Poodle's lackey John Reid is chairman, the largest shareholder and quasi-owner Dermot Desmond has business interests in casinos, bookmaking, investment and underwriting, banking, oil, healthcare and airports, chief executive Peter Lawwel comes from a big pharma, chemicals and mining background, and manager Gordon Strachan shows an inappropriate nationalistic and, some might say racist bias, in his team selection. Additionally, some of the other characters that leech onto the club could hardly be described as principled business operators.
Now, it cannot be said that, cumulatively, these people are the equal of the psychopathic ownership and, in some cases, management at Portsmouth, Chelsea, West Ham United, Milan, Steaua Bucureşti or Manchester City, for examples.
But what about the second tier psycho-merchants at Liverpool, Manchester United, Aston Villa and, coming soon, Arsenal?
If Celtic are run by a bunch of characters no different, in hyperreality, from the capitalist charlatans owning Manchester United, should there be a FC Celtic of Glasgow?
Dr John Reid probably started off alright, although, no doubt, constantly developing his bullying and menacing manner.
Anyway.
9/11 changed the man.
Throughout 2001, Reid had served as the first catholic Secretary of State for Northern Ireland (sic) and moved the "peace process" on considerably by talking to the UVA, UDF and the 'RA. While successfully equalising the political perceptions of "terrorism" on both sides of the divide, Reid also managed to move the decommissioning of weapons forwards.
Then, overnight, he became an autocratic, police state supporting, warmongering, civil rights abusing disgrace.
Even in a New Labour party that starts merely at the centre-right, Reid has moved from the middle ground of that centre-right to the far-right.
Just like that.
Overseeing the killing of Iraqi and Afghani civilians on behalf of the American and British corporate machines, Reid decided that paranoia demanded that the state must impose rigorous surveillances on its population. He also must have been aware of torture and extraordinary rendition issues in his time at Defence.
John Reid was one of the architects of the current state of this sorry excuse for a society.
John Reid thinks that we don't get it.
We think that John Reid has lost the plot.
I had reason to stand opposite Dr John Reid in the Celtic boardroom prior to Barcelona's demolition of Celtic at Parkhead in February.
4 minutes and fifteen seconds of silence I managed before he slithered away - I glared at him, checked out the replica 1967 European Cup trophy, made the occasional long nose on the sly... The random grimace helped to fill out the time adequately.
I demanded no introduction and got away without saying a word.
I'd already decided prior to attending the match that I had no intention of undertaking any consultancy work for this outfit.
Childish, I know...
But can I still support them?
With its rarefied atmosphere - half accountancy boardroom, half public school prefect room - the military ritual of clean-shaved suited identikit individuals (sic), marching in time to place their overcoats on the clothing rails, before marching back to collect prior to the match, was stultifyingly ordered and controlled compared to the celebrating fans in the ground.
A peculiarity of precision...
My host insisted on getting to the Directors Box ten minutes prior to the game to sample the atmosphere.
There was no atmosphere in the Directors Box.
All sound seems to bypass it like there exists some type of gravitational field that removes the concept of enjoyment from this miserable bunch of numero-judicial autistic types.
"The Fields of Athenry" rang out around the stadium.
I joined in.
Then I realised that nobody within twenty metres of me was singing along.
My volume fell away exponentially.
Characterless environment.
Dermot Desmond has one very good point in his favour.
He was born in Co. Cork.
It all went downhill from there on.
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