I’d like to thank our wonderful board for robbing me of one of my biggest enjoyments in life, following Celtic has now become torture

In the past, when I’d wake up on a mundane Wednesday morning in winter to get up for work, if Celtic were playing that night, it would immediately cheer me up.

It would make the day easier to get through because I had a game to look forward to.

It might entail a trip to my CSC, and maybe a few sneaky midweek pints if the wife was willing to do taxi for me.

I’d consider that one of life’s simple pleasures.

You see, my love of Celtic has always provided me with a kind of escapism from the sometimes harsh realities of life.

When life was tough, I could always rely on Celtic to cheer me up.

I’ve been through a lot of tough times in my life, I’m sure everyone has at one point or another.

But there was always one consistent in there that provided me with happiness during those times.

Celtic.

Celtic, as my wife is always at pains to tell me, is my first love in life.

To a degree she’s right.

I fell in love with Celtic 18 years before I met my wife, so she was always going to be second!

But seriously, she knows it’s a different kind of love.

Celtic is a vocation, a passion, and a way of life.

My wife knew the way to my heart very early on in our relationship.

For just our third Christmas together, she gave me tickets to see Celtic play Rangers 1872 at Celtic Park.

Boy, did that woman understand how I ticked!

It’s no surprise we’re still together, and still going strong 22 years later.

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m rambling on like this, but there is a point to it.

What I’m trying to say is that Celtic has always been a source of happiness and enjoyment for me.

I’ve met some of the best friends I have through Celtic, and lost count of the amount of like minded people who’s company I’ve enjoyed and gotten to know.

But for the first time in my life, Celtic is no longer a source of enjoyment, escapism, or happiness for me.

Since the beginning of last summer, I had a gut feeling that we were on the cusp of something grim.

My instinctual feeling from studying Celtic so closely as blogger almost every day was that the storm clouds were gathering.

I just knew the summer transfer window was going to be shambolic.

I knew that the board weren’t going to sort out Brendan Rodgers’s contract situation.

And I knew those two things combined were going to lead us to where we find ourselves today.

Where we find ourselves today is in a nightmare at Celtic I never thought possible.

My instincts told me that things could get bad, but this bad?

Our club has become a dictatorship, run by a despot who thinks he owns the entire operation.

He has installed a clown as the Head of Football Operations, simply because this clown told him he had a bridge to sell him.

Desmond, being the double billionaire that he is, bought that bridge.

The end result is that this absolute clown is now in charge of the entire footballing operation at Celtic Park.

While the rest of the already well established clowns on our board watch on in abject horror, this clown has been given free reign to burn Celtic to the ground.

It seems he might have brought another clown in to manage the club in the form of Wilfired Nancy.

In the space of just three games, the football squad has been reduced from something coherent, to a circus act.

Clueless, directionless, and hapless describes how they played last Sunday.

If you install a clown at the top and give him free reign, then the whole place turns into a circus.

That is exactly what’s happened at Celtic.

And for me, thanks to our wonderful board of clowns, watching the club I love has become torture.

Maybe I’m being a bit harsh on Nancy.

Perhaps he’s just an apprentice clown?

But if he loses tonight at Tannadice, he will definitely have completed his apprenticeship and he’ll become a fully qualified clown at the current circus that is Celtic.

My wife asked me this morning if I was going to my CSC tonight for the match.

I told her I couldn’t be arsed.

I have a few cans of beer in the fridge, I’ll flop down on the couch and brace myself for more misery like last Sunday’s.

How miserable it becomes will dictate how many cans I drink.

At the outset I said it cheered me up waking on a mundane winter’s Wednesday morning, knowing I had a Celtic match to look forward to.

The prospect of waking up on a mundane winter’s Thursday morning on the back of a fourth successive defeat for the club I love?

With a hangover to boot?

That’s a torture I don’t recall ever having lived since the nightmare that was the Covid season.

All the enjoyment of watching Celtic has been robbed from us.

This is what our wonderful board has reduced us to.

But you know what’s even worse?

The end to this nightmare is no where in sight.

Let that sink in.