TONY WATT earned his place in the Celtic fairytale one November night in 2012 in the Champions League. His winning goal against Barcelona was a Roy of the Rovers type dream come true for the Celtic supporting young player. He seemed to have the footballing world at his feet. A Celtic Sate of Mind podcaster and author Paul Dykes dwells on what might have been as he asks whatever happened to Tony Watt?
WHATEVER HAPPENED TO TONY WATT?
The girl behind the bar was wearing a black skinny-fit t-shirt emblazoned with the unambiguous and slightly disconcerting slogan, ‘I Love Violence’, as my Celtic travelling troupe entered The Jolly Roger bar in the belly of Hamburg’s anarchistic pirate quarter, Sankt Pauli.
Despite the barmaid’s attraction to a good old-fashioned brawl, my travel companions and I had arrived in peace. We would have much preferred to learn of vintage and hard-to-find Adi Dasslers, The Beatles’ visit to the nearby Dom funfair and, of course, the squatters’ iconic Totenkopf during our weekend visit to the home of Hamburg’s Braun Weiss.
Somewhere between the Star Wars and Korova Milk Bars, The Jolly Roger’s tables and walls are adorned with posters, stickers, pennants, scarves and curio from all over the football world. It is the greatest anti-fascist, anti-establishment graffiti gallery you could ever imagine and we were mightily heartened to discover flashes of Glasgow’s Green and White amongst the KiezKicker collage. There’s a gun-toting Walter Sobcheck, warning us that “These Colours Don’t Run”, courtesy of the Sankt Pauli Skinheads; fan protest art to prevent a police station from being situated in the back straight of the Millerntor; various proclamations of “Gegen Nazis”; and the red-and-black skull and crossbone ‘Jolly Rouge’ as a statement to “Bring Back St Pauli”.
We were well and truly steeped in St Pauli sozial romanticism as the Astra beers and Fritz-Kolas were ordered and we settled down in the corner of this intriguing bierhaus. Energie Cottbus were hosting this fan-cultural phenomenon on the big screens, and the barmaid with a penchant for ultra-violence informed us that no other football match would be shown as long as St Pauli were in action. Despite the house rules, the barmaid brought over a laptop from behind the bar so that we could simultaneously enjoy Celtic’s visit to the Highlands on league duty against Inverness Caley.
Two hours later and, partly drunk on comradeship, new friendships and the St Pauli mythos, I was convinced that Celtic had unearthed their finest home-grown striker since Charlie Nicholas. We had just witnessed Neil Lennon’s shadow side record an impressive 4-2 victory at a historically hazardous Highland haunt and 18-year-old Tony Watt had scored a double in his first start.
As a group of Teddy Boys at the bar began to grab each other’s throats after a minor disagreement, we decided to move on to The Shebeen. A rendition of 1980s disco anthem, ‘Give It Up’, by KC & The Sunshine Band was transformed in homage to the Coatbridge youngster, and it unashamedly became the soundtrack of our weekend.
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