The good news is that we are not going bust any time soon. Even though tomorrow's interim results are likely to show a dip, we are still in pretty decent financial shape. While this is good, it is not likely to appease a growing number of mainstream fans, like me, who feel strongly that investment in player quality isn't merely necessary, but a strategic financial imperative.

The entertainment value offered by the current managememt team and playing squad is, frankly, woeful. It's a long time since I saw a group of Celtic players so lacking in the basic techniques required of association footballers: accurate passing; control of the ball; running off the ball; shooting on target; tackling. Three further essential ingredients also appear to be missing: a gameplan, confidence and perhaps most worryingly, motivation. The headless chicken football displayed last night reminded me of many Under-11 games I have witnessed. These contests were typified by one clearly talented player (McGeady) getting the ball a lot and the other players (from both sides) chasing after him.

The product is simply not worth the admission money.

This is not new. Anyone whose been reading this blog over the last two years will know that I have had serious misgivings about quality and technique under one G Strachan. While I, like others, believe the loss of Nakamura is now being truly felt, it's also true that Tony Mowbray isn't getting as much from essentially the same group of players. That said, it's way too early to conclude that it's all Mogga's fault.

The bottom line is that even the most passionate fans will not stump up cash every year to watch - and fund - a deteriorating product. Forget about football being different. People do not like being taken for granted or, even worse, cheated.

It's time for the board to act. If there is no injection of player quality in January, fans will drift away during the remainder of the season. In the summer, they'll choose not to renew season tickets and the Plc board will, by default, be guilty of starting a downward spiral, which will prove very difficult to reverse.

I have opined previously on this blog that the board must devise a strategy which combines fiscal prudence, investment and manageable risk. The current obsession with global branding, low debt and bargain basement hunting has taken the club to a place of safety during relatively stable economic period. Perverse though it might seem, the same strategy is now both unsustainable and counter-productive during these much tougher times.

Anyone who's run a business will tell you that it takes roughly five times as much effort to win a new customer as it does to keep one you already have. I really hope this board doesn't wait to see empty stands before it remembers this rudimentary business lesson.

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I'm not missing the hum-drum (is that how it's spelled?) SPL nonsense. Encounters with St Johnstone, Hamilton and Kilmarnock et al, perhaps fortunately in current circumstances, don't get my heart racing.

Grudge matches against Johny Foreigner, which are 25 years in the making, on the other hand, are more likely to get me into dangerous cardiac territory. It's pathetic I know, but the sense of injustice, indignation and downright combustible rage is still palpable when you reflect on the events of 1984 and watch some of the bizarre TV pictures. It puts Eduardo-gate into perspective.

I'd love to be there on Thursday night to see Rapid Vienna put to the sword. Even 25 years and a couple of football generations later, it will still be sweet if we wipe the floor with the Austrians. After all it's only right and proper that a nation, which encourages adult men to wander around in leather shorts shouldn't progress in any serious sporting competition.

At the weekend there's the first Old Firm game of the season - or rather the latest instalment of sport's longest running "tallest dwarf" competition. I was a having a heated debate with a blue-nosed pal last week about which of us was worse. He insisted that his lot were marginally more dire than mine. I'm just not sure I care that much any more, but no doubt I'll manage to get caught up in it when it all kicks off.

My own apathy has somewhat taken me by surprise. I can hear cries of "heresy" from some quarters and I do feel slightly sheepish given the the central premise of this blog. My defence is based on the natural effects of the aging process. My contention is that, as I mature into a seasoned and rounded fifty-something, my perspective is changing and the attractions of other leisure pursuits appear more agreeable. My attitude towards the Hoops' fortunes is being moderated by a growing desire to be striding down manicured fairways, breathing in fresh air and wallowing in self congratulation about my improving golfing prowess.*

Before I can grapple properly with this thorny issue, I must get myself sorted out in the ticker department. Next week will see me yet again throw down a challenge to Glasgow's finest medics. Let's see what they can do about my frazzled and narrowed arteries using only some kirby grips and a can of WD40. I fully expect they will excell themselves and I'll be on the first tee at Crail on the Friday morning.

*Ps. Watch this space for some big golfing news in the coming weeks - if I'm spared.

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So perhaps it should come as no surprise to us that the Uefa beaks, having heard Arsenal's appeal in the Eduardo case, have decided to ignore the evidence of their own eyes and instead, swallow some fairy story from Arsene Wenger. What could have posssibly been said that changed their minds? The UEFA disciplinary committee had already reviewed the video evidence and concluded, together with the vast majority of a neutral pan-European viewing public, that Eduardo dived in order to deceive the referee. What has changed? Did Arsenal present new video evidence which casts doubt on the original decision? I think not. Here's what's happended.

Rupert M's people made a call to Michel Platini's people and made it clear that Sky would take a dim view of any action which might diminish the chances of one of its "clubs" progressing in the competition and wouldn't it be much better all round if the English clubs and the millions of viewers they bring were not handicapped at such an early stage? Cue much bum-twitching and hand-wringing at Uefa HQ at the thought of Murdoch's millions being jeopardised. Result - Eduardo gets off with a crime against sport, Arsenal show that money talks louder than hard evidence and Celtic is made to look like a wee diddy club that doesn't matter. Absolutely shocking - and proof beyond doubt for me that the Champions League is, first and foremost, a cosy cartel for the rich and greedy.

I really hope that Unirea Urziceni do really well and show that clubs with modest resources and big hearts can be successful without the need to cheat officials.

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Over the two legs, Celtic lost three goals in unfortunate circumstances and the other two were typical of Arsenal's capabilities. The 5-1 aggregate might have flattered Arsenal a little, but not a lot. No reasonably minded Hoops fan is complaining about ending up in the Europa League. Better sides that Celtic will get gubbed by Arsenal this season.

As a fan of the Hoops, however, there were two really big disappointments. First, we rarely looked like an attacking threat and rarely troubled Almunia home or away. Given the illustrius names that have visited Celtic Park and gone a way empty handed, the failure at home was especially tough to take.

Top European sides such as Juventus, Barcelona, Milan, Lyon, Man Utd each of which included stellar players like Del Piero, Maldini, Deco, Juninho and Ronaldo - have all been beaten at Celtic Park. Lesser names such as Valencia, Benfica, Anderlecht, Shakhtar Donetsk and Porto have also been vanquished over 90 or 120 minutes. Another batch including Bayern Munich and Liverpool have only managed to draw. Somehow the combination of crackling electricity and collective belief seemed to squeeze 10%-15% more out of every player on the big Euro nights. Not this year.

So you can understand why the green and white legions are irked not to at least land a punch in our own back yard and send the Gunners home with a bloody nose. Have we really gone that far backwards so quickly? Or are we just missing a couple of players with the quality to take us up a notch. I think the latter.

The other major disappointment is directly linked to the first. If we had gone to the Emirates at 1-0, 0-0 or even 0-1, who knows what might have happened, especially if we had scored first. The odds are we would ended up getting a drubbing, but you just never know. It's a funny old game. That's what is so annoying about the whole Eduardo escapade for me. He wasn't the first professional footballer to use the black arts to gain advantage and he won't be the last. I'm sure there will be sinners wearing Hoops too. I just feel cheated that we didn't get the game we all deserved - and by "we" I mean all football fans.

Now to my conspiracy theory. Take a look at the draw for the Group Stages. How can it be that Arsenal, Man Utd, Liverpool and Chelsea all end up in much easier Groups than their major rivals for the Champions League? It's particularly galling to consider Arsenal's group - AZ Alkmaar, Standard Liege and Olympiakos - hardly names to keep Mr Wenger awake at night - or even Mogga come to that. I wish.

Real Madrid, Barcelona, Inter, Bayern and Milan have all got much tougher assignments when you look at their Pot 2 & 3 opposition. The answer offered makes reference to a combination of seeding, making sure clubs from the same associations don't meet at the group stages and splitting games over two nights to ensure maximum TV coverage.

But surely it's all about cash - extracting the maximum wedge from TV broadcasters - and making sure this money gets channelled to the favoured clubs. The biggest spender on Champions League broadcasting rights (ie. Uefa's major customer) is Sky which, co-incindentally, bankrolls the English Premiership.

So it's in Sky's interest to have its big four EPL clubs in the latter stages of Uefa's prime competition and it's in Uefa's interest to keep Sky sweet. The fortunes of Uefa, Sky and the big four EPL clubs are interdependent. It's a sordid threesome - a symbiotic relationship fuelled by avarice and the protection of vested interests. In short, it's a fix, plain and simple. And Michel Platini has gradually become complicit in its murkiness rather than sorting it out as he promised. Tell me I'm wrong.

While I'm at it, TFOD have a pretty cushy draw too, but I think they were just lucky. Surely David Taylor can't be a bluenose? Shockerooony!

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I had been expecting to post regularly about golf heroics, BBQs on Fife beaches and Celtic's blistering start to the new season including effortless qualification for the Champions League group stages.

Instead, my golf outings have been severely limited by a combination of erratic weather and bad timing. Outdoor gastronomy amounted to a total of two picnics and one BBQ in the garden which was eventually abandoned when winter fleeces proved no protection against easterly winds. My team had a very promising pre-season and an impressive win in Moscow only to have the wind taken out of their sails by the Gooners who provided a reality check if not quite a fooball lesson. Oh - and and I've been diagnosed with coronary heart disease - a legacy of my cancer treatment five years ago. Major op number three coming up shortly.

Pear-shaped doesn't really begin to cover it.

On a positive note, I have discovered the delights of home-made fresh fruit smoothies. A few weeks ago, I parted with £14.99 for a contraption called a "Smoothie2Go" and breakfast has not quite been the same since. I have always been a healthy breakfaster. Fruit juice, cereal -usually muesli or some some low salt/ low sugar bran-based concoction, followed by a cup of tea (skimmed milk/no sugar)and maybe some wholemeal toast. Now I find myself rushing headlong to my smoothie maker to create something exotic involving melon, nectarines, pinapple, blueberries, strawberries or bananas, low fat yoghurt and fresh fruit juice. It really is quite staggeringly healthy and not without irony given the state of my arteries. And to think that within the last seven weeks. I've been cycling in the New Forest, played several rounds of golf and walked a decent chunk of the Fife coastal path. I'm sure I must be the healthiest and fittest person ever to get both lung cancer and heart disease.

They say "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger". If so, I should be like Superman when I get out of hospital in a few weeks - especially if Mrs SP can bring me plentiful supplies of fruit smoothies during my confinement.

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The end of the footy season and, hopefully, the gradual reduction in my golf handicap might make this a little bit easier. I also plan to eat very well during the summer so I'll be eager to share tales of culinary pleasures and recount the inevitable kitchen nightmares.

I reserve the right, however, to offer my opinion on anything, which I believe merits a public airing - the wonders of public transport, the interesting approach to customer service adopted by many UK businesses and the increasingly peculiar behaviour of our fellow citizens.

As a starter for ten, I should like to highlight the comedy value to be had watching a group of people boarding an Easyjet flight. It beggars belief that anyone possessing brain cells, which can be counted on more than one hand would cough up the £8 required for "speedy boarding".

My only experience of this particular "perk" was a few years ago when travelling on a cold wet January morning. When the call was made for "speedy boarders" (SBs) to come forward, there ensued what can only be described as a mild scuffle during which, a variety of minor injuries were sustained. While no clear acts of violence were witnessed or reported, there was a good deal of elbow protrusion, assertive blocking (obstruction in football parlance) and liberal use of pointy briefcases. In addition to these "yellow card" offences, there was also quite bit of intimidatory glaring from non-speedy boarders (NSBs) clearly irked by their diminished status in the Easyjet pecking order. Glaswegians, wary of airport queue jumpers at 6am, can be decidedly less friendly than in the tourist brochures.

Having run this gauntlet of hate, I congratulated myself on making that crucial SB investmemt, which guaranteed that I would be whisked away from the great unwashed and offered first dibs on the best seats. I smugly boarded what I assumed to be the SB bus (ie. a bus earmarked for the exclusive use of fully paid up SBs). Moments after sitting down, said bus was flooded by NSBs who promptly took up strategic positions by the door, thus complicating my disembarkation plans and making a nonsense of the whole SB concept. Upon arrival at the foot of the aircraft steps, there was another unseemly scramble, which resulted in yours truly staring at the backs of NSBs and with rain trickling down my neck. From that day, I have never purchased another ticket for the speedy boarding experience.

As many will know, Easyjet have since become more sophisticated in the area of crowd control and Speedy Boarders, Group A passengers (on-line checked in) and Group B passengers (airport checked in) are now streamed into queues in departure lounges prior to boarding. This works pretty well at Glasgow and Luton where "queue envy" manifests itself mostly in sneering, but very badly at Stansted, where no queues exist and an undignified scrum takes place for every flight.

With no queues to regulate passenger behaviour, the more deranged commuters, of which there are many, choose to ignore the conformity of the boarding sequence; SBs, Group A, then Group B; and lurch forward regardless in a blatant attempt to dupe the Easyjet groundstaff by pretending that they are either deaf or have simply forgotten the alphabet.

It really is hilarious to watch. A large group of besuited men and women, inching forward shoulder to shoulder, eyeing each other suspiciously, trying to see each other's boarding cards - all heading for a doorway in the corner and getting more agitated, and more assertive in their shuffling, as they see others gaining any advantage in the boarding stakes.

The resulting fracas resembles a scene from a movie where a crowd is gathered around a body splattered on a pavement following a jump from a tall building.

This would all be slightly more understandable if it was Singapore Airlines or Fly Emirates, where the level of on-board amenity might be worth getting your toes trod on by a stilleto - but Easyjet?! For a one hour flight?!

Some people need to take a look at themselves. Very funny though.

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Yesterday's performance, while badly distorted by news filtering through from Tayside, was indicative of what is wrong with us - at least on the park. Here's my take on it.

Firstly, we are utterly predictable in every way. We play 4-4-2 and we stay in that shape regardless. In fact, we are so obsessed with team shape that opposing defenders must look forward to playing us. We never ask enough questions of them. They are never stretched by a burst of pace, an intelligent run off the ball, a quickfire one-two or someone doing the unexpected - like shooting. The ball is shunted from side to side and back to front until someone (usually Gary Caldwell) sees a chance to give it to McGeady or Nakamura in a bit of space. Then our two most creative players are crowded out by a posse of defenders.

Assuming they do have a chance to look up and make a pass, they have few options. Their team-mates are invariably standing like statues watching and waiting for the ball to be given to them, at which point they will be promptly tackled and dispossessed by the opponent standing on their toes.

Astonishly, no-one has the intelligence or the courage to make a run, create some space, make the defenders work. No one seems to know that playing football doesn't always involve having the ball. It's mind-boggling for a club of Celtic's stature and supposed football philosophy that first team players do not appear to have any grasp of the concept of movement off the ball. I was taught this playing Boys Guild football at Under 14 level! Surely Gordon Strachan and his coaches have heard of it? It makes me so mad!!!!!!!

Second, we cannot seem to score unless it's from a set piece or a tap in from inside the box. Not one member of our team has the necessary combination of vision, confidence and technique to shoot and score from outside the box on a regular basis. Fact.

Murdoch, Gemmell, McStay, Van Hooijdonk, Moravcik, Thompson, to name only a few, could all do it. Naka had (note past tense) the vision and technique, but no confidence. Even Maloney, a decent ball striker, does not pose a regular threat from open play. As for the rest, forget it. Again, what are the coaches doing here? It appears that Gordon Strachan would rather they passed the ball to death. Ball retention is better that scoring it seems.

Third, we have players who are simply not good enough. I wouldn't shed a single tear if Samaras, JVOH, Naylor, Hartley or McManus, never pulled on the hoops again. Brown's game intelligence and composure still give me concerns. McGeady has talent and technique, but I'm beginning to think he's not a team player. Hinkel is no better than average. It's hard to be critical of McDonald given that he's being doing the work of three men this season, but we all know he's not the real deal. Boruc, Caldwell, Loovens, O'Dea and Crosas are the only ones I'd really want to keep, but if we could get anything over £5m for either Brown, McGeady or the Holy Goalie, I'd take it. We could use that £15m to buy at least two good quality first team picks and blend them with the remaining core.

Crucially, though, we need to bring some of the young guys in from a reserve side which has won its league for the last eight seasons. You can't tell me there isn't anyone from that crop better than Samaras or Naylor, for example.

We also need a new leader and head coach. Gordon Strachan has been successful and he has aspired to play a certain style of football. The truth is, however, that we have gone backwards this season and I suspect he has now lost the confidence and backing of a large percentage of the moderate, pro-Strachan element of which I have been, hitherto, a member. It's best that he moves on and makes way for new thinking. Who next? I have no easy answer to that one, but I'm available if required.

Finally, we need our board to wake up to the fact that fiscal success cannot displace football success as the primary target for the club. Increased brand awareness in the Far East and a healthy balance sheet are fine, but the source of pride in our club is to be found mainly in what happens on the park. No genuine Celtic supporter wants the club to go back the poverty of the pre-McCann era, but they do want any future strategy to include sufficient investment to assemble a team capable of lifting their spirits and winning prizes with a bit of style. It's not rational. Fans want it all. Entertainment, trophies, survival and prosperity. Fans are customers - and the customer is king.

Managing a major football club like Celtic is a delicate balance of fiscal acumen, achieving results and providing entertainment. The board must now recalibrate the business model and adjust its attitude to risk in order to achieve the right balance. The risk-averse approach embraced by the Plc board has achieved good results, but it is no more sustainable in the long-term than the cavalier approach the same Plc board denounces. It cannot be beyond the wit of this board to design a strategy which accommodates both good fiscal controls and the aspirations of the supporters.

Next season will be a huge test of character for all concerned and the response to this season's disappointing end will determine much.

SP. Wee Gordon has just resigned. Sad, but I feel it's for the best.

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I maintain that the title was lost at Ibrox and, even if I'm proved wrong and we do win it on Sunday, I shall never forgive Gordon Strachan for his inexplicable and indefensible team selection which let Rangers off the hook. We had the chance to strike a fatal blow and, by leaving McGeady out, the manager decided to bamboozle the opposition into defeat. Too clever by half - not!

Some might argue that McGeady played against Hibs and didn't make the difference, but the situations were entirely different. Hibs didn't need to win or draw on Sunday and still decided to put on a show of defensive football. Mixedup Patteleinan contrived to congratulate his team on their performance and no doubt ordered some champagne to celebrate finishing sixth!!

Rangers did need to win at Ibrox and McGeady would have exploited spaces left by their defenders when they moved to support attacks. He would also have relished the prospect of turning veteran Christian Dailly inside out on a slippery surface.

At least Dundee United will have a go on Sunday, partly because they need a point to secure a European spot and partly because Craig Levein and his team have the belief that they can beat both Rangers or Celtic home or away, referees permitting. Levein's side were highly impressive at Parkhead last Tuesday and Gomis is a gem of a player who has everything - pace, vision, movement, touch and a killer pass. We have all of that too, but not in one player.

I'll be there on Sunday hoping for a miracle, but expecting to finish second in a title race we should have won weeks ago.

Not happy.

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The "need to know" headlines are as follows: We played the better football, enjoyed the bulk of possession, but created precious few chances. Rangers created few chances, converted one, then defended their slender lead very well. That's it. I have no complaints about referees or dodgy decisions. Celtic lost this match without any help from anyone.

Questions do need to be asked, though.

How did a team with visibly superior gifts succumb to a team whose back four included Weir & Dailly who have a combined age of 127? Why did Celtic's talismanic winger not start the game? Why does Gordon Strachan insist that his team should be proud of themselves when they have just lost to one of the worst Rangers teams in decades and effectively vacated the championship driving seat, handed over the keys and provided detailed instructions on what Rangers need to do to win the title? "Off you go lads. Just three more wins and you've done it".

It all started with yet another mystifying team slection suggestive of a manager hellbent on being a smart-arse. "I know", said Gordon while munching his Coco Pops this morning, "I'll spring a surprise and drop our most dangerous and most feared played in favour of a guy who hasn't kicked a ball since February. That'll work. They won't be expecting that". You were half right, Gordon. Unless McGeady had just admitted to sleeping with his wife, Strachan had no possible reason not to have started McGeady. Even if he had owned up to cuddling Mrs S illegaly, I still think he should have played (especially if he bought her dinner first and hadn't sustained an injury in flagrante delicato). In any event, the lack of punch in the last third screamed out for McGeady's pace, trickery and, dare I say, penetration.

I'm a big Maloney fan, but it's not as though he was showing a rich vein of form or is capable of something that McGeady isn't. His inclusion was just another example of the willful, self-indulgent tinkering which Strachan has deployed before with disastrous results. He no doubt enjoys seeing the results of his idiosyncratic selections while playing Premiership Manager 3 on his Playstation, but it's not appropriate for title decider - and it was a title decider.

If he thought Maloney could contribute, why not play him as a second striker just behind McDonald, stretch the Rangers back four using the width of Nakamura and McGeady and stiffen the midfield with Hartley and Crosas? What was the point of playing big Jan against Bougherra and Weir when it's clear he can't jump over his own shoes and has the mobility of a dry-docked oil tanker. A better game plan would have been to play the on the deck and buzz around the Rangers defence instead of trying to compete for high balls. This would have allowed all our creative players to play to their strengths with the option of bringing on the big guys later in the game if we needed to revert to the long ball. We played that way in the CIS final and got it right on that occasion. It's clear that Strachan often can't see what he's done wrong but, much more worryingly, he can't see what he's done right either.

Anyway, I'm already fed up writing about this. It's all over for this season. TFOD won't slip up again and, unless the board invest in the summer, I can see many more like me reviewing their season ticket plans. Membership of a well known parkland golf course on Glasgow's south side holds at least as much appeal for this correspondent - and possibly a better return for my £665.

Gordon Strachan, meanwhile, will no doubt call on his unerring ability to see things nobody else can and blame today's result on the pesky UFO that landed in the six yard box on 36 minutes and left Boruc partially unsighted for the goal - anything but admit that he picked the wrong team on the day.

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That old euro-favourite, 3am refuse collection, was much to the fore, but this was supplemented by a procession of over-refreshed party animals and what sounded like at least two attempted murders. We would have been oblivious to all this if we had been there this week, by which time the hotel's air-conditioning would have been switched on and we could have slept with our window closed. As it was, it was too hot to close the window and we were doomed to listen to the night sounds and snatch short bursts of poor quality sleep. Still, we had no urgent appointments in the morning, so it didn't really matter.

We had good and bad food experiences. Our worst was at La Petite Maison. Our trip more or less coincided with our wedding anniversary so we thought we'd try somewhere a little bit special. La Petite Maison was much praised in our guide book and it looked lovely (we checked it out before we booked). We had asked for a table inside to avoid the cooler evening breezes and the ubiquitous smokers intent on slow lingering death. It seems that absolutely everyone in France smokes, shrugging and gesticulating away the health messages with the same blend of arrogance and stupidity exhibited everywhere else.

The trouble began at La Petite Maison when we were shown to our table, a small square piece of furniture real estate wedged between larger tables for four in what was clearly a passageway in the middle if the room. There were two other table similarly placed. My immediate requests for a table move triggered insincere and unconvincing mutterings about being full and all other tables being booked. Hadn't we booked? Cue Gallic shrugs and facial expressions which said "tough". The waiter's attitude could not have been better communicated to us if he'd been wearing a teeshirt with "If you don't like it, you can p*** off" emblazoned across it. We should have.

We decided to stay because the room was not yet busy and we though we might be lucky and that the adjacent table might remain free until much later. Bad move. No sooner had we ordered our starters, than the place was flooded by local diners. Lots of cheek kissing and fawning ensued. Glamorous couples and foursomes were shown to the best tables and handed seemingly unordered Kir Royales. We were very quickly joined, literally, by two youngish professional couples. Not only were they joining us for dinner, but they were catching up after a long gap and were determined to brief each other, and us, on all that had happened in their busy and exciting lives. They were unutterably obnoxious and spent the entire meal comparing their wealth, lifestyles, mortgages, share and property portfolios and, in the case if the two guys, penis size (metaphorically of course). All of this at high volume while virtually sitting on our laps. It was excruciating and Mrs SP's initial attempts to see the funny side did not help my mood. Even she eventually decided it was too much when she felt a foreign hand on her knee.

At one point, after I had narrowly avoided taking a bite of the invading elbow hovering above my grilled sole, I politely asked its owner to be a little more careful and to perhaps consider shifting over a little. He was friendly enough and acknowledged our bizarre proximity, but after some platitudes, he stayed resolutely in-situ and continued to talk at ludicrously high volume to his fellow alpha-male sitting two feet from him - which was further away than I was.

The food was actually really nice, but I barely remember what I ate and care even less. We had two courses, no dessert, no coffee and we left no tip. It still cost 160 Euros. A complete rip-off. We couldn't get out fast enough and we made our feelings known to the boss lady on the way out. More shrugging. She might as well have held up her middle finger and said "swivel on that, you tourist sucker". It was thoroughly awful. Don't go there. Unless you are a wealthy local, you will be treated like merde. Since our return, I've looked at reviews of this place on a number of travel and food websites and there is a very consistent theme which confirms that this place is run by arrogant, greedy and complacent owners with no respect for anyone other than their regular clientelle from the Nice glitterati. They deserve to die slowly and painfully for spoiling what should have been a special evening for Mrs P and I.

The following evening, our concierge's advice took us to a place unlisted in any guide book. Again we booked a table inside, although the courtyard looked very attractive and well-served by patio heaters. The experience was the perfect contrast to the previous evening - a friendly welcome from the owner-manager, a table by a window looking onto the courtyard, a convivial ambience and confident attentive staff who actually tried to earn their tips by being very good at their jobs. The food was fantastic and the bill was reasonable. Try La Maison de Marie, just off Rue Massena, if you get the chance. It restored my faith in the French food experience just in time.

Overall, we had a great time and enjoyed our break, although I've decided that European city breaks might no longer feature in my list of holiday favourites. The sun was warm, the sea was blue, the food mostly great and the vibe relaxed, but too many cars, too many people and too much passive smoke can sometimes make you feel as though you're still in Glasgow.

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Last night, I was longing for Porto to do the business against a Man Utd containing two Englishmen. I'm no lover of the Portugese approach to the game - cheating, diving, time-wasting and feigning injury were raised to an art form by Mourinho's Porto team in the UEFA Cup Final of 2003 - but the very idea of three English clubs in the semi-finals for a third successive year was too much to bear. Alas, Porto failed to live up to their first leg performance and, with ultimate irony, a stunning goal from one of their countrymen won the match.

On the other channel, Arsenal, containing one Englishman, were too strong for a workmanlike Villareal.

So from now till May 27th, we can all look forward to a self-congratulatory love-in from SkyTV and all those with their snouts in the EPL trough.

Only Barcelona can save us from the terrible fate of having to listen to the arrogant rantings of the English media from now until May 2010 when someone else gets the chance to win the damn thing.

C'mon Barca!!!!!!

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I should point out at this stage that my antipathy towards rain and wind and my preference for warm, calm conditions earned me the nickname of "Sun King" a few years ago. I feel it's only right that I at least try and live up to this by reserving my best performances for occasions when short sleeves and sun-screen are the order of the day.

As excuses go, however, heavy drizzle and a breeze off the North Sea are unlikely to cut the mustard in serious golfing circles, so I turned up at the clubhouse at 8.30am, clad in a variety of weatherproof gear and submitted to my fate. I was joined by a group of similarly bedecked members, each muttering darkly about the conditions and anticipating a lost opportunity for decent scoring and handicap reductions.

I was drawn out of the hat to play with a chap called Mike (real name withheld to protect the innocent). Mike played off 9 and was, in fact, a pretty decent golfer, but he was afflicted with a trait common to many golfers who have developed unrealistically high expectations of themselves. He seemed constantly disappointed with his game and seldom happy with any shot he played. He verbally abused himself regularly throughout the 18 holes and, by the end of the round, had convinced himself that he was a complete dud. These outbursts of golfing Tourette's would have been more understandable if he had indeed been truly awful, but he wasn't and he was playing with me - a genuine dud. He finished with a nett 80 which was pretty good in the conditions. He was actually a nice bloke and I hope he gets a few laughs elsewhere in his life. Golf is meant to be fun for God's sake.

Yours truly had an infuriating round, but at least I know why.

I played 18 holes with two chums last Thursday and, during my round, noticed that my driver was making an unusually strange sound on contact with the ball. It always did made a strange sound, but this sound was quite peculiar - like someone hitting an empty Coke can with a cheap biro pen. Closer examination revealed that it was well and truly bust. And to think that I paid £50 for it only two years ago! Outrageous!

I did manage to complete my round, but was compelled to consult a retail outlet during the week in search of a suitable replacement. While listening to a bewildering array of technical information about loft, shaft, weight and aerodynamics, I was near to glazing over. Realising that my earnest expression and sage nodding was giving the salesman the misleading and dangerous impression that I might be prepared to spend £400 on a single club, I decided to cut to the chase and reveal my maximum budget. I was directed towards a more modestly priced collection from which I made my choice. A Wilson Staff graphite shafted driver with a 10 degree loft if you must know. It looked and felt great, which were really my only two criteria.

So my erratic performance at the weekend was largely due to the fact that this was my new driver's first outing. I was all over the place and more sessions at the practice range are a must. My short game was pretty awful too with some of my putts bearing more than a passing resemblance to the work of an opening batsman. I've only myself to blame, of course, since I didn't take those lessons I had promised myself. The result was a 100+ card and a handicap which remains stubbornly at 23. Even with the mitigating circumstances, this was a poor performance from a man who has shown steady improvement for the past two seasons.

Further opportunities for golfing glory will present themselves in the next week or so. I can but hope that the weather will be more suited to the return of the Sun King.

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Last week, on duty for Scotland, Ferguson disgraced himself, his team-mates, his club and his country by indulging in a thoroughly unprofessional drinking session in full view of the public gaze and then compounding the damage by behaving like a recalcitrant and disrespectful yob. For me, it all serves as further proof of Ferguson's lack of class, his arrogance, his inflated opinion of himself, his disrespect for authority and the standards expected of those representing their country. It also signals his complete lack of understanding of his responsibility as a role model for young and impressionable football fans. I applaud Rangers and Walter Smith for acting quickly to show him the door. The SFA, and George Burley in particular, should have acted with the same sense of urgency, but instead contrived to present a "fudge" and a barrage of mixed messages. Finally, they got it right and issued the life ban to both players.

It might be harsh, but it is right that neither Ferguson or McGregor pulls on a dark blue shirt again, but they are not the only ones worthy of our collective disapproval following this tawdry and embarassing escapade. The SFA hierarchy, the management team and the other players involved should all be examining their parts in what has been a most distasteful and regretable series of events. All are guilty and all should face scrutiny and potential sanction. Perhaps the other early-bird drinkers should be charged too and have their day in court. Ferguson's misdemeanors, however, are magnified by the fact that he is a senior player and captain of the Scotland squad, a role that comes with the responsibility to act properly and to show a good example. He did the opposite and his "above the law" attitude means there can be no mitigating circumstances.

Looking back to the days leading up to Le Guen's departure, Ferguson was identified as the ringleader of a dressing-room drinking club which was deemed to be having a negative effect on performance and morale. Le Guen had the temerity to suggest that an approach which embraced dietary discipline and modern sports science was more likely to result in success than team bonding bevvy sessions. Barry and his gang begged to differ. Unfortunately, the Frenchman's eccentric signing policy and early run of poor results combined with a peculiar linguistic style and sometimes bizarre post match analyses already had the natives pretty restless. It all began to remind me of the classic tale of the residents of Hartlepool during the Napoleonic Wars, who hanged a monkey dressed in military costume thinking it to be a French spy .(Google it if you don't believe me.) As the spat developed, sides were taken and David Murray opted to bow to the prevailing "opinion" of the baying mob and a toadying press who believed that Ferguson was more important to Rangers than Le Guen. The Rangers family closed ranks. Le Guen walked away without a thin dime, but with his integrity intact. Ferguson prevailed, but history will show that this was something of a Pyrric victory.

Rangers lost - big time.

They lost a highly rated young manager who needed more time to exert his influence on an institution paralysed by its precious traditions and a yobbish dressing room culture presided over by Ferguson. They lost the opportunity to move into the 21st century and become a modern and sophisticated European football operation. They lost the chance to start from scratch and build a squad that might, in time, threaten Celtic's domestic dominance. Most Celtic fans believed Le Guen would have turned Rangers around and were glad to see him go, while feeling sympathy for the way he was treated. Instead, David Murray chose to go backwards. In appointing "Rangers men" Walter Smith and Ally McCoist to run the football operation, he opted for the old days and the old ways. As a result, they have been unable to introduce innovation into their coaching philosophy and remain mired in the past.

Worse, their failure to change on the football front coincided with a serious downturn in the club's financial fortunes. The excesses of the Advocaat era, written starkly in the balance sheet, caused the money men to wince. Chickens came home to roost and previously patient bankers became impatient. They may never sink completely, but Rangers are now holed below the water line and in perilous financial waters. There seems little prospect of attracting lifeboats in the form of additional investment or a willing buyer.

Should Celtic win the SPL this season, Rangers will need to negotiate very tough qualification rounds to get anywhere near the Champions League. If they don't make it, the financial pressure will grow further. Even if they do find some money down the back of one of the Blue Room sofas, the job of tempting new playing staff to Ibrox will be a near impossible task. A club with dwindling resources, little prospect of playing Champions League football anytime soon and destined to live in the shadow of their biggest rivals doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun for footballers with the usual mix of ego, pride and ambition. Without access to funds, burdened by debt and unable to add quality to the playing staff, Rangers could face a long period in the wilderness and it would only be a matter of time before the fans begin to vote with their feet.

When all of this happened to Celtic back in the early nineties, fan power was instrumental in removing a dysfunctional regime. Shortly afterwards, Fergus McCann paraded down Kerrydale St on his white horse waving a business plan bearing the signatures of willing bankers. A new era began. Celtic is now a business with revenues almost double those of its city rivals and virtually debt-free. It continues to benefit from the steady stewardship of a progressive and outward-looking PLC board.

The difference in 2009 is that the traditional models of business financing have collapsed. I doubt if anyone at the top of Lloyds Banking Group will be cutting Rangers any slack. Business plans based on any club outside the top ten of the English Premiership will fail to convince an already nervous investment community. David Murray has already underwritten at least one share issue too many and has stated his intent to sell. Unfortunately, a club going nowhere on and off the park is not an appealling prospect at any time far less in today's climate. Potential Sugar Daddies are circling their wagons and digging in. It seems pretty clear that there is no big Rangers "fan" out there with deep enough pockets to relieve Murray of what was once the jewel in the MIH crown, but has now clearly become a burden and a drain on cash. To add further woe, events in Manchester last May did little to enhance the brand image of the product. The only hope might be a consortium or a clairvoyant Emir who knows when future European League reconstruction will turn on the TV revenue tap again north of the border and wants to do a Man City.

Barry Ferguson can't be blamed for all the difficulties at Rangers, but his behaviour two seasons ago and his petty victory over Le Guen was a turning point in the club's fortunes and, perhaps, its history. Le Guen represented a chance of a better future for Rangers - a step change in the evolution of its culture and its development as a sporting institution. They elected for the status quo which, in any business, is the same as going backwards.

A return to the "traditional" Rangers management style allowed Ferguson's small-minded and yobbish influence to remain and grow and his latest acts of selfish delusion have only increased the possibility of an apocalyptic doomsday scenario for Rangers Football Club.

Barry Ferguson - Rangers legend!

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As a once-promising young gun myself, I can confirm that assembling a dozen members of a peer group for a training event or group task was a sure way of bringing out the worst in people, especially if it involved observation and evaluation. While most delegates would behave as reasonable, well-adjusted, co-operative and professional colleagues, there would be one or two people who made you wish for a hasty re-introduction of the death penalty for the crime of being a "total arse". There was always someone who simply had to be heard above everyone else, who had a monopoly on the best ideas and needed to organise everyone in a loud (usually English) voice. Invariably they were imbued with a self-belief cultivated by indulgent parents and business acumen acquired from airport lounge bookshops.

In my experience, such confidence and bravado is, more often than not, entirely misplaced. The old saying that "empty vessels make the most sound" is very true and most examples of the species turn out to be oafish office bullies and corporate cliches, lacking self-esteem and often over-compensating for some shortcoming or other. Chips are often clearly visible on shoulders and egos are always much larger than intellects. The Apprentice attracts these types in droves.

I was lucky to have a career fairly high up in the food chain and rarely encountered people of the calibre of those on the Apprentice. The occasional intellectual sprat did occasionally find its way through the net before before being more closely examined and thrown back into the waves of mediocrity along with purveyors of double-glazing and industrial cleaning products. That said, some of the most successful people I've met came with modest academic accomplishments, but were blessed with natural smarts, bucket loads of common sense and excellent qualities as a human beings.

So when you round up a dozen unpleasant "big-heads", add the TV cameras, the prize of easily acquired celebrity and the caricatures, which Sir Alan and his two sidekicks have now become, the result is a rather predictable and tiresome black comedy.

It's not reality TV at all. The whole Apprentice concept is based on a lie. If you really ran a multi-million pound business and you were really hiring someone to do a meaningful job, these people wouldn't get anywhere near your shortlist. The would-be apprentices represent the extremes of young executive material - and not in a good way. By and large, they're a boorish, selfish, deceitful, disloyal, conceited bunch, lacking any attracive personality traits or discernable talent - in fact pretty much the opposite of every genuinely successful person I have encountered.

What makes The Apprentice work as a television event is the fact that it is so unlike real life. It's a modern version of a Roman amphitheatre where the last man standing survives. It appeals to the voyeuristic senses of Joe Public and offers legally accessible blood sport for those too squeamish to participate. It's Big Brother for people who think Big Brother is beyond the pale.

Not that I really care, but I should also like to make a genuine appeal to the programme makers to ditch Sir Alan. He has become a tiresome and profoundly unfunny bore of a man who offers nothing beyond abusive and often unfair criticism. I can think of no-one less likely to successfully fulfil the role of a mentor in real life. His old school ways are wearing pretty thin and I suspect that, if he was starting out today, he would find it pretty tough going.

I will probably watch the rest of the series in my capacity as blogger/TV critic, but I expect I will be cringing throughout.

ps. I do know it's only a bit of fun.

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Phone calls to a variety of Fife's eateries revealed the madness, which descends on otherwise sensible establishments on Mothering Sunday. One conversation went like this.

"Can I book a table for three please?" I enquired.

"Yes of course you can. Is it for Mother's Day lunch?". I feared the worst.

"Er well it's just for lunch really. Why?" I grew nervous in anticipation of the answer.

"Well we are doing a special menu for Mother's Day....." the voice proudly announced before adding "and we also have a gift for all the mothers on the day", no doubt thinking that this would clinch the booking.

I cringed audibly. "Er actually, that sounds a bit over the top. We really just wanted lunch without too much of the Mothers Day fuss".

"Oh well, we're doing a special for Mothers Day", she asserted defiantly, having clearly formed the view that my simple needs were those of a deranged matricidal maniac.

"Is your usual menu not available then?". We had eaten at this place before and it was very good, so I wanted to give them another chance at redemption.

"Well we are actually still serving the usual menu. It's just that it says "Mothers Day" along the top", she offered in mitigation.

"Mm..That doesn't really sound like our kind of thing. Sorry. Goodbye".

Reality dawned. The Mother's Day madness would be difficult to avoid on the Sunday itself, so a change of plan was called for. In an effort to gaim maximum insurance against the risk of kitsch and sugary motherly references, we booked an early table for dinner on Saturday evening at the Seafood Restaurant in St Andrews. A splendid choice as it transpired. If you haven't already been, you really must go to this place. And if you have been, you must go again. It's excellent.

Having diverted for a sunset aperitif at the Golf Hotel on the Scores, where we listened to some young American undergrads yak endlessly about something of no consequence, we trundled the short distance towards the sea in the direction of the iconic glass box perched on the rocks. We arrived at 6.30pm prompt to witness a restaurant reassuringly lacking any Mothers Day vibe. In fact it was devoid of any vibe or any other diners, since we were the first booking of the evening. By the time we were seated, however, and hungrily surveying the menu, other discerning customers had pitched up and the place started to buzz a little.

It was genuinely very difficut to choose from the menu options. They all sounded fantastic and, having been fortunate enough to eat there a few times before, I knew that nothing would disappoint. So it was.

When the head waiter came to take our order, Mrs SP decided to do a Jeremy Paxman impersonation and proceeded to grill him light-heartedly, but mercilessly as to the recent wherabouts of some of the key ingredients. The provenance and textural qualities of the Stone Bass in particular seemed to be vexing her. She finally relented as beads of sweat appeared on the poor boy's upper lip. I told her that I thought she had been a little cruel in her pursuit of the fishy truth, but she maintained, correctly, that good quality restaurants have staff who are equipped to handle searching questions about their product. I thought briefly about testing this theory by calling him back and asking him to to give us the low down on the crustacea, but the moment passed.

Dinner was excellent. Terrines, small and delicate crab towers, monkfish wrapped in pancetta, roast cod, halibut and the aforementioned bass were all accompanied by clever combinations of complementary ingredients including truffle, artichoke, mussels and more. No sign of tired side dishes containing new potatoes, carrots and broccoli here. At £45 a head for three courses (five in total when you count the extra chef's appetiser and a pre-dessert) the set dinner menu represented quite decent value. A nice bottle of the house Galician Albarino and coffee brought the total outlay to £167.00, which might sound a tad expensive in these credit crunching times, but the setting, the standard of service, the quality of the ingredients and the imagination shown by talented chefs made it seem very reasonable. And mater enjoyed it immensely despite the lack of violins and a gift from the maitre d.

And still home in plenty of time for Match of the Day!

The upshot of all this meant that Sunday was free for golfing activity and although I didn't actually manage to play any holes, I re-introduced myself to the club professional after a five month winter gap (shocking really) and headed to the practice range with 80 balls.

It was very windy indeed and every shot I hit was 50 yards short. I have to report that my consistency and accuracy after such a long lay- off were pretty good. This augers well for my season debut next Saturday in the Centenary Cup competition. The first medal of the year will bring excitement and trepidation in equal measure, but I'm looking forward to it.

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But is it true? Are Celtic and Rangers as bad - or as good - as each other? I say no. Celtic are better than Rangers. Consider the evidence.

In terms of playing personnel, there is not a single Rangers player whom Celtic fans covet. You could perhaps make a case for Bougherra although with Loovens, O'Dea, Caldwell, McMananus and John Kennedy to choose from, signing priorities surely lie elsewhere.

Even wee Barry doesn't make the grade. Once regarded by many (although not this correspondent) as an automatic pick for any Scottish starting eleven, Bazza's curious magic has waned. The aging process and the dwindling quality of his team-mates over the years have combined to reveal the stark truth. Barry was a good player in a good team such as the one built by Dick Advocat with Sir Minty's millions. In an ordinary team, Barry doesn't shine. He blends into his surroundings and looks - ordinary. Instead of inspiring those around him, Barry snarls, moans and gets mightily red-faced in frustration.

Perhaps my green-tinted specs are working on full power, but I've always thought of Ferguson as a poor man's version of Paul McStay. I saw the Maestro's debut back in 1982. He looked classy at 18 and he still looked classy when he was forced to retire though injury in the late nineties. During that spell, Paul played in some pretty good Celtic teams, most notably the double-winning team in the 1988 Centenary season which contained Bonnar, Aitken, McClair, Mo Johnston, McLeod and Burns. He also had the misfortune to play with some less-celebrated Celts and some downright howlers - Karl Muggleton, Tony Cascarino, Wayne Biggins to name (and shame) a few. It makes me shudder to think these guys wore the Hoops.

In many respects, Ferguson's second spell at Rangers mirrors the latter half of Paul McStay's Celtic career. Huge expectations dashed by the mediocrity imposed by harsh economics. Maybe you find out how good a player really is when times are tough. Bazza might have made his name and reputation rubbing shoulders with Klos, Amoruso, Numan, De Boer, Tugay, Van-Bronkhurst and the like, but he finds it tougher to occupy the same teamsheet as lesser beings such as Kirk Broadfoot, Stephen Whittaker and Kris Boyd.

The big difference is that Paul McStay always looked special - in good times and bad. His talent always managed to shine through the gloom of those dark, dismal, pre-Fergus McCann days. He was capable of turning games single handedly with an exquisite killer pass, a long range screamer or a lung-bursting run from midfield and a neat finish. McStay had genuine class and was unlucky not to play in better teams while at his peak. Seeing Paul McStay in a team with Larsson, Sutton, Lambert, Petrov and Moravcik would have been truly special. McStay rarely, if ever, looked ordinary for Celtic or in any of his 76 appearances for Scotland.

So, in summary, Bazza's a wee diddy.

To return to the initial question, how many Celtic players would an objective and well-adjusted Rangers fan want in his team? I'd say at least four; Nakamura, McGeady, Brown and McDonald and you might find some who would happily take one of our central defenders too - but then I'm an objective and well-adjusted Cetic fan. So, in terms of players, the Hoops have the edge.

What about mentality? Again, I think we have it. On Saturday, the Teds were 2-0 up at home at half-time and contrived to finish 2-2 despite having 20 minutes or more left to find a winner. Not only did they not have the playing staff to win the game, they did not, according to reports, have the will or the heart either. Celtic on the other hand came back from 1-2 down away from home to get the point they needed to maintain their lead. They refused to be beaten and a combination of determination and ability earned the minimum result they would settle for. A look through the results of this season will yield more evidence of a lack of mental fortitude down Ibrox way.

Do we have a better manager? It's harder to say, but I'd be inclined to say yes to that too. If you judge a manager across all the key elements - signings, coaching, selection, tactics, substitutions and results, Wee Gordon probably has more to boast about. He's certainly made his share of dodgy signings (Du Wei, Mo Camara) but it would be difficult to argue that Boruc and Nakamura were not inspired pieces of football business. He picked up some really good local talent too with Caldwell, Wilson, Brown, Hartley and Robson all making a significant contribution at first team level. How many of Wattie's acquisitions can be regarded as real successes over a sustained period. Cuellar? The Spaniard looked commanding, but his contribution was curtailed by expediency and the need for cash. Thompson? Maybe, but has he been there long enough to be sure? Even I thought Mendes looked like the real deal, but if you listen to calls from irate Bears on the phone-ins, he is flattering to deceive. I predict that Bougherra and Mendes will be clearing out their lockers in the summer.

Wee Gordon seems to be more able and willing to change formation, personnel and tactics depending on any number of factors. Wattie, perhaps restricted by the personnel available, seems wedded to 4-5-1 and unable to think of alternatives let alone deploy them on match days. Celtic's ability to flex suggests a higher standard of coaching and, perhaps, a more intelligent manager.

The title race could still go either way, of course, but the balance of probability and the evidence provided by recent history now suggest a fourth title for the good guys. That doesn't mean there couldn't still be a helicopter moment on the last day.

An international break brings some relief from domestic pressure, but a date in the Amsterdam Arena offers a stern test for all of a dark blue persuasion. Wee Barry could still prove me wrong and I genuinely hope he does on this occasion. It's a pity we never got to see Bazza and the Maestro as a midfield duo for Scotland. That might well have been something worth watching.

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I've been reading quite a bit of the press coverage of Sunday's match and I'm pleased to say that there is a consistent thread running through them all. Celtic were fitter and had better players.

This is not a gloating post, but I do feel vindicated. I've been saying for quite a while that, while we are no world-beaters, we do have superior players and a better squad than our neighbours. You only need to reflect on who wasn't even playing - Crosas, Maloney, Flood, Robson, Naylor, Donati - with Mark Wilson and the two big strikers only playing bit parts coming off the bench (thankfully). Who was missing for the Teds who could have made a genuine difference? Kevin Thompson and Bougherra are the only first picks who weren't available. Naismith, Edu, Fleck, Beasley are hardly names to strike fear into the opposition. Young Fleck might be some day, but the same was said about Chris Burke and Mark Burchill, both of whom rose without trace.

Christian Dailly has been a solid enough player and a great servant to Scotland, but what was Uncle Wattie thinking about? As for Boydchenko! I also think Wattie did us a favour taking off Miller and Lafferty who both had the potential to cause damage. Instead he introduces the fans favourites Boyd and Novo - then Dailly!? Guys who "know what it's all about". It all smacked of desperate last throws of the dice rather than tactical nouse. But that's for the Teds to worry about.

I just wonder if the win would have been more convincing if we had stuck to our regular back four, played five in the middle with Hartley behind Crosas and Brown and Skippy leading the line with Naka and Aiden supplying the width. I'm beginning to think that could be our strongest formation - especialy since our twin strikers seem to have chucked it for the season. Samaras in particular was abject on Sunday.

Having established our technical and physical superiority on Sunday, the challenge now is to make it count in the run-in. I still believe that if we play our best footballers, we'll win nine games out of ten - and that should be enough to clinch the prize.

The job begins on Sunday against Craig Levein's team - a tough assignment with real banana skin potential.

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It's a blustery day in somewhere like Inverness, Falkirk or....Paisley. It's chucking it down. We've been playing well and looking like returning to some kind of decent form. Our flair players are starting to show their quality. There is even the slightest hint of over-confidence - we even played the same team three games running - all the ingredients for a major slip-up. Cue tousy game, hair pulling frustration, stray passes, woeful finishing, plucky well-organised opposition, late winner, narrow defeat, points dropped or shock cup exit. The classic banana skin scenario. In summary, we were rank. They played some decent stuff, had bigger hearts and deserved to win. End of.

Serious questions remain. For example, what dodgy photos of wee Gordon do JVOH and big Sammy have in their possession? I have concluded that this can be the only reason these two are getting a game. They have been unmitigatingly awful for months now and should be banished to the reserves to re-learn their jobs. Wee Gordon would surely risk a tacky Sunday tabloid "exclusive" for the sake of seeing a goal scored by a striker other than Skippy. The pictures surely can't be that bad.

It's a blow being out of the cup, but at least it wasn't an SPL game. We have a chance to get back on track next Sunday, but cannot afford to turn up with the same attitude.

Another wake-up call in a season full of them so far!

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My post match blog was brief, but conveyed my deep satisfaction with a job well done and perhaps a corner turned in the championship race.

On reflection, I decided to delete it in case we came a cropper against Killie. Never a man comfortable with egg on his face, I elected for quiet confidence and circumspection in favour of triumphalism followed by an omelette facepack. Saturday might have turned out to be a flash in the pan. It wasn't.

The same eleven, with the exception of suspended Jan NotVerygood of Hesselink, took to the field and should have been 4-0 up by half-time such was their domination. More slick, fast, passing, movement and invention and only great saves from Killie's keeper prevented it being all over at the break. Killie put up a better fight in the second half, but I always felt we would be good enough to get the winner. Skippy crowned a great performance with his second goal. I would have been happy with that but events up the A77 made the smile just a wee bit broader.

Last night might not prove to be significant in the title race, but the last two games proved my point - that this team is capable of winning in style if they believe in themselves and trust their ability. The winning mentality - and the lead - is restored.

The only downside is that our two big srikers are continuing their very convincing impressions of two big diddies.

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Alas, it is all going a tad pear-shaped at the moment. Despite confident and reassuring noises eminating from wagons circling around Celtic Park, I am neither confident nor reassured. Will you please consider the following as a matter of urgency.

1. Stephen McManus is not a captain. He is a decent centre back and has had some great defensive performances. He talks well on camera and probably in the dressing room, but he is not a leader on the park. He can't galvanise the troops around him and disappears at crucial times when people like Keane, Lennon & Lambert would be dominant. I would also be tempted to use Darren O'Dea, a more composed and intelligent footballer than McManus. Caldwell should be captain. Fact.

2. We will not win the SPL - or make any impact in Europe, if we do not know our best 11 players. Some clubs might think it a luxury to be able to choose from a squad full of internationals, but your tinkering tendencies are costing too many points. The answer should be simple. We want to play attractive football and we have players who are technically capable of delivering that vision. So use them, Gordon.

Assuming all are available, Nakamura, Crosas, Maloney and McGeady should start every game. Why? Because they are all technically strong, inventive and capable of making things happen. Why train all week, coaching technical football skills and then compromise your football philosophy on a Saturday just because the SPL is full of hammer-throwers. In my experience, good footballers nearly always beat hammer-throwers. So have the courage of your convictions, use your best resources and play football.

3. Your loyalty to JVOH and big Sammy is admirable, but they are not delivering. Get it sorted. At least give young Hutcheson a chance.

4. Can you please look at some old footage of successful Celtic teams of the past - or any great team for that matter. You will see movement off the ball, unselfish runs into space, stretching defensive formations, giving the man in possession a target to aim for - an option. Henrik Larsson was the master at this and his tireless running and workrate were rewarded. Jorge Cadette may have been wired to the moon, but he made great diagonal runs and caused havoc among defenders. Why can't we do this now? Two reasons. First, our strikers have no pace and secondly, you have over-coached them on "team shape". How do you expect anyone to create chances if they play in a rigid, predictable and easy to defend against 4-4-2 formation for 90 minutes? How about some imagination?

5. Apart from set pieces, when did any of our players last shoot for goal from outside the box - and get it on target? What happened to that skill? Not in the modern coaching manual, Gordon?

6. Why exactly did you sign Mizuno, McCourt, Hutcheson, McGinn and the recent batch of youngsters from Europe? Will we ever see them? Are they any better than Rocco Quinn, Scott Cuthbert, Paul Caddis, Cilian Sheridan, Paul McGowan......? The list is endless. What is the incentive for these young guys?

7. Please try to look a bit more hacked off when we drop points. Fans get seriously miffed when you congratulate players after dropping two or three points to a team of journeymen. Please raise your expectations, lower your pain threshold and try to look like you're hurting at least a bit. I fear your relaxed circumspection is communicating itself to the players.

8. In the summer, please find four players - only four. A left back, a mobile striker, a dominant and experienced centre-back and a midfielder who can look up and play a pass before everyone on the opposing team has figured out what he's going to do and is ready to defend it.

I'm not even stipulating that you need buy all four. Maybe someone already at the club can already fulfil one or more of these roles. You ought to know having been around for four years now. If, however, you don't manage to succeed in getting any of these guys on board, despite your best efforts, it's probably best that you resign.

After all, to paraphrase Einstein "Doing things the same way over and over and expecting different results is a definition of insanity".

yours (in high hope, but low expectation)
sanpietro

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I had booked a table at the Tiffin Rooms with a mixture of relief and apprehension. My relief was due to the fact that "wee bruv" was in town for the weekend to celebrate a milestone birthday. In addition to a brief for his first Old Firm game for 30 years, I had promised him a few beers and a Glasgow curry on the Saturday night. I hit the phones on Monday evening, believing this to be plenty of time to secure our dining arrangements. Imagine my horror when, one after the other, restaurant staff sneered down the phone at me, reminding me that it was St Valentines night and my chances of getting a table were, unlike myself, slim. It appeared I could have a table at 5.30pm, a time when I am usually still digesting lunch or 9.45pm, when I would normally be contemplating my pyjamas - at least on a school night. (Don't pretend you're any different!) My frantic efforts eventually found me in direct contact with the one and only Balbir (don't know his surname), one of Glasgow's curry pioneers and proprietor of a number of Indian restaurants throughout the city bearing his name. The bold Balbir - a thoroughly nice man incidently - politely informed me that his new establishment had only just opened (a week) and could give me a table at 7.15pm - not an ideal time for dinner, but not without some advantages. Realising this could my only hope, I made the booking - hence the relief.

My apprehension then started to develop on two counts. First, I surmised that any restaurant which has only been open for a week would not yet be at the top of its game. I imagined a shortage of staff, undertrained and hopelessly inexperienced waiters, teething trouble with the new kitchen equipment. I could hear the sincere apologies and excuses being offered as we left in a huff of disappointment. Perhaps worse, it might be deserted.

My second source of concern was "wee bruv", a man with an impressive track record of west-end curry eating during his university years and one who believes that a vindaloo is strictly for wimps. Most worryingly he also has an unerring nose for what he once famously coined as "a fool's curry" - a suitably derogatory term for the fare served up in overpriced, designer Indian restaurants, which became popular as an alternative to traditional stalwarts like the Shish Mahal, Koh-I-Noor and the Shenaz. As a discerning and experienced curry consumer, now living in London, but whose palate was developed in Glasgow, it would not be the first time "wee bruv" placed his silver cutlery on a white linen tablecloth before uttering the damning verdict - "it's a fool's curry!".

My apprehension, while understandable, was entirely misplaced on both counts. The Tiffin Rooms was a real find. Occupying the site of what was The Three Pigeons (a favourite venue for 21st Birthday Parties in the late '70s as I recall) on the western section of Sauchiehall St, beyond Charing Cross, the first good omen was that it was easy to park.

Once inside, it did feel very new and shiny, but light and airy with a large dining room at the front with windows facing the street and a roomy rear section. We were greeted by the man himself and seated in a far corner table. Under different circumstances, I might have asked for a more centrally-located table, but the place was clearly busy and a combination of pre-dinner beers, a friendly welcome and the pleasant buzz of the place had softened our collective mood.

Having ordered drinks, we were briefed on how the place worked by an eager waitress wielding a hand-held device of indeterminate provenance. Scholars among you will know that "tiffin" was used to describe a light midday meal in the days of the Raj, so the idea behind the menu is to offer smallish "tapas" style dishes as an alternative to the traditional "pakora + curry of choice" approach. This is an increasingly popular eating trend, which has already travelled beyond Spanish cuisine to Italian and now Indian. The description of this new-fangled approach did ring small alarm bells and I cast a glance at "wee bruv" for a reaction. He was sipping his Cobra beer and keeping his curry powder dry.

We decided to enter into the spirit and ordered three starters and two Thali combinations - a total of nine small dishes (too many as it turned out). We had pakora, spicy chickpea, potato cake, lamb rogan josh, lamb saag, two chicken dishes (one madras) and two vegetable dishes. These were accompanied by rice and chapatis. It was all very delicious, each dish having its own unique texture and flavour with no hint of the homogeneity of taste we find too often - particularly in Indian take-aways. All the lamb and chicken was tender and well cooked, although Mrs SP did think that some of the spices in one of the chicken dishes had a raw edge as though they hadn't quite been cooked out for long enough. This was a mild complaint. It was all fab and both food and format met with enthusiastic approval from "wee bruv".

Having agreed at the time of booking that we would give our table back at 9pm, we were expecting to be "shooed" out the door, but the service was warm and friendly, prompt and efficient without ever being hurried. We ended up sitting around grazing and sipping until at least 9.30pm before tackling the considerable challenge of standing up and propelling ourselves, fat and happy, into the night, in eager anticipation of loose fitting clothing - possibly pyjamas.

A reliable sort, that Balbir fellow.

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I will gloss over Celtic's failings on the day and blame the entire debacle on "Wattenacchio" Smith. Playing in a 4-1-4-1 formation (which switched effortlesly to a 5-5 formation when Celtic had the ball), Rangers rarely made a forward pass in the first 45 minutes. The onus to make a game of it, as usual, fell to the good guys in green & white hoops. Alas, the combinaton of hordes of people in blue tops between the half-way line and Alan McGregor's goal (I'm sure some fans were in there too) and the ineptitude of our strikers, made goalmouth incidents a rarity. JVOH's feet remain curiously embedded in the turf and Scot McDonald's sitter was the only real sniff of a chance. Boruc, in the meantime, was at the other end listening to his iPod and texting his mates, while chatting up a perma-tan blonde in the front row of the stand.

At half-time, SPL and SFA officials clearly paid a visit to the Rangers dressing room to explain the rules of the game and remind Wattie that the objective of the beautiful game was to score goals....and perhaps that a point was no good to them.*NP. This seemed to have a galvanising effect and the result was there for all to see in last night's risable Sportscene highlights - a complete bombardment of Artur's goal (er......one reflex save from a deflected McManus header and a point blank stop from a David Weir effort). According the Beeb, whose cameras were evidently only switched on for the second half, Celtic narrowly escaped with a point. Hilarious! I shall say little about the performance of the referee other than to suggest that an eye test and a new watch would be wise and essential investments, regardless of the credit crunch.

It was difficult to give pass marks to anyone on the day, but Caldwell, Hartley, Nakamura and Artur were above the general mediocrity. Young John Fleck was pretty anonymous and will hope to get a kick next time. Nobody deserved to win this game. A draw was fair on everyone except those watching it and a veil should be drawn over it as quickly as possible.

*NP. Note of paranoia.

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If Celtic can put their personnel difficulties behind them and come out with the right attitude, they should prevail. After all, they are at home, they do have better players and there is an incentive to go five points clear, which will not be an unassailable lead, but a good one at this stage of the season. If they take the field with the jitters and Rangers sense it quickly, they will find it tough.

I expect a tense, edgy game with frayed tempers. The referee will be busy and I do not expect 22 players to be on the field at the end.

Prediction: Celtic win - (2-1)

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Why are they surprised? No one is denying the impressive array of talented players currently plying their trade in the EPL or its overall quality as a league. Every team has a handful of exceptional players and the top six have full squads of international class talent. Here's the question though - how many Englishmen would make it into a Premiership 11? The only three I would pick are Gerrard, Ferdinand and maybe Rooney - the rest would be foreigners. Take your pick from Van Der Saar, Torres, Ronaldo, Fabrigas, Carvalho, Deco, Robinho, Clichy, Tevez, Vidic, Rosizcky.........the list goes on and on. Five or six years ago, you could pick another 11 which would probably include Berkamp, Van Nistlrooy, Henri, Viera, Jap Stam and Crespo. Further back, Schmeichel, Cantona, Zola and Vialli would be among the first picks. The problem for England at international level is that they have been the victims of their own hype for too long, believing that the strength of their top league entitles them to a seat at football's top table - namely the latter stages of the Euros and the World Cup. It's significant that the last England team that looked anything like genuine contenders was the class of Euro'96 - before the Premiership really took off. Performances since France'98 and at each of the last three such tournaments under Ericsson and McLaren should provide enough evidence to convince them that they are not as good as they think they are - or at least that the national team cannot live up to the expectation created by the domestic product. The outpouring of national grief and communal soul-search which routinely follows international failures suggest that lessons have not been learned and expectations are still unrealistically high. We all recognise the anguished cries of "but we're England...we deserve to be in the semi-finals at least". The words "sew" and "reap" spring quickly to mind.

The solution is simple, but sadly for England, not likely to be grasped. The principle reason for the gap between the expectation and the performance of the national team is the TV money, which has poured into the EPL for the last ten years and allowed clubs to acquire, at preposterous expense in many cases, some of the best players from outside these islands. Club fans, especially those of Man Utd, Liverpool, Arsenal and Chelsea salivate every summer at the prospect of multi-million pound new arrivals and then shed croccodile tears when the same players teach Johny Englander a football lesson every two years at international tournaments. The bottom line is that while the big four are scrapping it out, outspending each other in an effort to win the big money prizes of the Premiership and the Champions League, England will win nothing. The two are mutually exclusive. What a shame!

At a lower level and on a smaller scale, the economics of Scotland's football model have encouraged our clubs to turn more readily to homegrown talent and to buy "foreign" more cautiously. We would all like to see more young Scottish players making the grade at top level and financial imperatives perhaps now make this a more likely prospect given that prudence is now a route which our clubs must take. The downside in the meantime is that our domestic product is, more often than not, a poor spectacle. At least at international level, our expectations, if not our hopes, are more grounded.

Footnote - I hope Wee Gordon was watching Spain last night. That's how football should be played - fast, intelligent, lovely to watch and very effective.

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Mrs SP, on the other hand, took a slightly wacky turn last night and chose to "interpret" a recipe for what sounded like a rather nice chicken and mushroom "pie". My offers of assistance having been firmly declined, I was banished from the kitchen and waited in lip-smacking anticipation, distracting myself by searching for something decent to watch on TV (an increasingly futile exercise don't you find?). My fears were aroused when Mrs SP appeared and sheepishly announced that the chicken, mushroom and potato "soup" was ready. In mitigation, both chicken and mushroom did feature in the final ensemble, but several key ommissions (pastry for one) and a few slightly risky additional ingredients (the aforementioned potato) contrived to make the whole dish something the recipe's creator surely couldn't have imagined. To describe it as a casserole would be gilding the lily, but then "roadkill" would be too harsh. Foody porn is was not. In her defence, it was well seasoned and what it lacked in aesthetic charm and plate appeal, it made up for in flavour - and good for her for having a go I say.

This was in stark contrast to her efforts on Friday evening, which produced a very splendid salmon and vegetable gratin. Chunks of lovely salmon, carrots and broccoli coated with a parmesan cheese sauce and baked in the oven. Great, tasty comfort food - and, thankfully, she hadn't substituted the salmon with Weetabix!

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The end result is that everyone thinks 1. we are rotten and 2. we could get gubbed next Sunday. This is most encouraging. The fact that both statements are not without some foundation is neither here nor there. There is a strange alchemy at work on Old Firm day, which quite often manifests itself in the less fancied underdogs emerging victorious and the erstwhile favourites playing like a bunch of softy schoolboys on their first outing on a red blaze pitch. The first OF game this season was the perfect example, when we just didn't turn and were promptly punished by a hungrier and more determined (if slightly jammy) foe on the day.

It should be different this time. We are playing poorly, creating few chances, leaking goals and Artur and Aiden are having a "square go" behind the bike sheds at Lennoxtown each day after training. To cap it all, John Fleck is the new Pele. We're bound to win!

NP* note of paranoia included for artistic reasons.

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For example, travelling back from Edinburgh last night I witnessed, in eye-rubbing disbelief, some of the most outrageously stupid and downright dangerous driving ever. Which part of "Red-Stop/Green-Go" is difficult to grasp for some people? When did driving in the wrong direction on a roundabout become acceptable as a legitimate manoevre in the "all bets are off" rush hour commute? Insanity posing as expediency! Mayhem predictably ensued. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that the selfishness and stupidity of the human species was manifest on many sets of four wheels.

Yours truly was, naturally, in a ferment and stopped short (some way short it must be said) of confronting the perpetrators. Road rage is an unedifying spectacle outside of Formula One. Instead, having dutifully and lawfully waited an hour for my turn to enter the roundabout in question, I elected to sneer at carefully selected puny looking types as I caught their eye. Fortified by the feeling that comes with occupation of the moral high ground, I proceeded along the M8 at a snail's pace in a bumper to bumper convoy with motorists who seemed intent on annoying me. Those in front chose to dance gleefully on their brake pedals while those behind accelerated aggressively, seemingly oblivious to the futility of their endeavor. The result was a most unpleasant white-knuckle experience involving much fuming and no small amount of cardiac unrest. I arrived home tired, but relieved, with dangerously low blood sugar levels and in much need of Mrs SP's TLC.

Later, by way of R&R, I decided to tune in to the Merseyside derby on Setanta. A local derby, an FA Cup tie, a cold February night - all the ingredients for a special night of footy you would have thought. Not so. A dour, tousy, niggly encounter with little to cheer about - at least that's all I saw before flipping over to Masterchef. I believe the Toffees edged it. Great.

More soon....................

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Anyway here I am in 2009 with renewed determination and an overwhelming feeling that this could be good year for sharing thoughts about Celtic, Food & Golf - not to mention the recession, the media, and our increasingly bizarre lives.

On the Celtic front, we are still pretty average and anyone who says different is either deluding themselves and/or under twelve years old. Wee Gordon really hasn't taken us any further than this time last year. In fact, we've gone backwards. We have a sprinkling of talented players and a bunch of ordinary ones. I really can't get excited about the transfer targets being discussed. Old Firm game on Feb 15th is now a major event.

Is it just me or is everything about the cash-soaked English Premiership getting eye-wateringly tedious? And haven't they got the decency to show a bit of restraint? Silly question.

In a time of recession, paying millions for a footballer (even one with three good feet) is utterly obscene. Example: Liverpool manager Benitez buys Robbie Keane from Spurs in the summer for £20m - then sells him back to Spurs in January for £15m. Why does he not get fired? Will he take a pay cut? Who on the board thinks that's good for the club? The fact that most EPL players are dim-witted, overpaid mannequins makes it all the more irritating and ..........well it's just plain wrong. Scottish footballers are, of course, too ugly for the mannequin tag!

No golf news - too cold - although I am planning to take a few short game lessons in March before the season starts in earnest. This year's target is to get from 23 to 21. Tough I know, but I need a focus. Watch this space.

Food - I visited a few decent eateries in the last few weeks. I had a great Christmas Day lunch at Hotel du Vin in Poole, Dorset while visiting the family. I was in London last week and had some fantastic (though a bit pricey) tapas in a place on Westbourne Grove. Really nice stuff. I also had a great dinner at Cafe Anglais which is at the top of the Whiteleys shopping Centre on Queensway. It doesn't sound very glam ,but it was outstanding - and quite busy for a Wednesday night. I suspect most of diners were in denial of the credit crunch - many doubtless having chosen from the special "Emperor Nero" menu.

Had Sunday lunch with my Mum at the Boathouse (in the grounds of Cameron House Hotel) down at Loch Lomond. Nice food, great setting - service slightly homespun and a tad "work experience", but pleasant enough. Grumpy Old Man point (GOMP for future reference) here - Why do restaurants charging £160 for four people (no desserts and only one bottle of wine) think it's acceptable to employ a small army of "yoofs" all of whom have evidently been coached on how to deliver the sincere enquiry; "Was everything alright for yeez?". I'm sorry, but at those prices I expect a decent standard of spoken English with my nosh.

And while I'm at it...............

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On the subject of my team, we are not looking too clever at the moment. We seem content to pass the ball all over the pitch and need reminded that the objective is to score. I know they're trying hard, but come on - Inverness, Kilmarnock, St Mirren - hardly teams to worry about under normal circumstances. We just don't seem able to really hurt the opposition at the moment. I know why. There's not enough movement off the ball, not enough pace, not enough invention, too many square passes andnot enough clever one-two stuff at speed - just watch MU or Arsenal. That's how it's done. Simple. And while I'm at it, I don't think changing the chairman has helped. No offence to Dr John, but it seems to me that things have gone a little pear-shaped since he arrived.

Bring on Barca - not!

No golf to report on. I planned to play in a medal on New Year's Day but the weather was...er... Scottish.

Plenty to report regarding food. I've eaten a lot of it. I'm feeling quite sluggish and looking quite paunchy. Not good. After years of defying the march of time and looking younger than my years, I'm in danger of developing more middle-aged characteristics to add to my already established status as a Grumpy Old Man.

Note to self - get out and do some exercise, tubby.

Well it's not much but it's a start. I'll be more eloquent and amusing next time out. Promise

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None of this was ideal preparation for our next challenge against Benfica in Lisbon on Wednesday night. We need to reinvent ourselves very quickly if we are to avoid a really embarrassing 90 minutes. Our Portugese friends haven't managed a single point yet and they will not lack motivation. We must dampen their ambitions immediately, not necessarily by scoring, but be being very well organised and hard to play against. I'm not terribly confident it has to be said.

From a very promising start to the season when we seemed to improving with every game, we have hit the buffers in terms of performance. We haven't really played well since the day we beat Hearts over a month ago.

We'll see what he next two games bring. No need to start panicking yet.

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