BACK IN 2019, a bit of a stir got up around the proposed ‘Cheese Room’ that was to be included in the £1 billion Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.
Some of the initial bumph made a play that the exclusive ‘H Club’ would provide a facility for fans to select some curated cheeses for their half-time snack.
Nevermind that it never happened in the end, it stood as a cautionary tale of football gentrification.
You get the sense that whatever Celtic do with Celtic Park in the future, a cheese room wouldn’t be essential.
Instead, what was on offer around Sunday were the usual footie scran of sausage rolls, pies, the full gamut of beige, deep-fried got-rut and an exceptionally overdone personal pick of a macaroni pie.
As our party of seven settled into a Glaswegian matchday, we were transported back in time. A recommendation from a Donegal colleague to visit Billy Connolly’s former local, brought us to the Saracen Head (known as the Sarrie Heid in the local vernacular.)
Built initially in 1755, it was a lodging house with 36 separate rooms for lodgers that included High Court judges and members of the nobility.
The doormen were known as waiters, and wore full livery, powdered hair and, when they were expecting some quality arriving, silk stockings. There were stables for up to 60 horses.
In its’ time, it played host to literary figures such as Robbie Burns, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth.
The present Sarrie Heid doesn’t stand on the same site, but was opened as a pub in 1904 and by the ‘70s became immortalised by Billy Connolly’s tales. He actually set his controversial set ‘The Crucifixion’ in The Sarrie.
Lads lads lads in The Sarrie Heid.
Connolly also was given to quoting the lines of a song written by a John Murphy about the place; ‘The girl I will marry, will drink in the Sarrie, and be able to drink more wine than me.’
It wasn’t until 1989 until women were allowed in to the place, with ashtrays screwed onto the tables.
And well, it’s a vibe, for sure. A thought struck when you visited the latrines that if you found yourself the proprietor of The Sarrie, all you’d need for ongoing décor changes was a pot of green paint and the occasional framed jersey.
The head (sorry, heid) on my pint of Guinness, filled a third of the pot. It split the G by itself. It didn’t feel that there was a rigid complaints procedure, so I accepted and then switched to Becks thereafter.
Despite that, this was the highpoint. In a world of chain restaurants and Brexit cheerleading Wetherspoons, there was a refreshing old school boozer feel to Glasgow, especially The Sarrie and the post-match Tolbooth Bar.
The game itself, a 2-1 loss to Hibernian was all a big nothing, in the words of Livia Soprano.
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A shadow fell over the East End of Glasgow on Thursday night when Stuttgart arrived and left with a painfully easy 4-1 win. From the first minute the tone was set in their Europa League tie when fans threw tennis balls onto the pitch.
They were outclassed throughout on the night Martin O’Neill reached 1,000 games in charge as a manager. It was his first defeat since arriving back as the emergency replacement of Wilfried Nancy, who presided over a shitshow.
When O’Neill took over from Brendan Rodgers, his work was soon overlooked.
Rodgers was clearly demented with the lack of financial support and his side were sitting third with just eight goals from six games when he left in late October.
O’Neill then won seven out of eight matches. His only loss came in Europe to FC Midtjylland. His notable wins came against Rangers and Feyenoord.
Head of Operations, Paul Tisdale then lost his own shirt over the recommendation of Wilfried Nancy who will forever be recalled as the Liz Truss of Celtic gaffers.
The thought remains that he came in through the doors and took it all for granted, especially the repaired team O’Neill gifted him.
Martin O'Neill. Alamy Stock Photo
Alamy Stock Photo
As O’Neill said later; “So my last game was on a Wednesday night against Dundee. I would have been flying back to London anyway on Thursday, but I stayed until later on. I met the incoming manager. He was very affable, very nice. It was only a 15-minute conversation. What can you make of anybody in that time?
“He’s got his own philosophy, his own viewpoint on the game, and that is absolutely fine. I was not going to be coming in and giving him advice. I said very, very little. He would have seen the matches.”
The dressing room footage after that last game of his first spell back had O’Neill addressing the team like fondly-regarded nephews, most especially Johnny Kenny, who had scored four goals in eight games under O’Neill, including a crucial header in the 3-1 win over Rangers. There was an ease between everyone in the room.
It brought to mind an interview Hugh McIlvanney conducted with O’Neill’s mentor and major influence, Brian Clough, published in The Observer in November, 1975. Just over 50 years ago.
‘You can only bring out of people what they are capable of giving. Two of the great myths circulating now are that Heinz’s beans are the best and that I can get more out of men than they have inside them,’ he scolded McIlvanney.
‘If we all learnt our jobs and lived our lives on the basis that you can’t get blood out of a stone we’d be a hell of a sight better off in every way. One of the worst crimes you can commit in life, not just in football but in life, is to ask people to deliver something they haven’t got. That destroys them totally.’
The north curve make their voices heard. Alamy Stock Photo
Alamy Stock Photo
O’Neill brought good vibes, confidence and Dad Jokes. Shaun Maloney, in conjunction with Callum McGregor, sorted out the tactics and style.
Nancy’s record of six losses from eight games had Celtic grovelling back to O’Neill. Nancy had asked Celtic players to do what they were incapable of.
Since O’Neill slipped back into that cool, retro tracksuit, they had won eight games from ten. They drew two; against Bologna and Hearts.
They had developed a knack of scoring late winners. But the obvious lack of top-end talent has been shown up in the last two game and defeats.
The last week has robbed O’Neill of his Halo Effect.
Walking up the Gallowgate towards the ground, I’m told very little changes around that part of the world. But there’s something a little forlorn about a walk up to the ground where there is absolutely no feeling of communal excitement, and an abundance of litter.
The atmosphere in Celtic Park on Sunday was jumpy from the very start. When the teams were named out, Kasper Schmeichel’s name was booed loudly before a ball was kicked.
Our tickets were for the standing section in the North Curve. Event junkies from Fermanagh tend to go for the full-fat option. The lack of the Green Brigade though, left it a bit flat.
Standing at a game is not only a link to the past and a glimpse towards the future as more clubs adopt this, but one you can enjoy without suddenly discovering that some hallion with a grandfather from Gortahork is taking a leak in your pocket.
But the anticipated bonhomie and good humour never arrived. The tetchiness turned into impatience. The heavy rain drove everyone back onto the walkways and concourse.
By the time Hibs’ Kai Andrews slotted the winner home and their small band of travelling fans rattled off their fun ditty homage to KC and The Sunshine Band (‘Hibs away / ah-ha ah-ha / I like it…), the Celtic fans were in complete revolt.
Frustrated with shot-shy strikers and barely any strikers at all. With the lack of investment and with a board that can’t get out of their own road. And with time running out and a title that looks like it’s slipping towards Hearts or Rangers.
When the Celtic crowd turns against their own, it gets ugly.
At the final whistle, the damning verdict came from a row behind us.
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Standing room only: In the north curve as Celtic's season threatens to unravel
BACK IN 2019, a bit of a stir got up around the proposed ‘Cheese Room’ that was to be included in the £1 billion Tottenham Hotspur Stadium.
Some of the initial bumph made a play that the exclusive ‘H Club’ would provide a facility for fans to select some curated cheeses for their half-time snack.
Nevermind that it never happened in the end, it stood as a cautionary tale of football gentrification.
You get the sense that whatever Celtic do with Celtic Park in the future, a cheese room wouldn’t be essential.
Instead, what was on offer around Sunday were the usual footie scran of sausage rolls, pies, the full gamut of beige, deep-fried got-rut and an exceptionally overdone personal pick of a macaroni pie.
As our party of seven settled into a Glaswegian matchday, we were transported back in time. A recommendation from a Donegal colleague to visit Billy Connolly’s former local, brought us to the Saracen Head (known as the Sarrie Heid in the local vernacular.)
Built initially in 1755, it was a lodging house with 36 separate rooms for lodgers that included High Court judges and members of the nobility.
The doormen were known as waiters, and wore full livery, powdered hair and, when they were expecting some quality arriving, silk stockings. There were stables for up to 60 horses.
In its’ time, it played host to literary figures such as Robbie Burns, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and William Wordsworth.
The present Sarrie Heid doesn’t stand on the same site, but was opened as a pub in 1904 and by the ‘70s became immortalised by Billy Connolly’s tales. He actually set his controversial set ‘The Crucifixion’ in The Sarrie.
Connolly also was given to quoting the lines of a song written by a John Murphy about the place; ‘The girl I will marry, will drink in the Sarrie, and be able to drink more wine than me.’
And well, it’s a vibe, for sure. A thought struck when you visited the latrines that if you found yourself the proprietor of The Sarrie, all you’d need for ongoing décor changes was a pot of green paint and the occasional framed jersey.
The head (sorry, heid) on my pint of Guinness, filled a third of the pot. It split the G by itself. It didn’t feel that there was a rigid complaints procedure, so I accepted and then switched to Becks thereafter.
Despite that, this was the highpoint. In a world of chain restaurants and Brexit cheerleading Wetherspoons, there was a refreshing old school boozer feel to Glasgow, especially The Sarrie and the post-match Tolbooth Bar.
The game itself, a 2-1 loss to Hibernian was all a big nothing, in the words of Livia Soprano.
A shadow fell over the East End of Glasgow on Thursday night when Stuttgart arrived and left with a painfully easy 4-1 win. From the first minute the tone was set in their Europa League tie when fans threw tennis balls onto the pitch.
They were outclassed throughout on the night Martin O’Neill reached 1,000 games in charge as a manager. It was his first defeat since arriving back as the emergency replacement of Wilfried Nancy, who presided over a shitshow.
When O’Neill took over from Brendan Rodgers, his work was soon overlooked.
Rodgers was clearly demented with the lack of financial support and his side were sitting third with just eight goals from six games when he left in late October.
O’Neill then won seven out of eight matches. His only loss came in Europe to FC Midtjylland. His notable wins came against Rangers and Feyenoord.
Head of Operations, Paul Tisdale then lost his own shirt over the recommendation of Wilfried Nancy who will forever be recalled as the Liz Truss of Celtic gaffers.
The thought remains that he came in through the doors and took it all for granted, especially the repaired team O’Neill gifted him.
As O’Neill said later; “So my last game was on a Wednesday night against Dundee. I would have been flying back to London anyway on Thursday, but I stayed until later on. I met the incoming manager. He was very affable, very nice. It was only a 15-minute conversation. What can you make of anybody in that time?
“He’s got his own philosophy, his own viewpoint on the game, and that is absolutely fine. I was not going to be coming in and giving him advice. I said very, very little. He would have seen the matches.”
The dressing room footage after that last game of his first spell back had O’Neill addressing the team like fondly-regarded nephews, most especially Johnny Kenny, who had scored four goals in eight games under O’Neill, including a crucial header in the 3-1 win over Rangers. There was an ease between everyone in the room.
It brought to mind an interview Hugh McIlvanney conducted with O’Neill’s mentor and major influence, Brian Clough, published in The Observer in November, 1975. Just over 50 years ago.
‘You can only bring out of people what they are capable of giving. Two of the great myths circulating now are that Heinz’s beans are the best and that I can get more out of men than they have inside them,’ he scolded McIlvanney.
‘If we all learnt our jobs and lived our lives on the basis that you can’t get blood out of a stone we’d be a hell of a sight better off in every way. One of the worst crimes you can commit in life, not just in football but in life, is to ask people to deliver something they haven’t got. That destroys them totally.’
O’Neill brought good vibes, confidence and Dad Jokes. Shaun Maloney, in conjunction with Callum McGregor, sorted out the tactics and style.
Nancy’s record of six losses from eight games had Celtic grovelling back to O’Neill. Nancy had asked Celtic players to do what they were incapable of.
Since O’Neill slipped back into that cool, retro tracksuit, they had won eight games from ten. They drew two; against Bologna and Hearts.
They had developed a knack of scoring late winners. But the obvious lack of top-end talent has been shown up in the last two game and defeats.
The last week has robbed O’Neill of his Halo Effect.
Walking up the Gallowgate towards the ground, I’m told very little changes around that part of the world. But there’s something a little forlorn about a walk up to the ground where there is absolutely no feeling of communal excitement, and an abundance of litter.
The atmosphere in Celtic Park on Sunday was jumpy from the very start. When the teams were named out, Kasper Schmeichel’s name was booed loudly before a ball was kicked.
Our tickets were for the standing section in the North Curve. Event junkies from Fermanagh tend to go for the full-fat option. The lack of the Green Brigade though, left it a bit flat.
Standing at a game is not only a link to the past and a glimpse towards the future as more clubs adopt this, but one you can enjoy without suddenly discovering that some hallion with a grandfather from Gortahork is taking a leak in your pocket.
But the anticipated bonhomie and good humour never arrived. The tetchiness turned into impatience. The heavy rain drove everyone back onto the walkways and concourse.
By the time Hibs’ Kai Andrews slotted the winner home and their small band of travelling fans rattled off their fun ditty homage to KC and The Sunshine Band (‘Hibs away / ah-ha ah-ha / I like it…), the Celtic fans were in complete revolt.
Frustrated with shot-shy strikers and barely any strikers at all. With the lack of investment and with a board that can’t get out of their own road. And with time running out and a title that looks like it’s slipping towards Hearts or Rangers.
When the Celtic crowd turns against their own, it gets ugly.
At the final whistle, the damning verdict came from a row behind us.
“Fuck off Celtic, you’re pish man!”
Hard to argue with that.
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