Dunfermline 0 Celtic 4

Four Goals. Three Points. Second in the league. One point above the Orcs. All in all, not a bad weekend. It almost makes up for what we had to endure last Saturday. Almost.

The good news weekend started in spectacular fashion, a good 21 hours before Celtic had kicked a ball. A 3-0 drubbing for the Huns, handed out by a team who play in Green and White, no less, set the tone for what would follow - and prompted much giggling and guffawing in Paranoid Tim land.

The sight of the Ibrox hordes engaging in a mass exodus on Saturday put a smile on this Tims face. And that was only at 2-0. By the time the third had hit the back of the net those brave few who had remained promptly joined the Ibrox unloyal in going for an early hotdog. I bet the Champions League can't come quickly enough now. For everyone but Eck.

And so onto Sunday. With uncustomary generosity the Huns had given us a chance to not only go back above them in the league, but to rub salt into the wounds by putting them down to fifth place. And boy did we take it.

First things first, let's not get carried away with the result. While a four goal win at East End Park is a welcome (and important) step in the right direction, there are still many more steps to take before we're anywhere near the finished article. The defence continues to exude vulnerability, distribution from the back is still poor and John Hartson looks to have refound his lead boots. On top of all that, our first half performance was not particularly impressive, despite going in at the break with a 2-0 cushion.

But those, and a few other little grumbles aside, the positives from yesterdays game far outweighed the negatives. For the first time in god knows how long we watched a Celtic side with a mobile, pacey midfield that was willing to get into the box and support the front two. And what a difference it made. Our movement off the ball, and the simple, effective passing that benefited from it, was a joy to watch at times. Long may it continue.

But Gordon Strachan has now given himself something of a dilemma. When Thompson and Lennon return from suspension should he immediately return them to the fold - replacing our new found pace and mobility with the experience they bring to the team? Or does he go with the flow, and take a chance that what we saw yesterday was only the beginning? It's a tough call. Despite his misdemeanors, Lennon is a stabilising force in our lineup, and the protection he (usually) provides to our back line is often underrated. With this in mind, it's likely that he will be slotted back into the starting eleven as soon as possible. Thompson, on the other hand, can expect to return to a prolonged spot on the bench. At least we can always hope.

Our style of football aside, there was a growing belief among the players yesterday at East End Park. And no more so than in Magic Zurawski. Yesterdays man of the match performance by the Pole was long overdue - there's no doubt he had been struggling in recent weeks. But, as we've continued to insist at The Paranoid Tim, it was only a matter of time before he started to produce the goods. And boy did he produce those goods yesterday. On another day he could have had four or five, (he certainly deserved the hattrick denied to him by a dodgy offside decision). Both his goals were well taken, particularly the first which had shades of Bellamy at Ibrox last season.

But it wasn't just the goals that impressed. It was his all round play; the movement off the ball, the willingness to take defenders on or to drift out wide when needed, or drop back scavenging for the ball when there was nothing on for him up front. And his little jink past a despairing Dunfermline defender in the run up to Nakamuras goal was sublime.

Without wishing to burden Magic with unnecessary expectation, there are some similarities between what we saw yesterday, and a certain Swedish Superstar. Even more so, his style of play shows more than a passing resemblance to Craig Bellamy. And with what looks like a serious knack for sticking the ball into the back of the net, Zurawski's time at Celtic could be very fruitful indeed, for both club and player.

No, I'm not saying he's the new Larsson, or indeed the new Bellamy - he's the new Zurawski. I think we'll be grateful of that long before this season is over.

Magic aside, there were other impressive performances yesterday. Craig Beattie is rapidly developing into a player we can't afford to leave out of the starting lineup. Even though he wasn't among the goals, his workrate and linkup play made him a vital cog in the Celtic machine. And for such a big lad he can certainly shift. His movement and willingness to chase back put Hartson to shame.

And, having offered to eat this very computer just 2 days ago if Mo Camara turned into a decent player, PT has to admit that he had a very decent game against the Pars. If he continues to improve, and cut out that defensive slackness, I'd be happy to admit I was wrong (any dentists out there?).

Finally, we come to Stan. What else is there to say about him? Without him, our team would be but a shadow of itself. We MUST keep him. End of story.

Other players, such as Boruc and Telfer continue to turn in good solid shifts. Nakamura looks sublime when he stops playing on the fringes and gets right into the centre of a game, as he did in the second half. We have to expect that there is still as much to come from our Japanese star as there is from Zurawski. When they both start firing on all cylinders, the rest of the SPL won't know what's hit them.

All in all, a good days work. And, with the Orcs dropping points on Saturday, we somehow find ourselves back up in second place. Who'd have thought that was possible after last weekend? With Hearts sprinting off into the distance, and both sides of the Old Firm looking capable of dropping points, this could be the most interesting season we've seen in a long time.

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One month on

Late August. We're now a month into the new season, a month into the Gordon Strachan era, and a month into the media campaign to get Wee Gord the sack as quickly as possible. Time to take stock, reflect on what we've learned so far, and indulge in some shameless paranoia.

First up, let's have a look at some raw statistics.

P6 W3 D1 L2 F14 A13

Not exactly great reading, I'm sure you'll agree. 3 wins out of 6, all at home, all against teams we should be beating. Contrast that with our away form, and the nature of our problem would appear to become clear. 3 games, 1 draw, 2 defeats. Scored 4, conceded 12. Had Craig Beattie not stuck one away in the final minute against Motherwell, we'd have lost all 3 games on the road.

Now looking at this, it might appear to the average layman, or bandwagon jumping journalist, that our Achilles heel this season will be our away form. But on closer inspection, that isn't the case. Bratislava was a freak occurrence, a one off (we hope) that shouldn't be repeated any time soon. If it is, I suspect we'll be unpacking our "Car Park Protest CSC" Scarves and welcoming a new manager to the fold before you can say "Sack the Board!".

Pushing the nighmarish game against Artmedia deep into the hellish recessed of our collective memories, our Eight goal thriller at Fir Park was the definitive game of two halves. A fine first half performance was quickly overshadowed by a calamitous second forty-five. Yet we still managed to take one more point at that particular ground than we did in the final game of last season. And more importantly, we showed a bit of bottle - something that was tragically lacking when Martin O'Neil's team blew the SPL Title there in May.

(In this Tims opinion, our game against Motherwll, more than any other, will become a template of how this season will pan out - our form will come and go as quickly as Jeremie Aliadiere.)

Finally, despite the loss to the Orcs at Ibrox, we cannot ignore the mitigating circumstances that ruined any chance of us winning - namely a crap refereeing performance. I've said before and I'll say it again. The Huns are NOT a good team, and had Hugh-Two not lost the plot, we would have taken all three points from our trip to Mordor. Don't let the Huns with typewriters in the national press convince you otherwise.

On the other hand, as bad as our away form might look, so to is our home form deceptive. A 4-0 win against Bratislava was welcome. We played well and should have become the first team ever to turn round a 5-0 deficit in a European tie if we'd only taken the chances that fell our way. But the other games, against both Dundee United and Falkirk, were not quite as convincing. A phrase involving the words over, papering and cracks sprung immediately to mind. There is clearly still alot of work to be done.

Off the park, we've made a hatful of signings to replace the dozen or so who've joined the ranks of the dearly departed in the post-O'Neil era. While it's far to early to call any of the players a good or bad signing, there are still a few indications of what we might be saying come the seasons end.

The two Poles are having mixed fortunes. While Boruc has impressed in between the sticks, Zurawski has done little of note, and the knives are already out. Here at PT, we believe that it will come good for Magic, but only if we give him the time and support he needs. That means no getting on his back during games, no groaning in a "Pass the ball forward, Grant!" kind of way when he scoops a tap in over the bar, and no ripping him to shreds on Clyde's open-line. He is clearly lacking in the confidence a striker needs. Once that first goal goes in, watch him explode.

Leaving the two Poles aside, we come to the conundrum that is Mo Camara. It has become increasingly clear over the last month that the boy isn't Celtic class. One decent run and cross against the Huns does not a good player maketh. To be fair to the left back, his Celtic career was pretty much over before he had even kicked a ball. Anyone who comes from Burnley on a Bosman and who shares a name with last seasons flop never stood much of a chance. Paranoid Tim would love Camara to turn into someone who doesn't remind us of a bizarre cross between Momo Sylla, Bombscare Tebily and Bobo Balde, but, alas, we don't hold out much hope. I'll eat my computer if Camara turns into a decent player. Sorry.

On the other side of the defence we have Paul Telfer. Much hilarity greeted the signing of the 33 year old, just as it did when a certain Slovak Magician sneaked into Celtic Park years earlier. Not that anyone is saying Telfer is the new Lubo. Far from it. What he does appear to be, however, is the type of solid professional we are desperately crying out for. If we had another three Paul Telfers at the back, we'd still be in Europe, and slugging it out at the top of the table with the Jambos. Telfer might only be a stopgap signing, but if he continues to do what he's doing, that's fine by us.

Finally we come to Shunsuke Nakamura. As has previously been said on this very paranoid posting paradise, this boy has more skill and raw talent in his body than the Wee Ned across the city will ever have. Sure, he's had a couple of quiet games. And I'm sure he'll have many more before the end of the season. What we have to remember is this. Truly special players will always drift in and out of games, always have games where they play on the fringes, not quite getting as involved as you'd like them to.

The difference between your special player, and your Joe Bloggs solid professional is this. It only takes one pass, one turn, one little bit of surreal magic, and the special player will setup a goal, score a goal, win you a game. Henrik could do it. Lubo could do it. And Nakamura will do it. Have faith, and ignore the media. This boy will be the most important signing Gordon Strachan will make.

So there you have it. Mo Camara aside, Paranoid Tim believes our signings have more positives than negatives. True, Aliadiere has gone, and we've still to see what Virgo can do, but no manager has an unblemished record in the transfer market. Just ask Alex McLeish. Or even Martin O'Neil.

And what's the conclusion of all this, I hear you ask? There is no conclusion. The conclusion will come at the end of the season when we can sit back, reflect, and work out just how much brasso we're going to need to keep the trophies clean.

But on the first months showing it'd be a brave Tim to make any sort of predictions on how much that bill will come to. We've had a mixed lot so far, and there are few indications that that will change. And for some horrible reason, whenever I've seen the Hoops in action this season all I can think about is Celtic under Tommy Burns. I hope I'm wrong.

We have to be patient. We have to give the team time to gel, give Strachan time to mould his players into a unit that will play football the way he wants it to be played. Once they do gel and once we get the Suttons, Agathes, Pearsons, and Kennedy's back to full fitness, the squad won't look quite so thin, and we'll be in a far stronger position than we currently are. At least that's the hope.

A few new signings wouldn't go amiss either. We are desperately crying out for players in several positions. Another Petrov-esque midfielder (preferably two) and a new left back are both a necessity, perhaps more so than the Central defenders the press are crying out for. If we don't sign them, and before Wednesday, it could be a long hard season.

But don't expect Wee Gord to be given much leeway if results turn increasingly worse, or if the Huns (or mini-Huns) sail off into the sunset. The knives are out for him, and short of winning the Champions League, they probably always will be.

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Goodbye Aliadiere, hello...anyone?

So farewell then, Jeremie Aliadiere. You came, you saw, you went away again.

Not since a certain Brazilian World Cup winner came, saw, and went away again have we wasted such a prodigious talent. Not since a certain excremently named defender arrived in a blaze of publicity have we looked forward to seeing someone in the hoops, only to be let down so badly. And not since Owen Archdeacon ground his arse print into the subs bench have we had anyone who looked so natural sitting waiting for his time to come.

To be fair to you, Jeremie, we're pretty sure you're a decent player. We're also pretty sure you'd have done a turn for us if you'd only been given the chance. With Zurawski not yet firing on all cylinders, and Sutton out, we thought it was only a matter of time before we'd see you haring down the wing, jinking inside a defender and firing a low shot into the far corner. But for whatever reason that just didn't happen. Perhaps you just didn't settle in Glasgow. Maybe you weren't doing it on the training ground. It doesn't really matter. When Ross Wallace is getting a game before you, you know it's time to move on.

Perhaps letting you go is best for all concerned. Wee Gord doesn't seem to have realised just what he had in Maloney or Beattie when he signed you, and with them being in top form, and full time Hoops, it was always going to be hard for you. If freeing up your wages allows up to strengthen the squad in other departments, then so be it. No player is bigger than the club, or so the cliche goes.

So goodbye, good luck, and no doubt it won't be too long before we see you on Match of the Day haring down that wing, jinking inside that defender and firing that low shot into the bottom corner.

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Sunshine on Grief

Ignoring my dodgy pun of a headline (I'll never make it at the Sun - thankfully), those of a nervous disposition should probably skip over this quick post, or avoid clicking on the following link. You have been warned.

Some of the boys at the CyberTims Forum didn't waste any time in putting the boot into Stuard Dougal after his god awful refereeing performance at the weekend. A Proclaimers inspired withering put down of a song soon found its way onto the Forums. And HERE it is in all its glory. Enjoy

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Not more Lennon. Well actually, no...

While the rest of the country has been building the gallows that'll hang Neil Lennon high, a few eccentrics have been getting on with the miserable hellish existence that passes for normal life in the wake of an Old Firm defeat. Just as Gremlins multiply in water, so to do Huns in the glow of victory. But as bad as a defeat to the Orcs can be, footballing life must go on. And while we wait patiently for the US Senate and British Parliament to declare Neil Lennon a high ranking Al-Qeada operative and whisk him off to Gitmo Bay in Cuba, other Celtic stories are slowly working there way back into the media.

First up, a bit of good news on the injury front. Worries over John Hartson's knee seem to have receded after a scan showed nothing of concern. Big Bad John is now once more free to stroll casually around the 20 square yard area in which he spends most of the game. Now that you're sure about the knee again, John, how about trying a wee sprint once in a while? I appreciate your goals 'n all, but...

Also mentioned in the above link is a quintuple whammy of potential transfer target name dropping. Not content with reminding us that we still haven't signed that Chinese bloke, we're also treated to a rehashing of a summer target that didn't quite make it here, Philippe Christanval (he used to play for Barcelona. Did you know that?).

A third defender, in the shape of Dinamo Zagreb stopper Bostjan Cesar, also has his name thrown into the 'if we mention enough names, we'll get one right eventually' mix. Who he is, or what he's done, only the almighty may know, but he does seem quite keen on the idea. Obviously Setanta isn't available in Croatia.

And, just for good measure, we're teased with the exclusive news that wee Gord was in Sweden last night watching defender Andreas Granqvist and midfielder Atiba Hutchison. They're supposedly quite good, but then so to was Vidar Riseth.

What will come of all this transfer talk? Probably nothing. It is, however, good to know that we might still make a signing or two before the transfer window slams shut on our fingers. Oh, and apparently Bobo has a clause in his contract that lets him leave for nothing before the end of the month. No one tells me anything.

Finally, in our mad rush through stories everyone will have forgotten about by this time tomorrow, Craig Beattie has been called up to the Scotland Squad for next months World Cup Qualifiers against Norway and Italy. Congrats to Craig, and let's hope his International Career lasts a little longer than that of Mark Burchill or Jamie Smith.

Always the Hoops. PT.

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Lennon, Thompson and a man called Dougal

And so it continues. The traditional post Old Firm game media bandwagon jumping, witch hunting, herd following, tosh talking, pompous, hypocritical, ego-fest that masquerades as serious sporting journalism in this country continues apace. Forget that a game of football was ever played Saturday lunchtime. Concentrate instead on the shameful attack perpetrated by a vicious thug on a poor helpless victim.

At least that's what they want us to do. And if it wasn't Neil Lennon using a few choice words with Hugh-Two, you can bet every last biscuit in the tin that all the attention would now be sitting heavily on the shoulders of Alan Thompson and his tacklus horribilis. Page after outraged page would be spent castigating the vicious thug and his shameful attack.Can you see how this works yet? I'm pretty certain you can.


But lets take the hypothesis one step further, shall we? Consider this. Just what would our vitriolic and poisonous press monkeys be talking about had Neil Lennon kept his well worked gob shut for just a few seconds longer, and had Alan Thompson not made a ridiculously pointless and comical attempt to win a ball inspector gadget would have trouble reaching? Where would we be then? Where would their agenda take them? I have no idea. Answers on the back of a grease stained Cardboard Pie cover to the usual address, please.

But I can probably tell you what wouldn't be the top talking points in journalistic circles, or within the back pages of tomorrows chippy wrappers. They wouldn't be talking about the Wee Ned's constant backchat to the match official, or about Julien Rodriguez's shocking challenge on Craig Beattie. Neither would they be talking about Stuart Dougals quite atrocious performance in which, despite claims to the contrary, he didn't get anywhere near getting every major decision right. No hint would be made of Dado Prso's outrageous cheating. And there would certainly be no scandal a-brewing over the pockets of racism that exists amongst our bluenosed brethren within the stadium, or the disgusting abuse dished out to a certain player from Japan, as detailed in the Sunday Herald.

But these minor annoyances aside, the one thing that is virtually assured in all of the post match reporting of Old Firm games is that there will never be mention made of the shameful sectarianism that emanates from all four corners of the stadium, be it in the east end, or the south side of Glasgow. And that is the true shame here.

Shame isn't giving a ref pelters because you think he's done your team out of the points. Shame isn't making a crazy lunge at the ball from 5 yards. Shame isn't even throwing yourself to the ground in an indefensible attempt to win your team a penalty. No. Shame, real shame, is the continual silence among the majority of our so-called professional journalists over the raw hatred and bigotry that still sits like a gargantuan plook on the nose of Scottish football. Shame is the continual feeding on and manipulation of that hatred and bigotry with the inflammatory headlines and sensationalist reporting that do nothing but damage our game - and ultimately our society. And to hell with the consequences. As long as they sell more papers.

Until they take the shame of sectarianism seriously, then the Keevins and Jacksons of this world have no right to talk about the behavior of any football player, no matter how shameful his actions may or may not be to them and their warped little mind.

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A shameful attack? Or a shameful headline?

If you read certain newspapers, and I'm quite sure you could take an educated guess at which particular rag I'm talking about here, you might come to the conclusion that a crime of Abu Ghraib proportions had occurred yesterday afternoon in the south side of Glasgow.

"Hothead Lennon faces SFA hammer after shameful attack on ref Dougal"

So wrote veteran bullshitter Mark Guidi, under a headline that screamed out LUNATIC, as the Sunday Mail slithered its way through yet another sensationalised retelling of an Old Firm game.

Lets focus on two words in this mischievous headline. And I'm being kind calling it that. Other adjectives were considered and thrown aside in the pursuit of not having too many sweary words in one post. I'm sure you can come up with a few yourself if you can't live without them.

Shameful Attack. Did you all get that? Can you see where I'm going with this one? I think you can.

Now maybe my finger really isn't on the pulse of Scottish life, it does seem to me that using those particular words in conjunction with a game of football in which Duncan Ferguson was NOT playing, and Fernando Ricksen was suspended from, is perhaps a slight over-reaction. Is this what it's come to? A bit of handbags at dawn, and someone telling a match official what half the country was already thinking, and it's going down in the annals of time as a shameful attack?

Given the usual violent whirlwind of sectarian stabbings and bottled heads that our emergency services have to endure in the aftermath of a typical Celtic-Rangers game, perhaps Mr Guidi could choose his words a little more carefully next time, lest he offend those who ARE waking up bloodied and bruised. He may well have a point that Neil Lennon was out of order, but as is the way with the Scottish footballing media the simple message is buried under sensational headlines, inflammatory language, and a disgustingly pompous and self righteous journalism that Messrs Guidi, Jackson, Keevins, Traynor, et al, truly excel at.

Am I telling you something you don't already know? Probably not? Is there a point to what I'm saying? Yes, there is. And it's this. Stop taking the people seriously. Stop listening to their opinions as if they know something you don't. Use your own eyes. You know what you saw. You don't need some gutter journalist with an over inflated sense of self importance to tell you if Neil Lennon was out of order. Nor do you need the same gutter journalist to tell you that what you saw was or was not a shameful attack. You know what a shameful attack is. And shouting at a ref in a game of football just doesn't fit the bill. It's time we stopped letting these idiots set our agenda, and started setting it for ourselves.

Paranoid Tim encourages anyone who reads this to Boycott the Daily Record, The Sun, Radio Clyde and any other Media Trash that Charlie Nicholas or Hugh Keevins may contribute to. You know it makes sense.

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Rangers 3 Celtic 1

So there we have it. Gordon Strachans first Old Firm game ends in another of those controversial defeats Celtic fans have become to so accustomed to over the years. Let's make no mistake about this one. We were done out of potential points by a piss poor refereeing performance Shug himself would have been proud of. From the first whistle to the last, decision after decision went against us. Stuart Dougal, and the SFA heirarchy should be utterly ashamed. Not that they will be, of course. I'm pretty sure most of them are rubbing their hands in glee at having pulled off another anti-tim masterstroke.

Okay, so i'm compelled by the title of this blog to include at least some paranoid ravings wherever i can. Having fulfilled my contractual obligations, lets get down to business.

Yes, Dougal had a shocker. His decision to send off Thompson was a bad one. But then, so was Thompsons decision to make a studs-showing lunge at a fast moving target from about 5 yards away, when, and lets be fair to him, he shouldn't be trusted to make tackles on stationary objects from half a yard. Thompson has shown time after time that he cannot tackle. He has terrible timing when putting the boot in, and its never any surprise to see him booked for clattering into someone. The red card was a shock - even Novo looked like he thought Dougal was taking the piss.

What will be funny to watch over the coming days is the growing hysteria surrounding Thompsons tackle. Already it has gone from a badly timed lunge into something approaching leg amputation. Any more and certain journalists will have to be looking out Nacho's obituary. Just in case, you understand. For Thompson, however, it looks bad. His Celtic career must be seriously in doubt. While he was an integral part of Martin O'Neils early team, he hasn't kicked his arse in about 18 months. His cause certainly wasn't helped by the media circus surrounding his England call up, Henrik leaving, or being played in the centre of midfield by an increasingly erratic Martin O'Neil, but hey. You're a professional footballer earning more in a week than Paranoid Tim does in a year. Get over it, Alan. Concentrate on whipping in those deadly crosses again, maybe you wouldn't have to cup your hand to your ear each time you do something right.

Incidentally, todays red card was Thompsons third at Ibrox, and all of them have been extremely debatable. Make of that what you will.

While we're on the subject of Celtic careers nearing their end, let's talk wee Neily. Mr Lennon, you are an arse. It's not your footballing ability that i question. I admire completely your ability to stroll around the park in a sloth like manner, sweeping up Bobo's mistakes and generally annoying anyone who comes within about 200 yards of you. Your footballing talent is not in question. Neither is your almost junkie like desire to give referees pelters from the moment they blow the first peep of that whistle. That's fantastic. Keep it up. Let the referee know you ain't happy. Keeps them on their toes.

But. And this is a big BIG 'but'. There is a time and place for losing the rag. There are even times and places for being sent off. Ibrox stadium, at the end of a 3-1 defeat to the hordes of darkness is neither the time nor the place. You embarrassed the hoops today, Neil, and that it'll be a long, long time before that is forgotten or forgiven. You made the day complete for each and every one of the uglies that frequent the little shoebox of a stadium they call home, and that is something you should never ever do as a Celtic player. Hand your captains armband over to the only player who tried to rally the troops today, Stan Petrov, and that'll be a start on the road to forgiveness.

Those two aside, there is still alot to be done on this Celtic side. Camara may have had his best game in a Celtic jersey, but he still looks a very poor defender, prone to being caught out of position, or giving the ball away cheaply. Bobo was his usual solid self and his usual delusional self - he still thinks of himself as being more than the big stopper he is. If he's still here at the end of the month, i'll be amazed. Hartson continues to frustrate. While an undoubted goalscoring threat, he has a nasty habit of continually dissappearing out of games in a petulant mood if things go against him, as they did today with his ridiculous early yellow card. Maloney is screaming out to start a game. Don't do a Martin O'Neil and leave him to rot on the subs bench, Gordon. He and Beattie are hot just now. Give them there chance before it goes and we lose two potential stars.

As for the rest of the game, Paranoid Tim will be honest. I didn't see anything that frightened me about the opposition. Sure, we lost 3-1. But that was down to a poor refereeing decision. I could go on about other things Dougal got wrong, but whats the point? Ian Murray should have been sent off, Prso cheated his way to a penalty. These things happen in football. Sometimes they go for you, sometimes they go against you. Camara should have been sent off last week against Falkirk when he gave away the penalty. We've had more than a few dodgy penalties of our own over the last season or two. Swings and roundabouts, to lapse into Derek Johnston mode.

Instead, i'll concentrate on the positives. Yes there were a few. Overall we were the better team in the first half, even with 10 men. We tired in the second half, but that was to be expected. Another notable positive is the type of football we play. There's been more good passing football in the last 3 weeks than we saw in 5 season under Martin O'Neil. Long may it continue.

We seem to finally have found a capable keeper, and right back. If only we hadn't let Jackie Mac go, we might actually have something approaching a defence. And Petrov continues to impress. We MUST build our team around him. He is the best player in Scotland. Simple as that. As for Nakamura, don't be sucked in by the negative hype that's surfacing about him just now. The guy has more talent than the wee ned at Ibrox will ever have. It'll come for him, as it will for Zurawski. Patience, grasshoppers. All will be well. Trust Uncle PT.

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Just because we're paranoid....

....doesn't mean they aren't out to get us.

A cliche, perhaps, but true none the less. What transpired today in the south side of Glasgow is merely the latest in a long line of paranoia inspiring refereeing performances that Celtic fans have had to endure in recent years. Paranoia is in the blood now, and, to quote a certain famous string vested cultural anti-hero, "don't you ever forget it". As if we could.

It's become something of a collective mindset in the Scottish game. Ask anyone who doesn't follow the hoops just who Scottish Football's most paranoid fans are and you will most certainly receive only one answer. Celtic. If anyone claims otherwise you're talking either to a Tim in disguise, or someone so deranged they should be sports editor of the Daily Record.

But that's okay. We Tims revel in our paranoia. It keeps us sane, draws us together, and, let's be honest here, gives us a convenient excuse for those times when our team are mince. That's not to say all our paranoia is merely the result of denial. But we have our moments. Fair enough, our moments can last the better part of a decade, but hey! No one's perfect. Apart from Henrik, of course.

But back to that collective mindset. Let's destroy that one here and now. ALL football fans are paranoid. Every single one of us. We LOVE having something to moan about. We delight in having something to blame away those desperate moments when you realise that all the time, money and energy you've put into following a shower of overpaid, lazy, untalented nevergonnabe's has come to nothing but indigestion from a lukewarn, greasy pie and a sore arse from sitting on an impossibly crafted chunk of plastic for Ninety excruciatingly depressing minutes while your beloved team are destroyed by another set of plodders who you truly believe shouldn't even be on the same hallowed turf as your own maestro's. We've all been there. And we all love it. It's why we follow football. Who wants to win everything all the time? Where's the fun in that?

Real football fans don't need trophies or famous victories to keep them coming back. What we need is Eleven guys on that park giving everything they have for the cause. What we need is a team full of players willing to sacrifice Daily Star inspired sex sessions with the latest blond beauty queen because they've gone and pulled a groin muscle kicking lumps out of the wee rat who plays centre mid for the opposition and was in the papers that morning waxing lyrical about his boyhood dreams of playing for some team you loathe with every atom in your body. And what we need, more than anything else, is something to blame when all our hopes and expectations come crashing down around our ears with one shrill blast of a referee's whistle. And thats where Paranoia comes in.

In Scottish football teams don't lose because the opposition are better. Teams lose because they are conspired against. Go anywhere in the country, and you'll find the same pattern emerging. The referee's are against us. The SFA are against us. The papers are against us. Everyone is against us. Go to the east end of Glasgow, you'll find a belief in an anti-Celtic rag called the Daily Ranger and Ibrox season ticket holding referees who excel in funny handshakes and the like. Go to the south side of the same city and the rag becomes the Daily Rebel and the referees closet Celtic fans with papist tendencies. Go anywhere else, and the Daily Record becomes a mouthpeice for Old Firm propaganda, and the referees whores of the sectarian bile that Glasgow wallows in, incapable of giving any sort of meaningful decision against either of the Glasgow clubs. Everyone is at it. Everyone is paranoid. And Scottish football just wouldn't be the same without it.

So lets put the paranoia theory to bed once and for all. Celtic fans are no more paranoid than any other set of fans in the country. It's a myth. It's hokum. And its long overdue that this was said. Don't expect to be reading that in the Daily Record in this Tims lifetime.

But what also needs said is this. Paranoia is the heart and soul of Scottish Football. Who wants to live in a world where the game ends, and Rob McLean takes over, smiling his tranquilising smile into the camera. No one watches mind numbing post match analysis to hear what Walter Smith thinks of Thomas Buffel's goal. They know what to think of that. They saw it for themselves. People watch post match analysis for one thing, and one thing only - to be reassured, by Walter Smith and Derek Whyte, or whichever talking heads (or arses) they have in the studio on any given day, that Neil Lennon was lucky to stay on the park. Or that Alan Thompson's tackle on Nacho Novo was the kind of career threatening atrocity not seen since Stephane Mahe pulled a knife on Hugh Dallas. And once that reassurance is given, let paranoia commence.

Celtic fans, who normally construct sentences containing the words Walter, Smith and clueless with the same ease with which Rab Douglas fumbles shots from the edge of the box, suddenly discover an all encompassing wisdom in everything Wattie says...but only if he says what they want to hear. Likewise for Rangers fans. If Derek Whyte thinks Neil Lennon was lucky to stay on the park, what more evidence do you need? It must be true!

Within minutes of the final whistle on a saturday afternoon, the sound of chattering paranoia can be heard in pubs and grounds across the country. We were cheated! The ref was a disgrace! He gets away with murder! Chick Young is a Hun! James Traynor is a Tim!

Saturday night television is drowned out by the sound of claim and counter claim as radio phone-in's encourage anyone who has a grudge about the match to call in and bare their paranoia blackened soul for everyone to see. The bigger the grudge the better. Ex-professionals and tabloid journalists compete in a perverse ego boosting frenzy, comfortable in the knowledge that the poor souls they feed on will always be there. They set the agenda, the herd follows.

And once the discussions have died down, every argument, every fact, every morsel of information is stored away, ready to be used when and where it is needed. Paranoia lives on, long after the game that spawned it is forgotten.

The sorry truth of the matter is that we love it. We can't get enough of it. Just as millions of people take great delight in watching a dozen incompatible egomaniacs fighting and bitching and backstabbing one another in an artifical house, so do we take that same delight in hearing dozens of incoherent beer-fuelled paranoid football fans make fools of themselves on national radio. It reassures us that there are other people out there thinking the same things that we are. That referees are biased. That journalists hate our team. That everyone hates us (and we don't care). We don't want to spend hours talking about the merits of playing a flat back four, or whether Bob Malcolm is a midfield genius under very heavy disguise. We want to argue. We want heated debate. We want to find people who share our beliefs that come victory, draw or defeat, we are always hard done by (and that lot across the city, whichever city it may be, always get away with it). Because without it, all we have is 22 guys kicking an inflated bit of leather up and down a patch of grass, and who wants that?

To mangle a famous quote by a certain famous playwright "I come to praise Paranoia, not to bury it". We should celebrate our paranoia, not turn our back on it.

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