Crash, Bang, Wallop.

Memories of a certain cup semi-final in 1988 for those of us ‘oldies’ who were at the original ‘Henry, Henry drop the baw’ game when the Hearts goalie became a great Celtic fans favourite after being outjumped on his own goal-line by ‘He’s fat, he’s round, he’s worth a million pounds, Mark McGhee, Mark McGhee’ for a certain Scotsport presenter to ram the ball home right in front of the Celtic end on our magical march towards a glorious centenary double.

Is Craig Gordon Henry Smith Mk II? Oh please let it be!

The facts are Celtic were pretty rotten for the most part of 70 odd minutes as they looked tired and lethargic no doubt brought upon by our three goal midweek drubbing in Lisbon and had the numerous scribes who work for our pish-stained Scottish football media getting the Kleenex at the ready as they counted down the minutes to their Celtic in crisis headlines. Strange as that may sound this is probably half true!!

However, football is not always about the niceties on display and is sometimes just about having guts and desire and Gordon Strachan’s Celtic team showed against Hearts that even when they have a bad day at the office they still have a burning winning desire that makes them current Scottish champions and after yesterday’s fightback cast-iron certainties to make it 2-in-a-row.

Make no mistake fholks, 13 games into the SPL season Celtic are Champions in waiting and it is only a matter of when and not if the Bhoys become champions and ringfencing a certain date in your calendars early next tear for another title-winning party hopefully at Celtic Park.

And now for my own admission.

I’m one of those fhans who always stays to the end. Always have done and always will do and exchange strong words at the 75 minutes gone so time to go brigade as they depart the ground leaving me, my mates who sit next to me and 29,000 others to applaud the team off the field at full time after invariably another Celtic victory.

Well guess who left after 80 minutes for the first time in his life? Yep, you got it in one!

Two of my kids are making their confirmation next week (embdy want my ticket for the Falkirk League Cup game?) and our parish priest at St Paul’s, who is incidentally a smashing fella, asked for all the children making their confirmation next week to receive the act of confession before Saturday evening’s 5.30pm mass.

Now doing the arithmetic there was absolutely no chance we could wait until the end so having told my mates and those good folk who sit around us at the start of the game the situation they laughed, knowing how annoyed I get with the early leavers.

And as I looked at the stadium match time and checked my watch every few minutes the clock ticked over to 80 gone and it was time for me and my oldest son to go. God (pardon me father if you’re reading this!) it was gut wrenching as we sheepishly (pardon me Aberdeen fans if you’re reading this!) got out of our seats in the middle of our row and headed towards the stairs. I awaited the cat-calls of part-time supporters but thankfully it never happened although if it did it I would have some excuse up about missing the only flight from Glasgow to Timbuktu this year if we didn’t leave immediately.

As we walked down the stairs and out of the ground I was amazed to see hundreds of supporters all rushing away with ten minutes plus injury time to go. Where they all heading to a confessional appointment or maybe that flight from Celtic’s home town to the other end of the planet really does exist?

As our walk turned into a jog nearing Helenvale Street this massive roar emerged from Paradise meaning only one thing. A Celtic equaliser.

Another amazing sight was witnessing my gang of fellow early leavers for the day all jumping up and down and hugging each other in the middle of the street. As for me, well yeah I gave out a roar of you feckin dancer and a hug for the wee man but a few seconds later my mind turned darker and I immediately thought basturt as I knew I should have been in the ground………I honestly don’t know how they folk can leave early every week, I honestly do not know although I’ll maybe save that story for another week.

It’s now 1-1 and as our jog becomes a run to get back to the car we keep hearing noises from Celtic Park. We’ve scored again I cry only for two fairly decent looking burds in a parked motor to tell me Nakamura went close but no cigar. For goodness sake this is a children’s show!

We get to the car with Bandido junior fresh as a daisy and Bandido senior blowing out of his arse and a brow covered in a pool of sweat and quickly turn on the radio. It’s Radio Scotland with the commentator feverishly telling us we’re now into injury time and by his reckoning two minutes to go. We drive down by St Mark’s and cut onto the traffic lights at the gushet of Shettleston Road and Old Shettleston Road.

It must be time up he continuously yells to his summariser as Celtic get a late corner as the clock ticks near four minutes of additional time. The cross is swung in there’s a stramash in the box © Arthur Montford and I think we’ve scored. To the commentator’s anguish we’ve scored and its zippidee do da zippidee day as the horn gets blasted full toot as the driver sitting at the lights in front of me looks as if he’s shiteing himself as he catches sight of me and my son screaming hallelujah like eejits through his rearview mirror.

Within seconds we’re further up Shettleston Road and pass some thoroughly dejected Huns departing Deans’ and then the Marquis pubs. Has the Queen died? No, it’s far, far worse than that as Celtic have stuck another one right up their holes and by God are they hurting like feck.

Feck this feels great and amazingly there is a bonus in leaving the game early but only on condition you get to see the pain on their faces every time you do!

I’d imagine it will be a long time before they feel so down again…………………..what do you mean within 24 hours they’ll feel even worse?

The final whistle is soon upon us and its sheer joy as a seven point gap becomes league over in the matter of the League being won in a few small minutes.

We get home pick up my daughter and make confession at ten past five. After the kids receive their penance I go in but find it particularly strange talking to the priest about my sins while still feeling as high as a kite.

In the end all is well as the kids make their confession and the Bhoys claim the title but please, please, please father. Please make the next ‘must attend’ confessional before Sunday morning mass!

Champions.