, no political power should be able to dictate disciplinary outcomes in a World Cup match.

If Scotland does nothing, it will be seen as complicit in the erosion of FIFA’s rules. Other associations must follow suit. A coordinated move by multiple associations to block Infantino’s re-election and call for his removal is the only way to help restore credibility to the organisation.

Integrity Over Politics

FIFA’s rules on political interference are clear. The USA has broken them. Infantino has enabled the breach, if not helped to facilitate it. The appropriate response is suspension of the USA, a criminal and disciplinary investigation of Infantino, and removal from office. The Scottish FA must be part of this fight.

Football is supposed to be a game that transcends politics. But when politics transcends the game, when presidents lobby FIFA, wielding their power, and red cards are overturned for political reasons, the game loses its soul and its integrity. The only way to save it is to enforce the rules, even when they are broken by the most powerful nations.

A review into one of Scottish football’s ugliest afternoons in recent years should not still be hanging in the air like a bad smell. Four months on from the Scottish Cup quarter-final disorder, the Scottish FA’s silence is no longer just frustrating, it is becoming part of the story, and a deeply damaging part at that.

There are moments when football’s institutions are tested not by the incident itself, but by what they do afterwards. This is one of them. The disorder at Ibrox in March was serious enough to demand a swift, credible and transparent review. What it does not demand, what it cannot justify, is a process that drifts on for months while the relevant parties offer little more than the occasional sentence of reassurance and a lot of institutional shrugging.

Rangers chief executive Jim Gillespie said on 18 May there had been “no feedback yet” from the review and that there had been an indication of an end-of-May, early-June conclusion. “We know these things are never usually delivered on time,” he added. Nearly two months later, the silence remains. That is the problem in plain English - if this was always going to take longer, say so. If there is a legal reason for delay, explain it. If there is no such reason, then why on earth is a non-judicial review moving at the pace of a committee whose dog ate its homework?

But what we saw instead at the end of May, was not the findings being published, we saw Scottish FA Chief Executive Ian Maxwell grinning like a Cheshire cat as he boarded the plane with the Scotland squad heading to the United States for the nation’s first World Cup in 28 years. A month later, after spending time wining and dining with Five Star opulence thanks to FIFA, while schmoozing with Infantino and the rest of the FIFA cabal - Maxwell returned to Scotland after our World Cup exit.

The Scottish FA set this process in motion to establish the facts surrounding the day of the match, both inside Ibrox and in the surrounding area, and to examine events and decisions made before, during and after the fixture with a view to identifying lessons and avoiding a repeat. That is a perfectly reasonable mandate. It is also a mandate that should have produced visible findings by now. When a body says it is there to learn lessons, but refuses to show any findings or a sign it is actually learning them, suspicion fills the vacuum.

I drew comparison on social media to the Taylor Report into the Hillsborough disaster, this was not to claim similarities between the events. It is about pace, seriousness and public duty. Lord Taylor’s inquiry was a major national undertaking into a football disaster of the gravest kind, and yet it moved quickly in its initial phase, taking evidence from 174 witnesses, reviewing thousands of written statements and viewing hours of video footage, before producing an interim report in four months. The point is not that every inquiry should copy every feature of Taylor. The point is that, when a system is forced to confront failure, urgency and getting to the facts matter.

That urgency is absent here. The Scottish FA’s review is not a judicial inquest and not a criminal trial. It is an operational review, designed to identify failures, what lessons can be learned and what their recommendations are. That should make it easier, not harder, to provide a public timeline. There may be material that cannot be released immediately, and there may be sensitivities around ongoing police proceedings. But none of that explains why the public are still left guessing about basic milestones, basic participation and basic next steps.

This kind of delay does not happen in a vacuum. It creates the impression that the institutions involved are more interested in managing embarrassment and the narrative than publishing the truth. And when that impression takes hold, it becomes difficult to dislodge. Football supporters are not stupid. They can tell the difference between a careful process and a stalled one. They can also tell the difference between genuine caution and the kind of caution that is just another word for avoidance.

The most corrosive thing about the current situation is not simply that the review has taken a long time. It is that the Scottish FA has not done enough to explain why. Silence may be a bureaucratic comfort blanket, but in public life it has a cost. Every day without a proper update invites the same obvious questions. What evidence has been gathered? Who has been spoken to? What remains outstanding? Is there a timetable? Has the process been delayed by the police, by the clubs, by legal advice, or by the governing body itself?

A serious review would not need to answer every operational detail in public, but it would at least offer a framework of transparency. Instead, what we have is a fog. That fog is not helped by the fact that other actors in the story have been much quicker to speak when blame needed to be shifted, and much quieter when accountability needed to be faced.

In the immediate aftermath of disorder, the instinct in football, in politics, and policing is often to point the finger of blame first and explain later. Supporters are blamed quickly. Clubs are urged to issue statements. Officials appear in the media within hours to condemn behaviour, gesture towards action, and insist that matters are being handled. But when the deeper questions begin - the questions about planning, crowd management, ticketing, stewarding, match control and communication - the appetite for public candour mysteriously vanishes. A pattern that is very familiar.

The events of that day clearly raise questions for several bodies. Rangers and Celtic both have obvious interests in the conclusions of the review. The Scottish FA, as governing body, has an interest not just in the conduct of the match but in the integrity of its own competition. Police Scotland and the Security companies have questions to answer about its operational decisions before and during the game. And the public, quite reasonably, wants to know how a fixture with a known risk profile ended in scenes that embarrassed Scottish football yet again.

This is where the transparency becomes especially offensive. When supporters are involved in disorder, the response is often rapid and punitive. People are identified, images are released, arrests are publicised and messages of zero tolerance follow. That is all understandable. But when institutional competence is under the microscope, the response becomes strangely hesitant. The same bodies that speak loudly about crowd behaviour suddenly discover a penchant for process, discretion and the idea that everyone should calm down and wait. That is not accountability. It is a delaying tactic.

And it is hard not to ask whether the same standard would apply if the failure had been somewhere else. If a players’ union, a club board or a private event organiser had overseen a day that collapsed into chaos, would a three-month silence be tolerated? Would the public be told to trust the process and leave it there? Of course not. Football gets away with this sort of thing because it has spent years normalising the idea that serious questions can be answered eventually, which in practice often means not at all.

Police Scotland’s role is at the centre of much of the public frustration. That is partly because policing is always visible when football disorder happens, and partly because its own conduct around major fixtures is often defended in institutional language that sounds tidy but sheds little light. The police can legitimately argue that their responsibilities inside the stadium differ from those outside it. They can also argue that not every operational detail can be released while investigations or prosecutions are ongoing.

But none of that removes the need for a clear account of what the match commander knew, when they knew it, what resources were deployed and why the response evolved as it did. If the public can see evidence of disorder, they are entitled to ask whether the policing strategy was adequate. If the police want to defend that strategy, the answer cannot simply be to retreat behind procedure. Procedure is not the same thing as explanation.

The problem is compounded by the way police communication often works in these situations. There is an early, public effort to shape the narrative. Then, once the difficult questions start arriving, there is a noticeable move towards caution. The public is left with selective detail, photos of people sought, arrests announced, and the impression that operational failures can be buried beneath the language of active investigation. That may be enough for a press statement. It is not enough for trust.

And trust is what is really at issue here. Not just confidence in one match, but confidence in the system that is supposed to prevent a repeat of these scenes. If the public comes to believe that police and football authorities are circling the wagons, then any future assurances about safety, planning and crowd management will sound hollow before they are even delivered.

One of the more convenient justifications for delay is the suggestion that publication could interfere with court proceedings. That argument should not be dismissed casually, because contempt issues are real and legal caution matters. But it is also not a magic spell. It does not explain everything, and it should not be used to excuse months of silence.

The review itself has been framed as an operational debrief, not a tribunal. Its purpose is to identify what happened, what should have happened, and what should change in future. That means it is possible and essential to separate general lessons from individual criminal culpability. There are ways to do that responsibly. Reports can avoid prejudicial detail. Sensitive evidence can be withheld or redacted. Interim findings would focus on systems, not on allegations.

If a body with no power to convict, sentence or determine guilt still cannot produce a timely public account, then the issue is not legal impossibility. It is institutional reluctance.

And that reluctance tells its own story. Football’s authorities are expert at invoking process when process suits them. They understand how to use legal complexity as a shield. Yet when it comes to protecting supporters from disorder or preventing the next debacle, the same systems suddenly seem less urgent, less exacting and less capable of speed. That double standard should not be allowed to stand unchallenged.

There is another reason this delay matters. Scottish football has a long history of asking people to move on before the questions have been answered. Big incidents are followed by fury, then defensiveness, then a drift into selective forgetting by the stakeholders. Over time, the official version becomes tidy and the public version becomes frustrated. That cannot happen here. Not if the point of the review is genuinely to prevent a repeat of the scenes we saw on the pitch at Ibrox.

Because this is not only about one match. It is about what kind of governance Scottish football wants to have. Does it want a culture in which serious incidents are reviewed openly, quickly and with a willingness to accept fault? Or does it want a culture in which reports are delayed until the news cycle has moved on and the appetite for scrutiny has softened? The answer to that question matters far beyond March’s disorder.

The comparison with Hillsborough also matters for another reason, it reminds us that football disasters are not just sporting stories. They are public safety stories, civic stories, moral stories. They involve power, responsibility and the consequences of institutional failure. That is why the Taylor Report still resonates so strongly. It was not perfect, but it recognised the urgency of telling the truth while the memory was fresh and the evidence could still be properly assembled. The Scottish FA’s current approach has not yet shown the same seriousness.

So what should happen now?

The most obvious immediate step is simple - publish an update. Not spin, not a vague assurance that work continues, not a line about needing to respect the process. A proper update. Scottish football deserves to know whether interviews have been completed, whether any interim conclusions have been reached, whether outstanding material is preventing publication and when the report is expected. If the timetable has slipped, explain by how much and why.

The second step is to stop treating transparency as a threat. A review of this kind should be helping restore confidence, not protecting reputations. If the Scottish FA believes it has acted properly, it should not be afraid of showing its work. If Police Scotland believes its operation was sound, it should be able to outline the logic behind its decisions. If the clubs want to demonstrate they care about supporter safety, then they should press publicly for answers rather than wait passively for the report to land.

The third step is to recognise that delay itself can become evidence of a deeper problem. When an inquiry takes too long without explanation, people stop assuming caution and start assuming concealment. That is not just bad optics. It is bad governance. Once that suspicion has settled in, every subsequent statement is read through it.

There is still time to correct course. But the window is narrowing.

If the governing body wants to avoid the charge that it is stonewalling, it needs to behave like a governing body rather than looking like an organisation with something to hide. The longer it waits, the more it invites the very criticism it is trying to avoid.

The real test here is not whether the Scottish FA can eventually publish a report. It can and it must. The real test is whether it can do so in a way that shows it understands the seriousness of the events it is examining. Right now, there is little evidence that it does.

A review into disorder at a major cup tie should not take on the feel of a closed courtroom. It should be visible, methodical and accountable. If the Taylor Report reminds us of anything, it is that public confidence depends on timely truth. Not perfect truth, not final truth, but timely truth - the sort that allows lessons to be learned before the next disaster, not after it.

That is what is missing here. Not just speed, but intent. Not just publication, but seriousness. And until the Scottish FA proves otherwise, the suspicion will remain that it is treating a public safety issue like a reputational cover-up.

That is not good enough for Scottish football. It is not good enough for supporters. And it is certainly not good enough for anyone who believes that the purpose of an inquiry is to reveal and to learn from, not to hope the focus shifts so it can bury the findings.

In the annals of sporting scandals, few episodes can rival the sheer, brazen corruption on display today. On the eve of the United States’ crucial World Cup last-16 clash against Belgium, FIFA, performed a spectacular U-turn, lifting the one-match suspension of American striker Folarin Balogun.

The decision, which was the result of political interference Trump’s administration, has left the footballing world aghast and confirmed my suspicions about the relationship between the Donald Trump, the White House and FIFA’s president, Gianni Infantino.

The mask has well and truly slipped, this World Cup has been politically corrupted by Donald Trump and his administration.

Let us be clear about the facts. Balogun was shown a straight red card for a challenge on Bosnia and Herzegovina’s Tarik Muharemovic that, while clumsy, was widely considered innocuous. Under the clear and unambiguous rules of the tournament, a red card triggers an automatic one-match suspension. This is a foundational principle of the sport, ensuring that a player who is dismissed cannot immediately take the field in the next game, a sanction that has been applied to every other player sent off in this tournament and previous tournaments.

Yet, FIFA’s disciplinary committee, citing Article 27 of its own code, chose to suspend the ban for a probationary period, meaning Balogun can now spearhead the US attack against Belgium. The timing, of course, is impeccable. The decision was announced just a day before the knockout match, a game of immense importance for the co-hosts, giving Belgium little time to consider their options and challenge FIFA on their decision.

The question is not if political pressure was applied, but how much. The Guardian has confirmed that the White House lobbied FIFA directly to overturn the decisio . President Trump, never one for subtlety, took to Truth Social to thank FIFA for “reversing a great injustice!”. This isn’t the act of a disinterested observer; it is the public confirmation of a transaction. Secretary of State Marco Rubio had already been beating the drum, publicly stating the US had “got screwed” and demanded a review. This is not diplomacy; it is bullying.

The response from Belgium has been one of “astonishment”. The Royal Belgian Football Association (RBFA) has rightly pointed out that FIFA’s decision is in “direct contradiction” with the tournament’s own regulations. They are “investigating all potential options”. This is the language of a federation that knows it has been wronged but fears there is nothing it can do. As Gary Neville, not one for hyperbole, rightly stated, “It absolutely stinks”. Roy Keane echoed the sentiment, calling it “a bit of a pals’ act”. Their anger is justified. Belgium has been presented with a poisoned chalice, forced to face a rejuvenated US side whose star player is available through what can only be described as an act of naked political interference and corruption.

To fully grasp the depths of this corruption, one must look at the wider context. This is not a one-off event. This is a pattern of behaviour meticulously orchestrated by Trump and his crony, Gianni Infantino.

Before the tournament even began, Portugal’s Cristiano Ronaldo was handed a three-match ban after he was shown a red card for violent conduct in qualifying. The offence, an elbow to the back of an opponent’s head, was clear. Yet, FIFA suspended the final two games of his ban, clearing him to play in the tournament’s opening matches. The rationale was the same flimsy Article 27. Was this justice? Or was it a calculated move to ensure one of the sport’s biggest global superstars was on the pitch? The decision set a dangerous precedent, and now we see the disastrous conclusion. If a global superstar can have his ban lifted, why not the star player of one of the host nations, when the President of that nation demands it?

The answer is simple, because the rules don’t matter don’t matter to Trump. The only thing that matters is power and influence.

The relationship between Trump and Infantino is well-documented and sickeningly cosy. Before the tournament, the FIFA President was a frequent visitor to the Oval Office. He has described Trump as a “close friend” and, in a moment of complete farce, awarded him the FIFA Peace Prize at the World Cup draw, because he wasn’t given the Nobel Peace Prize. It is a relationship built on mutual convenience. Trump gets the international stage, the prestige, and the legitimacy of a global sporting event. Infantino gets access to the most powerful man in the world, he furthers his own brand ahead of re-election, and tacit approval for FIFA’s continued role as a global player. This is not a friendship; it is a corporate merger of power and prestige.

Now, we must ask the question that should terrify every football fan - where will it end? If the White House can successfully lobby to overturn a red card, what else can they do? The next logical step is influencing the refereeing before games kick off.

Look at the match officials for the USA vs. Belgium game. The referee is Jordan’s Adham Makhadmeh, supported by fellow Jordanians Mohammed Alkalaf and Ahmad Alroalle running the line. Jordan is a nation that is profoundly dependent on the United States. It is designated a Major Non-NATO Ally, receiving extensive economic aid, military assistance, and diplomatic cooperation. The US holds immense leverage over Jordan.

What happens if Trump and his administration decides to “put pressure on the right people” in Jordan? What happens if the message is sent that the US expects a “fair” game from its ally? It is a chilling thought. If Trump has no qualms about publicly pressurising FIFA, a global institution, do you honestly believe he would hesitate to pressure a smaller, dependent nation like Jordan to ensure its referee does the “right” thing? The potential for corruption is not just present; it is blindingly obvious. The integrity of Mr. Makhadmeh and his assistants is now under a cloud they do not deserve, solely because their appointment places them at the mercy of Trump’s Machiavellianism.

This is the nauseating reality of the 2026 World Cup. It is no longer a competition that looks as though it will be decided on the pitch. It is a political theatre stage-managed by a corrupt administration and a spineless governing body. Infantino and FIFA have sold football down the river to appease the whims of Donald Trump and his administration. The decision to lift Balogun’s ban is not a victory for justice or for football; it is a devastating defeat for fairness and a stain on the beautiful game. It is a signal that the most powerful nations can rewrite the rules to suit their needs, while the rest must accept their fate.

The game is gone. And what we are left with is the rotting carcass of a sport that was once beautiful, betrayed by those who were supposed to protect it. Where will it end? It will only end when the footballing world, from Belgium to every other nation, unites to condemn this corruption in the strongest possible terms.

To remain silent is to give consent.

Three months on from the Scottish FA’s announcement that Mark Blackbourne would lead the independent review into the disorder at the Scottish Cup quarter-final between Rangers and Celtic at Ibrox, the silence from the Scottish FA and Police Scotland is getting louder by the day.

Freedom of Information requests have been denied as if they are being asked to disclose state secrets. This was never a request for tactics, deployment maps, or anything that would hand future troublemakers a playbook. The questions were basic, historical, and entirely reasonable. How many officers were deployed? How many were inside and outside the ground? Who was the match commander? Had they handled Glasgow derby or high-profile games before? What is the normal policing level for fixtures like Scotland international matches, cup finals, or rugby internationals?

That’s not sensitive operational intelligence. That’s public accountability.

Yet after first rejecting the freedom of information request, Police Scotland still has not answered the appeal submitted on 12 April, despite stating that a response should follow within 20 working days. Instead, it has leaned on a grab-bag of exemptions - sections 35(1)(a) and (b), 39(1), 34(1)(b), 38(1)(b) and section 18 - and wrapped it all in the familiar argument that disclosure could damage policing strategies or assist those intent on causing disorder.

That might sound impressive in an email. It does not hold up nearly so well in the real world.

There is a world of difference between revealing future tactics and explaining what happened at a match that has already been played. Knowing how many officers were on duty at Ibrox on 8 March 2026 does not compromise public safety. Knowing whether the match commander had previous experience of derby fixtures is a staffing question, not a security breach. Knowing the usual policing level for major sporting events is not a roadmap for troublemakers, it is basic context for the public.

Police Scotland cannot have it both ways. It cannot admit that disclosure would improve public understanding and accountability, then hide behind broad exemptions when asked for nothing more exotic than historical facts. If transparency really matters, then transparency should begin with the easy questions, not end when the scrutiny gets uncomfortable.

And that is where this starts to look less like caution and more like avoidance.

The Scottish FA says an independent review is under way. Fine. But three months later, the public still has no meaningful update, while Police Scotland is stonewalling over simple questions that should have been answered long ago. That combination does not build confidence. It breeds suspicion.

Nobody is asking for secrets. Nobody is asking for live operational detail. Nobody is asking for anything that would put officers, supporters or the public at risk. What is being asked for is the most basic information - who was in charge, how many were there, and how much policing was deemed necessary for one of the biggest matches in Scottish football.

If the SFA and Police Scotland want supporters to believe this is about transparency, accountability and learning lessons, then they need to start acting like it. Instead, we get announcements, delays, refusals and silence - the familiar rinse-and-repeat routine whenever football authorities and the police are asked to explain themselves. They are being asked basic questions about a major flashpoint in Scottish football and giving the runaround in return - all the while pointing the finger of blame on others. That is not good enough, and if those in charge think fans will simply swallow it, they have badly underestimated how little patience remains for half-truths, stonewalling and the old-fashioned Scottish football habit of circling the wagons when scrutiny gets uncomfortable.

Gianni Infantino wants a handshake. Not between diplomats, not between generals, but between children, Under-15 footballers from Israel and Palestine, thrust onto a pitch in the United States this coming September, as props in FIFA’s latest PR offensive. Over 350 Palestinian footballers have been killed by Israeli forces. Stadiums either turned to rubble or turned into a modern day concentration camp to detain and torture Palestinians. While the head of Palestinian football was denied a visa to attend the 2026 World Cup in the USA. And Infantino’s response to this slaughter is to demand that Palestinian teenagers, raised in the middle of a genocide, grasp the hands of the children whose parents enforce it, take part in it, revel in it, and committ it. This is not diplomacy. It is an obscenity. It is abuse.

This is not a football tournament. It is ritual humiliation dressed up as diplomacy, a blood-soaked public relations stunt designed to launder the reputation of a genocidal zionist state and the feckless Swiss bureaucrat who props it up. That Infantino’s FIFA is demanding a handshake on a pitch in the United States - a nation that denied a visa to Jibril Rajoub, the head of the Palestinian Football Association, barring him from even attending the World Cup, not to mention continuing to aid and support the Israeli state in their genocide of the Palestinian people - transforms this farce to a sadism so pure it verges on the diabolical.

We are past the point of condemning mere sportswashing. We have entered the realm of necro-politics, where the corpses of murdered athletes are the foundation upon which FIFA builds its “bridges.” To understand the depth of this depravity, we must finally state the historical parallel that polite society, with its carefully calibrated thresholds of acceptable victimhood, refuses to utter. FIFA’s continued embrace of Israel while it conducts a live-streamed annihilation of Palestinian life is the precise moral equivalent of FIFA allowing the Nazi regime to compete in the 1940s while the crematoriums of Auschwitz roared - and just for historical purposes, FIFA allowed Nazi Germany to compete in the 1938 World Cup after invading Austria and were earmarked to host the 1942 World Cup before the Second World War saw the competition cancelled.

If that comparison shocks your sensibilities, your sensibilities are the problem. We have been trained by decades of historical flattening to see the Holocaust in a narrow, sanitised frame - the tragic, singular murder of six million Jews. It was that, but it was infinitely more. It was an act of genocide that consumed up to 17 million innocent souls. The bodies of three million Soviet POWs starved and worked to death are part of that soil. The mass graves holding 1.8 to 3 million non-Jewish Polish civilians, murdered for the crime of being an obstacle to Lebensraum, are part of that soil. The 250,000 disabled people gassed in the T4 program, the tens of thousands of political dissidents, the trade unionists, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and the homosexuals who wore the pink triangle. Yet Western society has been brainwashed into believing that the Holocaust was solely a crime against European Jews.

We forget their names and numbers at our peril, because the machinery of dehumanisation is always calibrated to expand. The Israeli state has resurrected this machinery. They don’t just kill; they redefine the dead as the killer. They bomb a hospital, pulverise a newborn in an incubator, and before the dust settles, the IDF’s digital hasbara machine spins the lie - it was a Hamas command centre, the baby was a human shield, the paramedic was a militant. It is the bureaucratic logic of the Einsatzgruppen delivered via TikTok. Every child in Gaza is pre-emptively designated a terrorist. Every playground is a military target. Every hospital is a base. This is not war; it is the total erasure of the boundary between civilian and combatant, the foundational principle of genocide.

And yet, Gianni Infantino looks at this bloodbath and sees a marketing opportunity. He wants a photo-op.

According to a report in 2024 by the Palestinian Campaign for the Academic and Cultural Boycott of Israel, the Israeli military had murdered over 350 Palestinian footballers. Let that number sink into the silence of FIFA’s luxurious offices. Three hundred and fifty athletes, youth league hopefuls, national team veterans, coaches of neighbourhood clubs are dead. The BDS movement documents 344 of these names, a grim roster of shattered potential, as of the latest count. These men were not collateral damage; they were targets. Stadiums have been bombed, pitches used as makeshift internment camps and scenes of rape and torture. The Yarmouk Stadium in Gaza, once a monument to athletic ambition, was rused as an interrogation and internment camp where prisoners were stripped, bound, and subjected to torture and rape on the pitch.

In a sane world, this statistic alone would have triggered an emergency congress. Israel would be expelled, not merely suspended, from all global sport, just as South Africa was banished for the infinitely lesser crime of apartheid. Instead, FIFA has placed Israel’s fate in a bureaucratic black hole. Investigations are launched, committees are formed, “independent legal assessments” are commissioned, and the whole thing is dragged out while body bags pile up. Infantino has demonstrated more urgency in protecting the commercial rights to the World Cup logo than in protecting the lives of the players who make the sport what it is.

The obscenity of Infantino’s position is crystallised not just in his inaction, but in his grotesque insistence on a “peace tournament” featuring U15 kids. This is the logic of the abuser, I will break your legs, then hand you a bouquet and demand you smile for the cameras so I can prove to the world what a benevolent person I am.

The Israeli children stepping onto that pitch, no matter their individual innocence, represent a state that has murdered the peers, coaches, and relatives of the Palestinian children standing opposite them. To ask a Palestinian child to “shake hands” with the child of a nation who, in all statistical likelihood, has parents who served in an army that demolished his house or shot his cousin, is not reconciliation. It is a psychological experiment in cruelty. It is forcing the victim to validate the perpetrator’s humanity while the perpetrator’s boot is still on his neck.

And where is this grand ceremony of forced smiles taking place? The United States. A country that has just pulled a move straight out of the authoritarian playbook by denying a visa to the head of the Palestinian FA, Jibril Rajoub, among other individuals they label as terrorist sympathisers or undesirables without any evidence. This isn’t just a diplomatic snub; it’s a logistical decapitation of Palestinian football’s representative at the very moment the world gathers - just as they did with the Iranian national team during their World Cup campaign. The Guardian reported on this blatant act of political warfare, a clear message from Washington that it does not consider Palestinian institutions legitimate or worthy of presence. Yet Infantino, that grinning weather vane, says nothing. He will gladly pocket the American cash, bow to the American political dictates, and still pretend he can offer a neutral pitch for Middle Eastern peace. The United States, which actively provides the very warplanes and bombs turning those 350 footballers into pink mist, cannot be a neutral host. It is a co-combatant. Staging a “reconciliation” match there is like hosting a peace dinner in the munitions factory.

FIFA’s selective morality is not limited to the Levant. The stench of hypocrisy is global. While demanding that Palestinian victims normalise their own slaughter, Infantino has thrown open the gates for Russia’s return to youth football competitions. Even as Russian missiles target Ukraine still, FIFA has determined that Russian U17 teams have been punished enough. The logic is mesmerising. Killing Ukrainians is a temporary suspension-level offense, perhaps worthy of a “dialogue” and a junior tournament re-entry; being a Palestinian victim, however, gets you a mandatory handshake with your killer’s government and the loss of your leaders’ visas. The metric is obvious. Russia is a nuclear power with a permanent seat on the Security Council; Palestine is a stolen nation whose people are being murdered, while the war criminals are being subsidised by the West. Infantino’s FIFA does not deal in justice; it deals in power. He is not a football president; he is a protection racketeer for war criminals.

We are gaslit into believing the founding myth of Israel is a pure response to the Nazi genocide - a genocide that the world wrongly frames solely as a Jewish tragedy, because that narrative has been engineered. This narrow casting, which erases the millions of non-Jewish victims of the holocaust, has been weaponised to create a hierarchy of victimhood. Because the Nazis killed Jews, the argument goes, Jews can never be cast in the role of perpetrators. This is a theological fallacy, not a political argument. The legacy of the Holocaust should be a universal alarm, never again for anyone. The moment you weaponise that history to exempt a state from the norms of human rights, you betray every single one of the victims of the Holocaust.

The Roma, murdered by the hundreds of thousands, have no state to protect them, yet they see their historical suffering appropriated by a state that inflicts a new Nakba. The disabled, the Trade Unionists, the Soviet POWs, their ghosts scream the truth - genocide is the ultimate standardisation of brutality. By drawing a moral equivalence between the IDF’s slaughter and the Nazi genocide, we are not diminishing the memory of the six million; we are expanding the circle of ethical responsibility to include the present-tense victims who share the same fate.

FIFA, under Infantino, has done more than ignore this. He has inverted it. Using the language of “football uniting the world,” he constructs a theatre where the executioner and the victim are cast as equal actors in a conflict. The demand for Israeli Under-15s to play Palestinian Under-15s is a microcosm of the entire sportswashing strategy. It erases the reality of occupation, siege, and genocide. It creates a “false symmetry”, a hallucination where two equal sides must “get along,” ignoring that one side controls the water, the electricity, the borders, the visas, the drone codes, and the right to life.

The Israeli government understands this playbook perfectly. They see the football pitch not as a sporting arena, but as a normalisation laboratory. A grinning child in a bib can undo a thousand images of dead children in shrouds. By standing for a national anthem, or exchanging pennants, the Palestinian team serves as a prop to announce that the occupation is normal, that Israel is just another “side,” and that the genocide is merely a “cycle of violence.” This is why Israel’s government has no problem participating. This is why they openly boast about the “soccer festival” as a propaganda victory. They know Infantino will provide the cover; he always does, from the handshake with Vladimir Putin to the selfie with Mohammed bin Salman.

The only appropriate response from the global football community is rage and boycott. Every national federation that calls itself a friend of Palestine and indeed, every federation that claims to believe the Universal Declaration of Human Rights should refuse to take to the pitch against Israel in this context. The Under-15 tournament should be a ghost town. FIFA Congresses should be disrupted. Sponsors like Coca-Cola, Adidas, and Visa, who greenwash Infantino’s regime with their billions, should be named and shamed as financiers of this grotesque circus. What does an Adidas executive see when they watch the footage of that handshake, knowing their logo will be stitched onto a scene of raw coercion and abuse?

To Jibril Rajoub, denied a visa by an American administration that seems terrified of Palestinian testimony, stand firm. Do not send the children. Do not lend your dead to their festival. The 350 murdered footballers demand that their federation refuse to launder the blood off the jersey. If the price of attending a FIFA tournament is shaking the hand that holds the smoking gun, the ticket isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on.

Gianni Infantino must be named for what he is. He is not a mediator. He is a mortician posing as a matchmaker, applying makeup to a corpse and calling it a date. When historians look back at the great moral failures of 21st-century sport, they will not just see the death of 350 players. They will see the image of the FIFA President forcing oppressed children to smile for a camera, under the banner of a football organisation that long ago lost its soul. Or should that be sold its soul?

The 2026 World Cup was supposed to be football’s grand ritual of unity, a tournament where politics would be pushed to the margins and the game would speak for itself. Instead, for Iran, it became a grim lesson in how easily that promise collapses when power, prejudice, and opportunism take over. What should have been a celebration of sport was turned into a hostile political theatre, and FIFA as ever stood by with its hands in its pockets.

Iran’s treatment in the United States was not merely inconvenient. It was humiliating, punitive, and deeply damaging to the idea of fair competition. The team were forced into a bureaucratic maze of travel restrictions and logistical obstacles that no other nation had to endure in the same way. Their base camp arrangements, movement windows, and daily routines were disrupted in ways that compromised preparation, recovery, and focus. In tournament football, that is not a small matter. It is the difference between competing on equal terms and being made to fight with one arm tied behind your back.

The message from the Trump administration was not subtle. Iran were treated as a political problem first and a football team second. The use of visa controls, security pretexts, and administrative roadblocks created an atmosphere of intimidation around the squad, as though the Americans wanted to ensure that Iran’s presence on US soil would feel conditional, uncomfortable, and tightly managed. That is not the spirit of the World Cup. It is the spirit of a state using sport as an extension of its own foreign policy.

Iran’s staff were also hit hard. Support personnel vital to the daily functioning of an international team were denied entry, leaving the squad without some of the people responsible for the most basic elements of logistics, analysis, and player welfare. That is not just annoying or awkward. It is a competitive disadvantage deliberately imposed. Coaches can plan only so much. Players can adapt only so much. A World Cup should not require a team to spend half its energy navigating the host nation’s hostility before it even kicks a ball.

Iran’s head coach, Amir Ghalenoei, was right to say the team had been deprived of justice. Captain Mehdi Taremi was equally blunt in describing the World Cup as a disaster. Those were not the words of men looking for excuses. They were the words of people who had watched their team be placed in an environment that made ordinary preparation feel like an act of endurance. Their complaints deserved the full weight of FIFA’s attention. Instead, they were met with the usual fog of institutional evasion.

And that is where FIFA’s cowardice becomes impossible to ignore. The governing body loves to talk about peace, inclusion, and football’s unique power to unite the world. But the moment a member association is mistreated by a powerful host, the principles evaporate. FIFA becomes suddenly careful, suddenly vague, suddenly unwilling to say anything that might disturb the people paying for the spectacle. That is not neutrality. It is surrender disguised as diplomacy.

Gianni Infantino’s conduct makes the whole thing even uglier. The FIFA president has long behaved less like a steward of the game than a man obsessed with his own image, and his closeness to Donald Trump has only sharpened that impression. Infantino appears determined to keep himself at the centre of every ceremony, every stage, every photo opportunity, as though the World Cup exists partly to complete his personal brand. His silence over Iran’s treatment was not accidental. It was political. It was calculated. And it was cowardly.

The sight of Trump being booed at the Club World Cup final, standing awkwardly beside Chelsea players, only underlined how grotesque the spectacle has become. So too did the expectation that Trump will be front and centre when the trophy is handed over, with Infantino again playing the loyal courtier. The FIFA president seems far more interested in proximity to power than in protecting the integrity of the sport. He flatters presidents and despots with equal enthusiasm, as long as the cameras keep rolling.

That hypocrisy becomes even harder to stomach when set beside FIFA’s inconsistent discipline elsewhere. Nepal has been suspended over third-party interference, while Russia remains banned from senior international football following its invasion of Ukraine. FIFA is perfectly capable of invoking principle when it suits the institution’s interests or geopolitical comfort. It can punish, isolate, and moralise when the target is small enough or politically convenient enough. But when the issue is harder, messier, and more fraught, the courage disappears.

That is why FIFA’s refusal to take a meaningful stand on Israel has drawn such anger. There is a growing chorus demanding accountability, and protests have already made the point in public, loud and clear. Yet FIFA continues to hide behind procedural language and selective blindness. It is easier for the organisation to pretend it is above politics than to confront the reality that it has chosen sides by refusing to act. Neutrality, in this context, has become a cover for inaction.

The Palestinian voice, meanwhile, has been marginalised in precisely the way critics warned it would be. The refusal to grant a visa to the head of the Palestinian Football Federation to attend the World Cup was another act that spoke volumes. It sent a clear message about whose presence is tolerated and whose is treated as inconvenient. FIFA’s appetite for symbolic gestures is endless when it comes to photo opportunities. Its appetite for defending the dignity of those actually caught in conflict is far thinner.

The ugliest part of all this is how deniable it has been made to look. Every criticism can be waved away as political, inflammatory, or outside football’s remit. Every accusation can be met with empty talk about neutrality and unity. That is how cowardice survives, by dressing itself up as balanced. But the pattern is obvious. Powerful allies are protected. Convenient targets are punished. Small federations are disciplined. Large political contradictions are ignored.

Iran’s campaign was affected by more than tactics and form. It was shaped by a constant state of uncertainty, by restrictions that undermined preparation, and by the feeling that they were competing not only against their group-stage opponents but against the conditions imposed upon them by the host nation. That kind of pressure does not show up cleanly in the statistics, but it is there all the same. It settles into the legs, the sleep, the mind, and the margins that decide matches.

And yet the Iranian players carried themselves with dignity. They tried to keep the focus on football and were a whisker away from qualifying for the last 32. They showed moments of grace and solidarity that stood in stark contrast to the pettiness around them. That made their treatment all the more shameful. They were not asking for special treatment. They were asking for ordinary respect. In return, they were given obstacles, suspicion, and silence.

The 2026 World Cup will live in memory not just for goals and results, but for the way one of its participants was treated as a political inconvenience. That is a stain on the tournament, and FIFA should own it. If the World Cup is to mean anything beyond a lucrative global spectacle, the governing body must stop pretending that slogans are a substitute for leadership. It must stop hiding behind neutrality when neutrality is really just cowardice. And it must stop allowing its president to confuse self-promotion with authority.

A football institution that preaches unity while tolerating obvious imbalance is not defending the game. It is exposing how weak, compromised, and morally threadbare it has become.

Steve Clarke’s Scotland tenure did not end with a bang, but with a familiar whimper, one that has echoed through too many summers of false dawns, limp performances, and managerial deflection. His resignation, confirmed within an hour of Scotland’s inevitable World Cup exit, felt less like a shock and more like the closing scene of a story we had all already read.

For all the talk of Clarke being Scotland’s “most successful modern manager,” his legacy will never sit comfortably alongside the greats of the national game. Not because he failed to qualify - in fact, qualification became his calling card - but because when it mattered most, when Scotland had the world watching, his teams consistently shrank, retreated, and ultimately embarrassed themselves.

Clarke’s Scotland didn’t just exit tournaments. They made a habit of arriving underprepared, underwhelming, and ultimately underachieving.

Qualification Was Never the End Goal

Let’s start with the defence that will inevitably be rolled out in the coming days. Clarke took Scotland to three major tournaments. He ended the long exile. He reconnected the national team with the fans. All of that is true. But it is also incomplete.

Scotland did not appoint Steve Clarke to simply qualify and make up the numbers. Even SFA president Mike Mulraney said it himself, qualification alone was no longer enough. The aim was progression. Competitiveness. Respectability on the biggest stage. Instead, what followed was a trilogy of near-identical failures.

At Euro 2020, Scotland exited with a whimper. At Euro 2024, they regressed further into passivity and confusion. And at the 2026 World Cup, the long-awaited return after 28 years, they managed one narrow win over Haiti and folded meekly against any opponent of real quality. One win in three tournaments. Not a single knockout match. That is not progress. It is stagnation dressed up as success.

The Haiti Game Said Everything

If you want to pinpoint where this World Cup campaign began to unravel, look no further than the opening match. A 1-0 win over Haiti, ranked 83rd in the world, should have been a platform. Instead, it became a warning sign.

Scotland created chances but refused to take risks. They did not push for a second or third goal. They did not chase the margin that would later define their fate. They played within themselves, as they so often did under Clarke, prioritising control over ambition. And when fans quite rightly questioned why Scotland didn’t go for the jugular, Clarke’s response was not reflection it was irritation. He hit out at criticism, as if supporters expecting their national team to attack Haiti with conviction were somehow unreasonable.

That moment encapsulated everything about his tenure, a manager unwilling to adapt, unwilling to engage with criticism, and unwilling to acknowledge that caution has a ceiling.

Tactical Timidity on the World Stage

If the Haiti game was frustrating, the matches against Morocco and Brazil were borderline humiliating. Against Morocco, Scotland conceded after 70 seconds and spent the rest of the match looking tactically confused. Two left-backs deployed in the same system, no coherent attacking structure, and a reliance on hopeful moments rather than designed patterns of play.

Against Brazil, it got worse. A 3-0 defeat that flattered Scotland. Lawrence Shankland isolated up front, chasing lost causes against one of the best defensive units in world football. Midfield leaders like McGinn and McTominay reduced to passengers. A team set up not to compete, but to survive and failing even at that. This was not pragmatism. It was fear. And fear, at this level, is fatal.

The Arrogance Problem

What made Clarke’s tenure increasingly difficult to defend was not just the results, but the attitude. There was a growing sense that he operated without accountability.

Post-match interviews were often curt, defensive, or avoided altogether. Legitimate questions about tactics or selection were brushed aside. Fans were told, implicitly and sometimes explicitly, that they should be grateful - grateful for qualification, grateful for effort, grateful for moments. But football does not work like that.

Supporters who travelled across the United States, spending thousands - even tens of thousands - to follow their country, were not asking for miracles. They were asking for bravery. For evolution. For evidence that lessons had been learned from previous failures. They got none of it. Instead, they got a manager who doubled down on the same risk-averse approach that had already failed twice before on the big stage - the hit out at the fans hitting out at them saying they didn’t have a clue about football, when they questioned why we didn’t go and score more against Haiti.

Loyalty Over Progress

One of Clarke’s defining traits was loyalty. In the early years, it helped build cohesion and belief. But over time, it became a liability. Players were picked not on form, but on familiarity. Systems remained rigid, even as opponents adapted. Younger, more dynamic options were often sidelined in favour of trusted lieutenants. Continuity, Clarke argued, was key. But continuity without evolution is just repetition. And repetition, in Scotland’s case, meant repeating the same mistakes at three consecutive tournaments.

The SFA’s Role in the Mess

Clarke’s resignation should not be treated as a neat ending. Because the truth is, he should not have been in charge at this World Cup in the first place.

After the debacle of Euro 2024, there was a clear opportunity for change. Instead, the Scottish FA doubled down handing Clarke a new four-year contract before a ball had even been kicked in America.

No external pressure forced that decision. No rival federation was circling. It was a choice and a baffling one. Mike Mulraney and Iain Maxwell must own that. They spoke about ambition. About moving beyond qualification. About raising standards. And then they rewarded failure with security and stability. You get what you pay for in football. And Scotland, ultimately, got exactly what they invested in - a solid, conservative club manager who was out of his depth on the international stage.

If there is to be any meaningful reset, it cannot stop with the manager. The leadership that enabled this cycle of mediocrity must also be held accountable. Frankly, it is time for Mulraney and Maxwell to go.

The “Most Successful Manager” Myth

There will be a temptation now to soften the narrative. To celebrate Clarke as a trailblazer. To frame his tenure as an unqualified success. He was, statistically, Scotland’s most successful modern manager in terms of qualification. But greatness is not measured in entry alone. It is measured in impact, in evolution, in how a team performs when the stakes are highest. On that front, Clarke falls short.

The great Scotland managers - the ones etched into footballing folklore - built teams that competed, that adapted, that rose to the occasion. Clarke’s teams did not rise. They retreated. And that is why, despite the milestones, he will never truly belong in that conversation.

What Comes Next?

This is the moment Scotland must get right. The next appointment cannot be another safe pair of hands. It cannot be another manager who views qualification as the ceiling rather than the starting point.

It must be someone who understands the modern game. Someone willing to impose a style, to develop players, to take calculated risks. In my view, there is one standout candidate - Ange Postecoglou.

A manager with a clear footballing identity. A track record of transforming teams. Experience on the international stage with Australia, where he not only qualified for a World Cup but reshaped the way the national side played.

At Celtic, he rebuilt a club’s entire footballing philosophy in a matter of months. At Tottenham, he showed he can operate at the elite level, implementing an aggressive, front-foot style that demands courage and clarity. Leading them to winning the Europa League - despite the failings in the English Premier League. Most importantly, Postecoglou does not do fear. And that is exactly what Scotland need.

Yes, he may prefer a return to club football. Yes, it would require ambition and a significant financial commitment from the SFA. But if the last seven years have taught us anything, it is that playing it safe gets you nowhere.

A Chance to Reset

Steve Clarke’s departure closes a chapter that began with optimism and ends in frustration. He deserves credit for reconnecting the national team with the fans. For restoring pride in the jersey. For making Scotland relevant again after years in the wilderness. But football does not stand still. And neither can Scotland.

The rest of the world is evolving - tactically, technically, mentally. Meanwhile, Scotland have been stuck in a loop, replaying the same cautious script and expecting different results. That has to change.

Because if there is one lasting image from the 2026 World Cup, it is not the win over Haiti or the sea of tartan in the stands or the Tartan Army taking over Boston and Miami - it is the sight of a team playing within itself, afraid to take risks, and ultimately paying the price for it.

That is Steve Clarke’s legacy.

There are bad tournaments, there are disappointing tournaments, and then there is whatever Scotland have just served up at the 2026 World Cup, a limp, lifeless, utterly predictable collapse dressed up as progress because we happened to show up.

And at the centre of it all, once again, stands Steve Clarke - defiant, evasive, increasingly irritable, and looking every inch a man who has taken this team as far as he possibly can which, unfortunately for Scotland, is absolutely nowhere when it actually matters.

After the narrow, nervy, far-from-convincing 1-0 win over Haiti, we were told this was a Scotland side growing into the tournament. Professional. Controlled. Mature. Clarke was front and centre, happy to take the plaudits, happy to talk about structure, discipline, and “doing what we needed to do.”

What we didn’t hear then and what has become painfully obvious since is that Scotland weren’t growing into anything. They were shrinking. Retreating. Playing within themselves to such an extent that when the real tests came, there was nothing to give.

Because Morocco exposed them. Brazil dismantled them. And now Scotland sit in the all-too-familiar position of calculators out, permutations flying, hoping and praying that someone else does them a favour to mask the reality that they simply have not been good enough. Not unlucky. Not victims of fine margins. Just not good enough.

And that is where the conversation has to turn, inevitably and uncomfortably, toward the manager. Steve Clarke cannot hide from this one. Not this time. Not after a third consecutive major tournament where Scotland have arrived with hope and left with excuses.

What makes this collapse even harder to stomach is not just the results, it is the manner of them, and more importantly, the reaction to them.

After the defeat to Morocco, Clarke bristled. After the humbling against Brazil, he all but spat the dummy. Gone was the composed, measured operator we saw after Haiti. In his place was a man irritated by scrutiny, defensive in tone, and most damningly unwilling to look in the mirror.

Instead, the blame began to shift. Players were questioned without being named. Mistakes were highlighted. Individuals subtly hung out to dry. And yes, there were mistakes. Plenty of them.

Scott McKenna’s error was schoolboy stuff. Jack Hendry dallied in possession like a man playing a testimonial, fortunate that Brazil’s second was chalked off. Angus Gunn, all 6 foot 4 of him, flapped at a cross like a goalkeeper unsure whether to come or stay rooted. Across the pitch, Scotland looked hesitant, reactive, and overwhelmed. But here is the uncomfortable truth, those mistakes are symptoms, not causes.

They are what happens when a team is set up to survive rather than compete. When players are drilled to avoid risk rather than impose themselves. When the overarching message is caution, containment, and damage limitation. That is not on McKenna. That is not on Hendry. That is not on Gunn. That is on Steve Clarke. Because this is his team. His system. His mentality. And the mentality is the real issue here.

Scotland do not just look technically inferior at this level, that can happen. Smaller nations bridge that gap all the time. What Scotland lack is belief. Courage. The basic conviction that they belong on this stage. Look at Curacao. Look at Cape Verde. They may not progress. They may fall short. But they competed. They played without fear. They took the game to sides with bigger reputations and deeper squads. They can walk off with their heads held high, regardless of the result.

Scotland, by contrast, look like a team waiting for something to go wrong and then, when it inevitably does, they collapse under the weight of it. That is not a talent issue. That is psychological. And that, again, comes back to the manager.

Clarke has built a side that is organised, difficult to break down on its day, and capable of grinding out results in qualifying campaigns. That much is true. It is also where the praise should end. Because international football at major tournaments is not about qualifying. It is about adaptability, bravery, and the ability to rise above your perceived level when it matters most.

Clarke’s Scotland do the opposite. They retreat. They narrow. They hope. And hope, as we are seeing yet again, is not a strategy.

What makes this entire situation even more frustrating is the narrative that has been carefully constructed around Clarke’s tenure. Three tournaments. That is the headline achievement. The supposed evidence that he is Scotland’s greatest modern manager. But qualification is not the finish line, it is the starting point.

If getting there is all that matters, then yes, Clarke has been a success. But if the ambition is to actually compete, to progress, to leave a mark beyond participation, then this era has been an unmitigated failure.

Scotland have played nine matches across three major tournaments under Clarke. Just 1 win out of 9. They have, time and again, frozen on the big stage. That is not progress. That is repetition.

And yet, somehow, the Scottish FA looked at this trajectory and decided the solution was continuity. Stability. Rewarding mediocrity with a four-year contract extension that now feels less like backing a project and more like locking the door and throwing away the key.

Because what exactly is the long-term vision here? Is it simply to qualify, collect the financial windfall, and accept elimination as an occupational hazard?

Is it about maintaining a status quo that keeps Hampden’s corridors comfortable, the suits well-fed at UEFA and FIFA dinners, and expectations conveniently low?

Or is there any genuine ambition to push this national team beyond its self-imposed limitations?

Right now, it is impossible to tell.

What is clear is that there is a disconnect between the potential of the squad and the way it is utilised, between what Scotland could be and what they currently are. Because let’s not pretend this is a hopeless group of players. There is quality here. There are players operating at a high level across Europe. There is experience, athleticism, and genuine technical ability. But too many of them look like they believe their own hype until the moment arrives to justify it. And when that moment comes, they shrink. That is not entirely their fault.

They are products of an environment that does not demand more, that does not challenge them to step beyond their comfort zone, that does not instil the belief required to compete with the best.

Instead, they are asked to execute a game plan rooted in caution and limitation. And when it fails, as it inevitably does at this level, they are left exposed. So yes, Clarke cannot take all the blame. But he must take the majority of it. Because he sets the tone. He defines the approach. He determines how this team sees itself. And right now, Scotland look like a side that does not believe it belongs.

That is the most damning indictment of all.

Meanwhile, in the stands and on the streets, a very different story unfolds. The Tartan Army have, once again, been exceptional. They have brought colour, noise, and humanity to this tournament. They have turned cities into celebrations. They have connected with supporters from Morocco, Brazil, and beyond in a way that embodies everything good about football.

Boston embraced them. Opponents respected them. They have been, as they always are, the best of Scotland. Which is why it feels so wrong that the team representing them falls so far short. Because being Scottish is not the problem. Despite what Trainspotting might have you believe, there is nothing remotely shite about being Scottish.

What is shite is watching a national team repeatedly underperform, repeatedly underwhelm, and repeatedly retreat into the same tired narratives of “glorious failure” that serve only to soften the blow of what is, in reality, plain old failure. There is nothing glorious about this. There is nothing admirable about scraping a win against Haiti, collapsing against Morocco, and being brushed aside by a Brazil side that barely needed to get out of second gear. There is nothing noble about hoping and praying for other results to bail you out.

And there is certainly nothing acceptable about a manager who appears increasingly unwilling to answer for it.

If Scotland somehow stumble into the knockout stages, it will not change that. It will not validate the approach. It will not rewrite the performances. It will not suddenly transform this campaign into a success. It will simply delay the inevitable reckoning. Because deep down, everyone can see it. This is as good as it gets under Steve Clarke. And that should concern anyone who cares about the future of the national team.

The idea that Scotland must restrict itself to Scottish managers feels increasingly outdated, almost self-sabotaging. The fear born from the Berti Vogts era has calcified into an unofficial policy of insularity, one that limits ambition rather than protects identity.

There is a wider world of coaching talent out there. Ideas. Philosophies. Approaches that could challenge the stagnation that has set in. Instead, Scotland have settled. And settling, in international football, is just another way of standing still while everyone else moves forward.

Which brings us back to the central question - how did it come to this?

How did a manager with fewer than 200 games in club management, with modest success and limited top-level experience, become the long-term steward of a national team desperate for evolution?

The answer lies not just with Clarke, but with the system that appointed him, extended him, and continues to shield him from meaningful scrutiny. Because accountability, at this level, should not be optional. No job is beyond questioning. No manager is beyond criticism. And yet Clarke often carries himself as though he is.

That cannot continue.

Not if Scotland have any intention of becoming more than just participants. Not if the Tartan Army are to be given a team worthy of their passion. Not if the cycle of qualification followed by inevitable disappointment is ever to be broken.

For now, though, the reality is stark. Scotland are staring down another early exit. Another post-mortem. Another round of excuses. Another reset that changes nothing. And at the heart of it all, the same figure will remain steadfast, stubborn, and increasingly out of his depth.

There is no glorious failure here. Just failure. Repeated, predictable, and entirely preventable.

The story of the demise of Rangers Football Club in 2012 is not merely a take of a sporting rise and fall. It is the saga of institutional decay, where the lines between the terraces and the halls of justice became hopelessly blurred. It is a reflection of a Scottish justice system full of partisan, vengeful, and deeply corrupt individuals.

What began as the financial collapse of a sporting institution mutated into a constitutional crisis. At the heart of it lies a simple yet terrifying reality - the state used its coercive power to pursue innocent men, not because of the evidence, but because of an institutional desire for payback for the death of the old Rangers.

When Sir David Murray sold his stake in Rangers to Craig Whyte for a pound in May 2011. It was a deal made in desperation by Murray, with the shadow of the Big Tax Case - a multi-million pound dispute with HMRC over the use of EBTs at Ibrox - circled like a vulture waiting to pounce on its prey. Under a year later, and Whyte put the club into administration on Valentine’s Day 2012. Administration led to liquidation, before the assets were sold off to a consortium led by Charles Green, and a new company - Sevco Scotland Ltd.

For Rangers fans, it was now all about the ‘journey’ as the new club founded by Green looked to climb the divisions and secure promotion to the Scottish Premiership. For the Scottish legal establishment, the death of Rangers Football Club was a crime that needed a culprit. The subsequent police investigation was not a search for truth, it was a dragnet. In 2014, David Whitehouse and Paul Clark - the administrators from Duff & Phelps - were arrested. They were paraded in front of cameras, their reputations in tatters overnight. Along with them, Charles Green, Imran Ahmad, and Craig Whyte were also in the firing line.

Yet three years later, the state’s case disintegrated in spectacular fashion. Panto Villain Craig Whyte was cleared of all charges by a jury in just two hours. The prosecution’s theory, that Whyte had fraudulently acquired the club, could not survive the simple fact that Murray was so desperate to offload the club they hadn’t bothered to check where his money came from.

But the real scandal was only beginning. As Whitehouse and Clark fought back with civil lawsuits, the Crown Office was forced into a humiliating and unprecedented admission, the prosecutions were “malicious.” In legal terms, this is a nuclear confession. It means the state pursued these men knowing there was no “probable cause.”

The cost to the taxpayer has now surged past £60 million, with compensation being paid out to the men whose lives were nearly destroyed by a rogue prosecution service.

So why did it happen? To answer that, we must look at the “allegiances” that critics say poisoned the well of justice. The investigation was marked by a “perfect storm” of bias.

Sheriff Lindsay Wood, who signed off on 22 warrants - including an unlawful raid on a London law firm - was a Rangers shareholder. He had a framed photo of Ibrox in his chambers. When investigated, it was found he had submitted a “misleading report” to justify his actions.

Then there was the lead detective, DCI Jim Robertson, who was reported to have sung Rangers songs during Police interviews and allegedly wore Rangers cufflinks while interrogating suspects. He was described by a judge as providing evidence that was “patently untrue.”

And finally there was the prosecution themselves, with documents revealing a ‘need to nail’ the administrators. The state was actively acting as a proxy for the anger of the Rangers support, seeking to punish those they blamed for the club’s liquidation.

There is a distinct sense of irony when it comes to this scandal. Some Rangers fans believed that the justice system was out to get Rangers, yet the evidence suggests the system was actually populated by people so emotionally linked and invested in the Ibrox club that they abandoned all sense of professional standards and neutrality to seek revenge on those who oversaw their club’s demise.

Today, the Rangers scandal has entered a new phase. In 2021, then-First Minister Nicola Sturgeon promised a judge-led public inquiry. We are now five years on, and that inquiry has yet to begin. The current SNP administration in Holyrood, led by John Swinney, maintains that it must wait for all other legal proceedings to finish first.

The appointment of Shelagh McCall KC to “independently” consider criminal conduct within the Crown Office has done little to ease suspicions of a cover up. For many, this looks like the Crown Office investigating itself - turkeys voting for Christmas - with the Scottish establishment looking to circle the wagons and protect its own.

The “stench” is not just about football; it’s about the total lack of accountability. No police officer has been charged. No prosecutor has been fired. Sheriff Wood was allowed to retire with his pension intact, with the Lord President, Lord Carloway, deciding no formal action was “appropriate.”

The Rangers scandal is a warning. It shows what happens when a small, insular legal system becomes infected by the tribalism of the society it serves. Whether it is a political cover-up to protect the reputation of the Crown Office, or a judicial “closing of the ranks” to protect fellow law officials, the result is the same, the truth is being suppressed.

Until we have a truly independent inquiry - led by an independent judge from outside Scotland, free from the gravitational pull of Glasgow’s footballing divide and the Scottish legal system - the £60 million shadow will remain. Scotland cannot claim to be a modern democracy if it allows the state to “maliciously” destroy lives with impunity due to their allegiances to a football club, then hides the evidence behind a wall of bureaucratic delays.

Scotland’s World Cup dream hangs by a thread after a bruising, bitter 1-0 defeat to Morocco that will be remembered as much for what was denied as what was delivered.

Seventy seconds. That’s all it took for the familiar feeling of dread to creep in.

Grant Hanley, trusted once again by Steve Clarke, was caught flat-footed and punished ruthlessly. Ismael Saibari needed no second invitation, arrowing a finish into the top corner before Scotland had even settled. From that moment, the script felt ominously familiar - a Scottish side chasing, huffing, but never quite landing a telling blow.

Clarke had gambled before a ball was even kicked, reverting to type with a cautious 4-5-1 and leaving Ben Doak, our best player against Haiti and the player that gives our attacking threat its spark, on the bench. The plan was to stay in the game. Instead, it was shredded inside 70 seconds.

Morocco smelled blood. Saibari nearly doubled the lead as Scotland wobbled, their midfield overrun and their defence alarmingly brittle. It took until after the break for Scotland to show anything resembling urgency - and even then, they needed help that never came.

John McGinn thought he’d won a penalty when he was cleaned out by Neil El Aynaoui. The referee waved it away. Replays told a different story. Scotland raged, but the decision stood.

Then came the moment that will haunt Ryan Christie. Scott McTominay did brilliantly to tee him up just after the hour mark, and with the goal gaping, Christie blazed over. It summed up the night, when their best chance finally came, Scotland didn’t take it.

And still, more controversy.

McTominay himself went down under another challenge from El Aynaoui. Again, nothing given. Two huge calls. Two huge misses. Zero accountability.

Referee Tantashev’s laissez-faire approach left Scotland furious, with Clarke and his players stopping just short of saying what everyone watching already knew - Morocco got the breaks, Scotland didn’t.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth, Scotland cannot hide behind refereeing decisions. They finished the match without a single shot on target. For all the anger, all the what-ifs, that statistic cuts through everything.

Clarke’s conservatism is no longer a talking point it’s a pattern. Dropping Doak, persisting with Hanley, throwing in an undercooked Nathan Patterson, and then, when chasing the game, having nowhere to turn. Lawrence Shankland - our best goalscorer in the squad - watched on as crosses came and went. The absence of a ruthless edge up front is no longer bad luck; it’s a selection issue.

And the squad itself raises bigger questions. Leaving behind a proven Championship goalscorer, favouring bit-part options, and handing places to unproven prospects now looks less like planning and more like misplaced loyalty and nepotism.

This was supposed to be the night Scotland could have made history. One point to reach the knockout stages for the first time ever. Instead, it was another chapter in a story Scottish fans know all too well - promise, frustration, and a creeping sense of inevitability.

Now it comes down to Brazil. And let’s be honest, nobody is giving Scotland a chance. The task has shifted from ambition to survival, from making history to clinging onto it. Goal difference, third-place calculations, damage limitation - it’s not where this campaign should have ended up.

Which makes the Scottish FA’s decision to hand Steve Clarke a four-year extension feel increasingly tone-deaf. Yes, he’s delivered qualification. Yes, there have been highs. But when it matters most, Scotland still play like a side hoping to nick something rather than take it. That mentality was written all over Boston Stadium.

Two penalties denied. A Moroccan defender who could and should have been sent off. One early mistake punished. Zero shots on target. And a World Cup campaign teetering on the brink.

Glorious failure? It’s starting to feel inevitable once again. Now the world knows why the Tartan Army drinks so much.