Redemption – “What’s The Story…Postecoglory”

“What’s The Story?”…‘Postecoglory!’ (Redemption)…

. (Photo by Ian MacNicol/Getty Images)

Unsung, enigmatic, plucked out of the east;
his remit, transition – from famine to feast.
By dint of migration a proud Aussie Greek –
his grasp of our ethos instinctive and deep.
A pedigree peerless in Oz and Japan –
none quite like Postecoglou had graced this fair land.

Unleashed amid howls of derision and scorn
from detractors, of impartiality shorn.
Wrong-footed, ill-briefed, of all insight devoid –
from the off Ange ragdolled them, their egos destroyed.
Scribes, analysts, pundits forensically sussed;
Antipodean bluntness – a media nonplussed.

Calamitous start – haunting knell of near past;
still he stuck to his guns, to his tenets held fast.
As the tide duly turned, concept ‘Angeball’ gained pace …
Postecoglou swept up in a faithful embrace …
and renewed kindred spirit welled up in the stands –
a rock-solid bond between mentor and fans.

With the doctrine entrenched and the ranks reinforced;
as the players bought in … Ange’s tactics endorsed …
so the mindset bore fruit, the performance beguiled –
ripe the harvest erelong and imperious the style.
Early silverware pay-off, “… and Oh! what a scene –
the terraces were covered in banners of green!”

Ange Postecpglou with the League Cup (Photo by Ian MacNicol/Getty Images)

Expedient shutdown, opposed by just one;
a commonweal triumph – bald self-interest shunned.
A viral hiatus – scarce too much to ask;
behemoths arrayed – which in glory would bask?
Come the crunch head-to-heads … Newco’s valley of tears …
brought to heel, then devoured by its innermost fears.

On the cusp of the ‘Split’, handy cushion secured;
the title that beckoned, a font of allure.
One last push, seal the deal, let the ‘grand’ people sing;
redemption at hand – epic feat on the wing.
Veiled optimism – cautious, but hard to suppress;
prize there for the taking, why hanker for less?

Dour Dingwall … with tension, so palpably fraught;
control absolute – but long fragile, nerves taut.
To ‘Paradise’, fronting the Govan undead –
that heady concoction of yearning and dread!
Scorned chances to clinch it, thus waved them back in;
praise God, didn’t buckle – so, prospects undimmed.

False start back at our place, Hearts rocked us – and how!
Dug deep, reeled them in, turned the screw, felt them bow.
Pursuers deflated – had hoped we might choke;
not that team, not that day – rich folklore invoked.
All done bar the shouting … checkmate … one more point;
just to make it official, our saviour anoint.

Then, Tannadice … seat of much drama erstwhile;
adversary rooted … like us … in exile.
The spoils hot contested – no night for faint hearts;
but, “We. Never. Stop.” … flat out, right from the start.
So, mission accomplished – our chutzpah restored –
an icon elect … die-hard Celt to the core.

Impassively deadpan, as if hewn from rock;
an aura of clout harking back to ‘Big Jock.’
Reviving our spirit, our faith and our pride;
our sense of tradition – that warm glow inside.
Tomorrow, take stock – ask yourself, “What’s The Story?”
… for now, though, just wallow in ‘Postecoglory’!

Copyright ‘The Bhard of Paradise’, March ~ May 2022

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About Author

The Celtic Star founder and editor, who has edited numerous Celtic books over the past decade or so including several from Lisbon Lions, Willie Wallace, Tommy Gemmell and Jim Craig. Earliest Celtic memories include a win over East Fife at Celtic Park and the 4-1 League Cup loss to Partick Thistle as a 6 year old. Best game? Easy 4-2, 1979 when Ten Men Won the League. Email editor@thecelticstar.co.uk

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