Was at every home game and many forgettable aways.
Memories of that awful semi-final defeat at Hampden by Motherwell on a soaking wet night when we lost 2-4 and could have been out of sight before they seemd to score with every shot.
Fox on the park - I was one of the 8k or so that didn't stay out despite the requests of Celts for Change- freezing night, there with my burd after travelling an hour.
Celts for Change - meetings and rallies and standing outside the ground in the rain prior to a match (Airdrie home?) in the car park, marshalled by polis and Chris Whyte and the reptiles gazing down at us with contempt from the high windaes.
Celtic end when Andy Payton scored the winner v the Huns in a 2-1 win and the MIB letting them kick-off with half the Celtic team still celebrating in front of the jungle.
Miraculously, they failed to score - great save (by Packy Bonner?) I think - the busloads of Irish bhoys all around me were on the park for sure if the Huns had equalised under those circumstances - it was utter joy to seething rage in seconds. That was the first time I recall hearing Fields of Athenry belted out in glorious unison.
Brockville cicra 92 (?) - utter slaughterhouse of a ground with the most dangerous exit I ever encountered - think we got beat and as if the crush to get ourt wasn't bad enough, those smalltown Huns started launching bricks at us from their own part of their crumbling midden.
Jungle for Mo Johnston's (spit) first game at Celtic Park with the Huns. Wee scumbag caused one of the biggest crushes I ever felt as he absent-mindedly came to retreive a ball right in front of us and everybody lunged forward at him. I remember his eyes flashing terror as he realised where he was and what he was wearing. Had he been caught and dragged in it would have defined the favourite Hun phrase thrown at Lenny; 'he brought it on himself'...
Front of main stand with forged tickets to see us pump the huns 3-0 and them have 2 sent off - week after the St.Valentine's day massacre? A great joyous day with red cards being handed out around the stadium before kick off - prophetic or what?
My big suave mate was in the act of quite successfully chatting up a female copper when we scored the third (Tommy Coyne?). He leapt off the wall onto the track and she had to huckle him out with the help of a colleague.
Red face for her amid the celebrations and a reprimand from stern-faced Hun sergeant. My mate re-appeared beside me five minutes later laughing his arse off after stewards let him back in. She saw him return, but did her best to ignore him for the rest of the game even tho he kept calling out sweet nothings to her during lulls in play
We got a lift back down to Ayrshire in the car of a young Motherwell squad player at the time - a merc with sunroof that we slid open as we passed a Hun supporter's bus from Belfast on its way to the ferry. Hanging out the roof at 70 mph, waving red cards at a busload of ragin' Huns practically eating the windaes with their eyes on stalks is a dangerous memory to recall at any time that requires composure.
