Now that Rangers are gone, what will the bereft Celtic supporters do?
It’s Hardy without Laurel. Tonto without the Lone Ranger. Fish without chips. Robin without Batman. Ginger without Fred. The Empire State Building without King Kong. Liver without Chianti. Bullshit without Bono.
Celtic have lost the opponents they hate with a passion and I feel their loss, because as we all know, hatred is the most intense emotion the human being can experience. You can’t fake it. You can’t escape it. You can’t transfer your disaffections to a new hated-one.
A mutually-shared hatred never falters because, while love can fade with time, haters never cheat. They always remain true to each other.
Haters don’t cheat.
How long have Rangers and Celtic been hating each other? 144 years, that’s how long, based on sectarian bullshit.
The triumphalist hatred of Rangers supporters’ club is a poison, closely allied to the demented UVF killers who routinely sold their fundraising merchandise at matches, but let’s not lose sight of the mirror image. Which of us has not had to endure a bunch of green-clad overweight men on a Saturday night chanting Up the RA?
I can’t abide this shit.
As much as I detest the Rangers loyalist unthinking hate-filled aggression, I equally recoil from the empty-headed nationalism of the Wolfe Tones greenshirts, but at least, up to now, they formed some sort of balance. Two tribes in an unresolvable stand-off, until this moment.
Losing somebody we detest deeply is the most extreme form of bereavement. It’s far more intense than losing a loved-one and that’s why I’m afraid for Glasgow Celtic. How will they deal with their loss? Are they receiving counselling, or will they cast around for another enemy? Will they begin the long search for another enemy, and if that search fails, what will become of them?
It’s hard to know, but in the absence of an enemy, they might easily go the same way as their old rivals.