Year Zero: I Am Legend (Celtic And The Champions League)

While, in a moment of tedious boredom (one of many I may add, note: to all charity game organizers these games should last only 1 hour) I got to thinking how often the word Legend gets banded about when we talk in a nostalgic sense about teams of old.

There was only one Legend on show at Celtic Park on Sunday. And the Legend of Henrick Larsson was quick to show us not much has changed since he left.

Watching Darren Jackson trying to pole axe fat overweight Motherwell veterans, Regi Blinker trying too impress (around 10 years to late Regi) and laughing at how much hair Brian McLaughlin has lost doesn’t equate to the tag legends.

Yes, folklore. The team that stopped 10 will go down in folklore. Guys like Marc Reiper, Morten Weigthorst, Craig Burley (eh?), Paul Lambert, Harald Brattbakk, Rico Annoni, Tosh McKinlay, Tom Boyd, Jackie McNamara, Jonathan Gould and Tommy Johnson for me will always be good for me to buy them a drink.

In fact they will probably be good for drinks for the rest of their life due to them being a part of that team. Mind you, Craig Burley might soon be struck of that list if he keeps on talking the shite he does on Setanta.

But, they are not like true Celtic legends. They are not Tommy Burns, Roy Aitken, Paul McStay, Henrik Larsson or the Lisbon Lions. I mention the Lions, as the 25^th May 1967 is the ground zero date of Celtic’s history. The fact that “The Legends” game was getting played 41 years to the day since Big Jock brought the European Cup to Britain’s shores (much to the BBC’s annoyance, who were favoring a Man Utd win) brought this further into focus.

Arseblog celebrated St Michael’s Day on Monday. 19 year anniversary since Michael Thomas scored that winning goal at Anfield. I remember watching that game. I agree it was a JFK moment in modern football. It was a moment Arsenal fans see as the start of the good times. Modern day Celtic was formed 22 years before that.

A legend that ensured 11 guys from a 30 mile radius of Glesga ( a feat that will never be repeated, there was only 6 Englishman on the park in last weeks borefest) meant that Celtic will be the most successful Scottish Team ever no matter how many titles or cups we win or lose.

One star means more than 5, 6, 7 or 8 in our backwater. 

I’m quite proud of the fact that my club is part of the exclusive 21 winners and 1 of only 5 winners from the UK. I was actively willing Chelsea to get beat last week. I don’t want a rich mans plaything and living proof of all that is wrong with the modern game winning it.

Ok, Man Utd has also been bought for profit but at least they won the thing before then. Strangely enough, I wouldn’t be bothered if Liverpool wins it again or Arsenal wins it for the first time. Arsenal can join the club. For football ethos purposes only.

Thing is as the rich get richer there won’t be many more joining that club. The “top 8” from the 4 richest leagues in the world will keep on winning it. The competition is gerrymandered for the cream to float to the top and the shite to sit in the middle or sink without trace into the UEFA Vase Trophy, a competition that has been devalued since the introduction of the group stages but strangely enough a competition that is now winnable by any of the middle order. Or 3^rd place Champions League teams from the lesser leagues to the common man in the street.

A competition where an Everton, Bolton, Sporting Lisbon, Fiorentina, PSV, Zenit St Petersburg and R*ngers (who were the worst team ever to reach the final) can reach the later stages show that it’s an open field. Hardly the cream of Europe (Sporting and Fiorentina proved to be especially proved to be poor, well, shit as being unable to break down a defense that contained Sasa Papac, Kirk Broadfoot, David Weir and an Ugly Betty look-alike is a shooting offence) and already Portsmouth are making noises about winning the thing.

Portsmouth? Gie me a break the closet they have ever got to make a dent in Europe was sending ships to war in the 1940’s.

 But the Champions League dropouts and the teams deemed not good enough to play in the Champs League have a chance of getting to final in Istanbul. AC Milan like Munich this year is short odds favorites. I will put money on them being as arrogant as the Germans and getting their arses felt like Graham Norton in a gay bar.

But….when Jan Vennegor Of Hesslelink scored to win Celtic the league last week I was glad that we had qualified for the Champions League. Straight in. Nae qualifier (unlike Barca, Liverpool, Arsenal or R*ngers (ha ha fucking ha)), nae Spartak Moscow this year (now, that was a team that should have went far in the UEFA Vase) and a £10m windfall. I was looking right away at who else had qualified and how the pots were looking.

 I was checking the other teams that had to qualify and matching them into the pots and wondering what would be a good draw (Lyon, Sporting, FC Basel was ma initial wish- dependent on teams qualifying of course) to ensure we at least made the last 16 again.

Last 8 is now the Holy Grail. This grail is tempered by the fact that we are shit away from home (as every team bar Barca have taken 3 points of us, even Anderlect who last won when Germans occupied Belgium), and that the chances of us winning the group are as slim as the winner of Americas next top model.

Last season I looked in envy as Porto and Schalke went head to head in the last 16. If we had got one of them our chances would have been 50/50. Instead we got Barca. Barsteward. But before I can worry about that I’m hoping for a lucky draw in the group stages where we are competing wie teams that are from the similar middle order.

I’m not kidding maeself on. We are not the cream of Europe. I will probably be looking after xmas for a decent run in the UEFA Vase Trophy and maybe even get a semi in ma pants if we reach the ¼ finals and I get the sniff of looking at going to Istanbul. 

But…. The Lisbon Lions, on the 25^th Maio 1967, them the skinny wee Scotsmen, plagued wie rickets and pleurisy, smoked 40 a day and were bevvied on sweet heart stout, beat Inter Milan, supermodels wie Latin American looks and a defense modeled on Mussolini, 2-1 they ensured that I would never feel inferior (no matter the financial gulf) when the Champions League tune strikes up.

 Forza.

Update: Welcome to LOTW!!!! Hope it’s the start of a beautiful friendship. Maybe we will end up holding hands. Maybe we will get married and have kids. Maybe I will hate yer guts and rip them out with a fish knife John Rambo style and feed them to little children. But welcome.