There are clubs that exist, and there are clubs that mean something. Celtic belongs firmly in the latter. Built on history, sacrifice, identity, and an unbreakable bond between terrace and turf, Parkhead has never been just a stadium. It is a living archive of belief. From European nights that shook the continent to domestic afternoons soaked in expectation, Celtic has always been defined by clarity of purpose and courage of selection. When those pillars wobble, the noise is not immediate. It begins as a hush. A questioning pause. A collective intake of breath.
That hush has returned. Not as panic, but as unease. The kind that creeps in when tradition feels misaligned with execution, when possession lacks purpose, when effort is visible but direction is not. Celtic’s story has always been one of renewal without forgetting who they are. The supporters understand transitions. What they struggle to accept is hesitation. Because at this club, belief is not optional. It is demanded.
Then came Thursday night. A bruising 3–0 defeat to AS Roma at Celtic Park that felt heavier than the scoreline suggested. An early own goal set the tone, two clinical strikes followed, and by half-time the contest was slipping beyond reach. The final whistle brought boos, not of entitlement, but of recognition. Recognition that something vital is missing.
Into that moment stepped Martin O’Neill. Not as a provocateur. As a custodian of standards.
O’Neill, whose era at Celtic was defined by authority, balance, and fearlessness, did not dance around the issue. His message was direct, deliberate, and loaded with consequence. He believes Celtic are holding themselves back by failing to trust their most underrated asset.
“There’s no doubt in my mind who Celtic’s most underrated player is. He has the ability to change games, to bring energy and creativity, yet he’s barely been given a run. You cannot win matches if you don’t play your best players.”
The words landed heavily because of who delivered them. O’Neill is not prone to empty commentary. His success at the club was built on selecting players who understood the rhythm of Celtic, who could handle pressure and impose themselves when the margins tightened. To hear him speak of omission rather than opposition cut deep.
While he stopped short of personal condemnation, his critique of Wilfried Nancy’s choices was unmistakable. Performances, he suggested, are not failing through lack of effort, but through lack of conviction in selection. Against Roma, Celtic saw plenty of the ball but little penetration. Momentum dissolved in the final third. Structure existed, but spark did not.
“It’s simple,” O’Neill continued. “You play the players who give you a platform to compete. If you don’t, results like this follow.”
Only later did the name surface. Luke McCowan.
For O’Neill, McCowan represents clarity. A midfielder who links play with intent, who carries urgency rather than caution, who understands space and tempo. Not flamboyant, not headline-driven, but decisive. The type of player Celtic sides have historically leaned on when games demand intelligence over chaos.
“Every time McCowan has been involved, there’s direction. That’s not coincidence. That’s football intelligence.”
Against Roma, that intelligence was missing. Celtic’s build-up fractured under pressure. Transitions stalled. A missed penalty before the break only sharpened the sense of inevitability. Roma, composed and ruthless, exposed a side unsure of its own rhythm.
Nancy, still early in his tenure, called for unity and patience afterward, insisting lessons will be learned. Yet patience at Celtic has always been conditional. It exists alongside expectation. And with Europa League qualification now hanging in the balance, seven points on the board and two games remaining, the margin for uncertainty is shrinking fast.
The reaction among supporters was telling. Not rage, but debate. Forums buzzing. Questions circling. Why certain players are trusted intermittently. Why control fades when resistance arrives. Why Celtic, a club that once dictated European nights, now appears reactive.
O’Neill’s intervention has sharpened that debate into focus. His argument is not about tearing plans apart. It is about clarity.
“You don’t need to rebuild everything,” he said. “You need consistency. You need players who understand how to control matches and build belief.”
At Celtic, belief is everything. It is inherited, protected, and demanded. The badge carries memory. The crowd carries expectation. When alignment returns, Parkhead becomes unforgiving for opponents and transcendent for its own.
Whether Wilfried Nancy heeds the warning remains to be seen. But the message has been delivered. Loudly. Calmly. Unavoidably.
And at a club where history never sleeps, neither does scrutiny.
