proudest moment as a celtic fan?

All of the above.

Listening to the crowd sing as intently as I watch what's happening on the field, from 3,000 miles away!

 

1983. Ibrox. Final game of season. Had to win and hope Dundee Utd lose at same time.

2-0 down at half time.

4-2 at FT!

Lost the league but celebrated anyway.

 

Seville.

I was living in Portugal at the time and travelled over with hundreds of Porto fans who couldn't have been nicer, or so I thought. Was treated like a king on the way back and the ones that could speak excellent English wouldn't stop singing our praises.

Kept my Celtic top on for a week after that and can't remember paying for a drink the entire time............

 

Winning the title for tommy was amazing,sure we closed a 9 point gap tht season aswel.

 

Seville, only 7 at the time but remember the whole game vividly. I had watched every match in the run to the final, bar the FK Suduva games and it had been such a rollercoaster. Cried for about an hour after the game, remember going to school the next day wearing my jersey, proud as ever.

 

Probably been said but the Motherwell game when we lost the league last season. The crowd, lennys speach, cried like a baby.

 

I have three.


1. 2008 season, unbelievably coming back from a huge deficit to win the league. Still remember that beauty from Naka vs THEM.

2. 2003 UEFA Cup run obviously, still sends shivers down my spine thinking what we achieved.

Especially the 2-0 at Anfield and all the Celtic fans in Seville making it their temporary home.


3. 2000-01

The beginning of getting back to were we belong, sure we won the league a few years before hand for the first time in ages.

But this season was when we showed our class.

 

I'm getting goosebumps reading these posts, the Motherwell game last year was a proud moment, I was nearly crying! and obviously everything about the Road to Seville fills you with pride but for me its winning the league for Tommy Burns, coming back when it looked like it was all over to win it for a true legend, it sums up what the Celtic spirit is all about

 

There are far too many moments to pick out just one, but Lisbon and Seville have to get a mention. With excuses to Marie for posting old this old piece from >10 years ago, but the following was my attempt to encapsulate my pride of being a Celtic fan ...

2002: A Space (Bhoy’s) Odyssey ​

I stare absent-mindedly at the MON Dynasty wallpaper as my Treble Y2K+1 screen saver kicks in and Henrik’s tongue picks me up and spits me out in the past. This is no nostalgia trip - I’m on for a metaphysical treble: Venerate the PAST, accept the PRESENT (it’s the thought that counts!), embrace the FUTURE: I plug in my virtual-reality headset, control that high, through ball with 1 majestic touch, dummy 2 defenders with my 3rd swish of the hips and volley the 4th and winning goal in Celtic’s 5th Champions League triumph.

The PAST: I first saw Paradise in ‘59; when The Jungle really was a jungle and a wee bhoy of 4 could get lost in the grass. Back then, negotiating the logistical intricacies of the turnstiles was an up-lift-ing experience, penalty boxes were measured in yards, and, we paid in Pounds, Shillings & Pence. Speaking of Old P – those toilets under the terraces would make even a Frenchman blush: Shrek meets the Sewer guys from Chewing The Fat, sprayed liberally with Ammonia(weeboylookingforbovril).

That day’s baked diamond-hard in my memory, like cold porridge in an unwashed pan. It was déjà vu in reverse: I’ve never been here before, but I’ve been many times in the future. Day 1 of a 4-decade pilgrimage. Now, I’m not normally prone to euphoria-edged, exaggerated, ethnocentric exaltation (?), but I believe Celtic and their supporters are unique. Oh aye? cynics whisper - tell!: Well, it may not be the definitive definition, but suspend time (and disbelief) and join me in a quest to trace that mythical soul and pureness of heart– what I call The C-Force - which separates Bhoys from lesser mortals.

A dull hum quivers the ether as I boot up the generator on my IT-C-Cel space-time transformer. A flash of emerald green crystal blinks ready-mode on the display panel of my headset. One short hiss & click as the pressure & safety locks engage and, WHOOSH! – I’m thrust back into the body-molded comfort of my acupuncturised lemming-skin seat, as we cannon through time & space to – check panel - Stardate Zero 1888, Planet Mars (or, was that Maris?)

Venusian Blinds open: At the edge of my vision stands a man, deep in thought, staring into the distance. A spiritual leader of The Brotherhood. His name is Walf R.Id. Sensors detect movement and swing me around 45° to survey the scene: A dark, dank street in a run-down, red-sandstone metropolis. A gang of rough & ready ragamuffins from an exiled tribe known as The Bhoys, are kicking around a discarded (post-famine) potato – or is it a cyber pod? (Welcome to warp space!).

<TARGET ENGAGED > A star diadode sparkles on my dream-powered Vision Control Adapter. Bingo! Id blinks twice, frowns, then breaks into a broad smile. Id is a modest man with no Ego (Jungian slip?). What happens next brings tears to his eyes: I flash-feed a live stream from a web-cam onto his irises. He’s watching a scene from Paradise, Stardate 2002. A sea of scarves swells above a 60K Green Army from every corner & ethnic strand of the universe; in every shade under the sun(s); every creed known to man; as they sing with one voice, with hope in their hearts, (hail-) hailing a flag of victory fluttering in the cool spring breeze. I jiggle a k-n-ob (joke erased) on the Brainwave Verbalizer and tune in to the voice in Id’s brain: ‘Nothing’s impossible. The dream can become reality. Keep the Faith!’ The C-Force knocks me sideways and bumps me against the Century Adjuster Node.

PAUSE: If there’s one thing that makes my shamrock-shaped heart skip a beat, it’s Celtic’s affinity with the underdog in society, and the association with charity and tolerance passed down by the founding fathers. Few things give me greater pleasure than seeing clusters of fans from Asian, or other ethnic minorities, amongst the throng; singing the songs with gusto; passing their love for the club to the next generation; adding strength & forward movement to The C-Force.

Century Adjuster Node beeps. Main Function control displays single operation mode: We’ve jumped 100 years in 10 nanoseconds to Stardate 1988: The C-Force we encountered was so strong; we’ve blown some circuits and bounced back to Paradise. - It’s late in the game against (expletive deleted). Celtic have clinched the title in the most important year - in numerological terms - in the inter-galactic astro-calendar, since Id had his vision. First double in 11 years – in Centenary Year - Cosmic, Baby! Noise drowns out thought. A warm glow bathes us as another blast of C-Force hits us full on…Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, we don’t care what -WHOOSH! We’re off again.

PAUSE. By 1988 I’d moved from Glasgow to London, then onto Amsterdam, where I still live today (a long weekend gone wrong). Along the way I’ve re-incarnated (on ambrosia?) from brainy sprog, to teenage pre-hippie; Soul Boy to Roxy/Ziggy clone; New Wave New Man to gothic/beatnik nighthawk - I wore more black than the average priest. Today I’m a burnt-out IT pro in the throws of mid-life crisis (great excuse). Devoted father of 2, piloting B 52’s over their heads, as they dance to the latest pop-pap hip-hop princess with less talent than your average tortoise. Never once has my love of Celtic been influenced by fad or fashion. Why is this? : ‘Cause he’s a dedicated follower of - The C-Force. Oh Yes he is!

Bright light fills the SolarWind Screen. We descend. Planet Esto Ril, Li Zboa galaxy. A cyber-carpet whisks us underground, away from the light, to a dark, concrete catacomb. Strangers are speaking in tongues – the languages of Roman gods and Space Girls from Ipanema – as they congregate in a tunnel, bewilderment on their faces. In the distance, an eerily familiar tune can be heard, edging gradually closer. A group of men march past in single file, in full voice, heading upwards, heads held high, towards the bright light. A noble Knight of The C-Force known as Big Jock is leading 11 Bhoys to glory. It’s Stardate Zero 1967 and the song is Grand Ol’ Team. The C-Force hits interstellar overdrive and we hold our breath as the cyber-carpet whisks back and we head into the sun, all systems buzzing – WHOOSH! …….

PAUSE: I was 13 when Celtic became the first British club to win the European Cup. Immature, but a cosmic storm of testosterone charging around inside. The girl I knew best was Clara (or was that Cleara?) Sil. Back then, I’d no sense of missing out (no sense, full stop!) - a weekend paper run + a few bob helping a Celtic Pools agent wouldn’t cover the trip - but I vividly recall the wild excitement and blissful euphoria that evening, pulling us like a magnet from the TV set and outside to dance like demented dervishes. Even that grumpy old witch who lived up the street cast aside her reservations (Honest Missus - I didn’t mean to smash your windows – twice!) and hugged and kissed me, an ancient Celtic scarf draped around her walking stick. The vibrations from The C-Force were strong enough to touch, blanketing us in it’s awesome aura.

….WHOOSH WAIT! Hold it!

PAUSE. You may have noticed I haven’t said that much about football. There are countless players & moments I revere, but it’s been said before, and more eloquently, elsewhere. What I’m striving for is more ephemeral – Heart & Soul, rather than Flesh & Blood. You want names? Check the Registrar of Births in Glasgow for the last week in May’67 - Loads of babies with 12 Christian names, 11 the names of lions (no, not Leo!). It’s rumoured a Rangers fan working there got so annoyed he went bonkers. With no disrespect to any of the 11, or the 1 poor soul lumbered with…Simpleton, Gag and Gumboil; Muckdog, McEel and Cack; Jobbybum, Wally, Charmless, Bald and Legless…

Touchdown. Mount Florida, Caledonia. Body-heat sensors register 133,961. We’re hovering above a massed choir of angels: Stardate Zero 1970. The Celtic End’s so full there are no passageways. A boy with 1 boot is carried on a sea of hands to a nearby Saint (Andrews/John’s?). Whistle blows. The Boy and the Saint join in the singing. The boy limps away ecstatic: Celtic have reached their 2nd European Cup final, in front of the largest crowd EVER in European football – not counting gate-crashers (literally!) and, BEHOLD, A MIRACLE! : On a fence near the exit is 1 DM boot, slightly crushed. Boy weeps with joy (his mammy won’t batter him). Switch to close up. Yes, that boy was I. WHOOSH

Tic, Tic, Fizzle. Dalektetron magnets playing up. Open Venusian Blinds. Thick yellow smoke billows in the distance. Rhythmic whistling pierces the air. Stardate 1993. Planet Westphalia. 50 years earlier this was the engine that powered the most evil regime known to mankind. Home to the Borussia tribe, proudly anti-fascist. Full time. Celtic lost 1-0. Dortmund fans stream past the end where 8K Celtic fans “celebrate” with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life. Whistling stops. Air thunders as every single Borussia fan stands still to applaud them. You’ll Never Walk Alone fills the air. Borussia join in. This is how it should be. The C-Force hums in harmony.

PAUSE: The vast majority of football fans are a decent lot. Even when crushed together in a massive crowd (standing room only!), where one sway can lift you off your feet and carry you 5 metres; in the midst of a tense & important match, humanity can still shine through. Sadly, some need reminding that there’s nothing wrong with supporting your team with a passion, providing you respect the other side’s right to do the same! Lecture ends.

Whoosh, Blip, Tic, Whir. Silence. Open Venusian Blinds. Nothing but a dark void. Re-boot solar enhancers. Nothing. Vision scope to full power. Something out there. Steel. Glass. A space station? The roof opens. Keep cool (I’ve always found little green men a decent bunch!) Check panel – did that read 2001? – time mode indicator spins & skips. Whoosh (faint). Did we move?

We’ve moved - time? space? both? Try vision scope again. An ancient stone monument. Did that read 1982 or 1928? PHHHFFF. No visual but I hear singing. Whoosh – 2001 - the space station again, more singing. Same song. Tchssup. We’re back at the ancient monument. I zoom on ultra-sharp focus. A sign reads 1928. This is weird. Activate back-up circuits. 1982, 1928?, 2001. Adjust to wide scope. Vertical thrust lifts us into 5-mile hover. Aha! Amsterdam - 1982 AND 2001. To the west, the stone monolith built for the 1928 Olympics. To the East, the ArenA. Celtic have beaten Ajax - twice. The C-Force jumps off the scale.

Living abroad, you might expect my passion for Celtic would have faded. Wrong! It’s even stronger. I surf for crumbs and spend hours channel-hopping, hoping they’ll at least show the goals. Before the Internet, I’d spent 90 minutes staring at nothing else but a page on Ceefax, fingers crossed, waiting for a goal. Call me an ex-Pat if you like, but last I checked, Patrick was still my middle name!

Whoosh. Click. My It-C-Cel space-time transformer stutters. Vision gone. Radiowaves only. Dial skips - 2000, then 1998, now 2001. Heading home, to real time. 3 signals coming through simultaneously. Static crackles but I can make out some words. Martian has landed? City Devastated? Treble? Bass or Boss? Record impact or intact? Full volume: Yes! 1998 - Celtic champions. Record 9 in a row intact.. 2001- Brilliant Treble! 2000 – Martian has landed? What? Ah : Martin has landed Celtic job, Leicester City devastated. Something else. Boss’s Dad says he’d crawl on his hands and knees for the Celtic job. That’s The C-Force speaking at full power. Need I say more? NO!

All systems shut down. Quest over. Back to the future. END. <!-- / message --><!-- sig -->

 

There's so many but I'll go with recent memories because my love for Celtic has grown even further in the last few years. The Celtic support partying, despite losing the league to our bitter rivals, Neil Lennon's speech, that was one of the most emotional days as a Celtic supporter.

Then there's Neil Lennon lifting that title above his head, after all he's gone through. The way the Celtic support wrapped a big supportive arm around him when he needed it most really showed our unity. The day Lennon lifted his first title will never be forgotten.

Right now, is the proudest I've ever been to be a Celtic supporter due to the last few years. Hopefully there's plenty more to come with Lennon at the helm.

 

Every day I wake up and realise I'm a Celtic supporter.

 

I was at that game as well. My mates and I were in the enclosure at the shitpit and were going crazy at half time when we heard Dun Utd were losing. Then we realised we were losing too. After the game we found out Dun Utd weren't losing but we celebrated any way. Nicholas's last game for Celtic before he went to Arsenal. Went to Garthamlock that night . Got * big style.

 

The swell of pride when Lennon said he was going nowhere,the emotion inside the stadium was amazing.After all he'd been through,it was a victory,and not winning the League didn't even matter.

 

Stopping 10 in a row the sheer relief and joy at the same time for me will never be topped :icon_mrgreen:

 

You are a mentalist. In the good way.

 

Excellent story, thanks for sharing this. I wish i was there with them.

 

I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not, but I take all criticism - bad or good - with a pinch of salt, so, perhaps I should take it as a condiment?:icon_mrgreen:

Either way, Muchos Grassyarse and well done The Hand- If you actually managed to read through 2k words of stacatto (edited with a chainsaw) Sellic Sci-Fi, you are also clearly a mentalist or *! Cheers

 

Celtic 4 Juventus 3 from 2001 is one of my favourite games. This was the club who just a few short years ago pumped Rangers' multi million pound, star studded team 4-1 at Ibrox but were put in their place at Celtic Park. Seeing the frustration on David's face was great, I think he was expecting it as easy as the last time they played in Glasgow.

 

When I realised I was born a Celt.

 

Some of my proudest moments as a Celtic fan haven't been games as such, but the loyalty and good natured banter of the die hard support who continued to show up week after week during the dark days.

I remember one game at CP in 1992 and we were 4th or 5th in the league at the time. We were 2 up at HT and lost 3-2 (I'll be * if I can remember who against) yet we sang the whole game with Always Look on the Bright Side of Life getting a right good airing that day. :icon_mrgreen:

You needed a good sense of humour to follow Celtic in those years and we had it in spades as well as at least 20,000 easily, turning up every home game.

So although we didn't do well on the park in those days, the pride I felt standing next to my fellow fans and refusing to throw in the towel still ranks very high on my list.