The Pars and the Celts

Wednesday night was different. I found myself among the football hordes, in the middle of the Lisbon Lions stand at Parkhead, watching Celtic play Dunfermline.
Dad had phoned mid afternoon to ask if I fancied a trip to Parkhead as he had two season tickets temporarily in his possession. As I’m not much of a football fan I didn’t exactly jump at the chance. Dad and Kenny were always the football nuts. The odd game of footie, a weekly games of fives, and only the occasional outing to see a game, that was about it for my football dedication. The team I went to see most was probably the Westwood Rovers, and they didn't have much of a home ground.
I was tired, work was boring, I had an appointment with the gym after work and I had a nice piece of lasagne waiting for me when I got home. Humming and hawing I thought it over as my Dad spoke over the mobile.
Wednesday had been a bit of a struggle. The atmosphere in the office is rubbish at the moment as those of us in the prepress department have still not been informed on where we stand with regards to the company amalgamation with the Daily Record. I’ve been quite happy just to work on and get on with things while the managers make their minds up but the atmosphere has been worsening recently, speculation is rife and there’s always a bit of whispering and muttering going on which doesn't help the atmosphere. So being fed up I didn’t feel particularly up for any last minute trips but after a little consideration I accepted my Dad's invite.
Why not? A wee change. It had been a while since I'd went to a footie match.
Dad usually goes with his cousin and neighbour Michael Brady, as Michael’s son, the owner of the second ticket, often doesn’t get the chance to go along. So my Dad usually goes along to enjoy the games in his place. Michael was ill on Wednesday evening, however, so Dad invited me along.
It had been at least ten years since the last time I’d been in the Parkhead. Since then it’s always been Hampden for the very occasional Scotland game or music gig. 2 U2 visits, the Stones and a Chilli Peppers concert were all in Hampden. Music gigs have been the only occasions I've found myself standing, or jumping about singing, in a football stadium more recently.
Liam Gallagher was there on Wednesday night. It wasn't THE Liam Gallagher obviously. This one was eight years of age. He was the mascot of the night. Not the bloke in the big dog outfit but the home team's young visitor that led the teams on to the park as the music started blaring from the loudspeakers overhead.
Back in my teens, when I was vaguely interested in footie, I’d occasionally visit Parkhead on a Saturday afternoon with my mates.
Back when it was affordable.
Chaz, Colin, Tony and myself would stand in the temporary stands, around 1993-4, shivering in the cold, soaking in the rain, watching Van Hooijdonk and the lads. We even met Fergus McCann one day and got our photo taken with him (I’m not sure whether he was looking at the camera though). Fergus being the main man that rescued Celtic from near bankruptcy in 1994.
How times have changed.
The crowds were taking great delight in singing about Rangers current plight. Something along the lines of “We’re gonnae have a party” echoed at various points around the various stands. It won't be much of a party, I thought, with no one to compete against.
I was quite surprised by how busy the mid week game was, especially considering this was the current table leaders v the current table trailers.
Dad had parked the car around twenty minutes walk away, up beside Shawfield stadium, and just as we'd pulled over to park, cars were pulling up alongside us, passengers disembarking, most with the green and white wools. The walking crowds gathered as we made our way up towards the stadium. Families, couples, fathers and sons, pensioners, groups of kids with a single adult guardian. All were talking away as they walked, the large lights of the stadium growing larger in the dark evening sky as we approached.
We entered the stadium through the usual turnstiles flashing the season tickets, which lit up in response with a bright green 'go' light and strode into the main hall, passing some ticket sellers and the food and drinks kiosks on our way.
£4.10 for a scotch pie and bovril? Crazy prices. I'll never complain about Greggs again. You don't even get beans? You've got to have baked beans with a scotch pie for gawds sake! Especially at that price.
I was starving. I was missing my lasagne.
Most of the stands were pretty full as the match began, the gathering noise echoing up and around the stadium from various corners continuously throughout like a vocal wave machine. One stand would sing one verse and the other stand, the next in response like some sort of giant choir practice. A large crowd of fans in the corner of the Lisbon stand with flags and drums created an almighty racket, thumping away throughout the game's entirety and singing away.
The Green Brigade. The nutter fans. Fans that go to the games more for a workout than for the entertainment by the looks of things. They created a great atmosphere within the giant walls and got a lot of the other stands singing along with them in their enthusiastic chanting, belting out the simple lyrics. Some of the lyrics I could not make out through the echoes and some just seemed made up on the spot, probably by a couple of particularly loud voices, swiftly repeated by others until it became a loud chorus circling the crowd filled stadium.
As the rain intermittently poured down in white pellets through the bright lines of light from the floodlights Dunfermline struggled to make any kind of attack. The blues and yellows, or the Pars, seemed to sit back and merely defend for the most part of the game, only venturing upfield on the odd occasion during the first half, fighting Celtic off the best they could. The visitors were lucky to get away with only a 2-0 defeat thanks their goalkeeper Chris Smith (I think that was his name), who certainly earned his money on the night, saving and deflecting more than a good few shots.
At half time there was a draw for raffle tickets that had apparently been on sale in the stadium's gates and as the winning number was announced over the tannoy there was a loud cheer from the corner of the south stand and a wee couple emerged from the cheering crowd waving and jumping about.
£15,000 they won?! That would have bought them a couple of pies from the food kiosks.
If I'd known about the fifteen grand prize I would have bought myself a ticket. That has to be better odds than the Wednesday night lottery. £15,000 just for going along to the footie on a Wednesday night? Maybe this football malarky is worth it after all?