CAMBUSLANG MIRAGE: OLD BOARD'S BLETHERS

 

Back in the early '90s, the Celtic board, in a dazzling display of delusion, floated the idea of ditching Celtic Park like last season’s kit and building a shiny new stadium. Oh, they didn’t just whisper it in boardroom shadows—they strutted it out in public. The grand plan? Schlep a few miles to Cambuslang and erect a 52,000-seat, state-of-the-art fortress, complete with a rail link, retail park, museum, and probably a gold-plated snack bar for good measure. All this, they swore, with the backing of some deep-pocketed investors.

This wasn’t just a whim—it was their answer to the Taylor Report’s pesky demand for all-seater stadiums across the UK. Instead of, say, fixing what they had, the board decided to go full-on fantasy architect. The price tag? A cool £100 million. No biggie, right? Their genius strategy involved building in phases, like assembling a flat-pack stadium. Phase one: two touchline stands, 32,000 seats, £26 million. Phase two: a couple of lower tiers to complete the circle for a bargain £4 million. Phases three and four? Upper tiers, a roof, and a black hole of cash they didn’t bother fully pricing out. Honestly, it sounded like they were planning this on the back of a napkin.

The board also dangled promises of jobs and economic fairy dust for Cambuslang, channeling the vibes of shady politicians on a campaign trail. Spoiler: they were about as truthful as a used car salesman. Celtic was bleeding money, and this whole scheme reeked of a desperate distraction from their epic mismanagement. Relocating to Cambuslang? Yeah, about as likely as setting up shop on the moon.

Thankfully, this fever dream was just a sad power grab by a board clinging to their seats like life rafts. Enter Fergus McCann, the hero we didn’t deserve. No nonsense, no pipe dreams—just a sharp mind, his own hard-earned cash, and an actual plan. He didn’t just talk about a revamped Celtic Park; he built it, delivering stability, success, and a stadium worth bragging about. Unlike the old guard, Fergus didn’t sell us a fairytale—he made it real.