THE events of 22 May 2005 will remain engraved with a sharp chisel on the heart of every Celtic supporters who was around at the time. Not without cause, is it called Black Sunday and, frankly, our worst nightmare could not have been as bad as that.
The position was that Celtic simply had to equal or better what Rangers did to win the Scottish Premier League. Celtic were at Motherwell and Rangers were at Easter Road. There would be no question of either Motherwell or Hibs “lying down” as was widely suspected of Dunfermline Athletic two years previously. In addition to sheer pride on the last day of the season and perhaps sneaking into Europe, Motherwell, managed by Terry Butcher, did not care for Celtic, and Hibs simply did not like Rangers.
We all know what happened. My own vivid memories of collapsing over a gambling machine in the pub amidst cursing, disbelief and even tears from grown men still come back to haunt me, as does the walk home from the pub.
It was in fact a lovely summer day. Where I live is neither noticeably pro or anti Celtic. Indeed, football is no big deal with some folk. Birds were twittering in the trees, people were doing their garden, women were pushing prams, older men were walking their dogs, younger, less secure, men with a point to prove were roaring past on motor bikes – but I was in my own catatonic trance of disbelief and almost denial. Just as he left the pub, one fellow asked “When does the bus leave for the Cup Final on Saturday?”. No-one answered.
It is important to realise however that “Black Sunday” was not just one isolated event. In fact, it had been coming for some time. We did not know at the time (although possibly the more prescient of us might have wondered) that Martin O’Neill was quitting at the end of the season in order to spend more time with his ailing wife.
In retrospect, it might have been better for both Martin and Celtic if he had stepped aside a few weeks earlier and left the remaining games in the hands of his deputy John Robertson, a man who did not always get all the credit that he deserved. Martin’s judgement of a few players was a little suspect in the crucial run in to the title that year.
The danger signal should have been well and truly up when we managed to lose to both Hearts and Hibs at Parkhead in April. Edinburgh rarely wins at Celtic Park, and when it happened twice in a month, it was a cause for serious concern among the supporters. The finger was being pointed, more or less universally, at John Hartson, who did not really look fit. He had had a good few years with Celtic, and was generally well liked, but he had had injury problems and he looked off the boil. On the other hand, there were three young forwards in Shaun Maloney, Craig Beattie and Aiden McGeady who were deployed sporadically and fitfully. Maloney, in particular, looked as if he could have benefitted from a run in the team.
The problem, in a funny sort of a way was Craig Bellamy. He was here on loan from Newcastle United, having endeared himself to the Celtic fans by falling out with Graeme Souness, then manager of the Toon! He was simply a superb player with a strange sort of run in which the top half of his body hardly seemed to move, but the bottom half was lightning fast. He was a great goalscorer as well, with a hat-trick at Tannadice in March remaining in one’s memory, but the problem was that he was too fast for the rest of the forward line! Whatever John Hartson’s assets were, speed was not one of them, and the contrast in the two Welshmen was stark and obvious.
The trouble with the team in spring 2005, however, was that the problems were sometimes disguised. The reverse to Hearts, for example, on 2 April was immediately counterbalanced the following week when Celtic beat the same opponents in the Scottish Cup semi final at Hampden.
And then came the (in some ways) fatal day when we beat Rangers 2-1 at Ibrox on 24 April. Petrov and Bellamy scored brilliant goals and it was difficult now to avoid the conclusion that the job was done and that the League was won. It lies deep in the soul of all Celtic supporters that beating Rangers is all that matters, and the euphoria, shared even by the Press and TV, was obvious and universal.
Yet, there was always the dictum of Jock Stein who said that the points gained for beating St Johnstone or Falkirk or Partick Thistle were just as valuable as those for beating Rangers, and that should have struck a chord. Six days later we blew up against Hibs in a game in which a youngster called Scott Brown had an outstanding contribution for the Edinburgh side, and questions were now raised about the defence as well with Stan Varga and Jackie McNamara being discussed vehemently on the buses home.
Nevertheless, we were still in the driving seat. John Hartson quietened his doubters with two goals against Aberdeen at Parkhead, and then in a match of barely believable tension, we edged home against Hearts at Tynecastle in a game where more objective opinions than ours would have agreed that Hearts deserved a draw. But Rangers were still winning and were still on our coat tails, and to be absolutely sure of our 40th League title, we really had to beat Motherwell at Fir Park on the last Sunday – a task that did not really seem beyond us.
The mind shivers at the recollection of that awful day. One goal up at half time from Chris Sutton, and the bad news from Easter Road seemed an irrelevance. But then we failed to score again. Gordon Marshall in the Motherwell goal played far better than he had ever done for us, and we simply lacked the punch with the luckless John Hartson having at least two great chances to kill the game off.
But he didn’t and we all know what happened – an overhead kick from Scott McDonald took everyone by surprise, including himself, one suspects, to equalise for Motherwell very late in the game, and then with Celtic reeling, he scored again. It was a catastrophic event for all those who loved the green and white.
There followed the anti-climactic Scottish Cup final. A misty, unpleasant day, a demoralised support who now knew that O’Neill was going and a poor game. Nevertheless, an early goal from a free kick taken by the hard-working and whole-hearted Alan Thompson was enough to see Celtic through. Chris Sutton missed a penalty, and Alan Archibald of Dundee United hit the bar in the last minute, but Celtic won their 34th Scottish Cup, and that was at least something.
But some things stay with you all your life.
We would all like to know what really went on in the last days of Martin O’Neill’s otherwise glorious tenure of the managerial post, but one thing is certain, and that is that we will never really get over Black Sunday.
But we have to take the rough with the smooth …. or do we?
David Potter
