Some nights don’t just hurt. They humiliate. They strip away pride, expose vulnerability, and leave supporters staring into the darkness wondering how something so familiar could suddenly feel so distant. For Celtic fans, this was one of those nights. Not simply a defeat, but an embarrassment that cut to the bone of what the club is supposed to represent.
This club was built on defiance, dignity, and an unbreakable bond between the stands and the shirt. Generations carried those values through hardship and glory alike. That is why when Celtic fall, it is never quietly. It is why moments like this feel personal, almost cruel. Because supporters do not just follow Celtic. They guard it.
And what unfolded against St Mirren felt like a public unravelling.
A 3–1 League Cup Final defeat should sting. But this one burned. Celtic were not undone by bad luck or fine margins. They were exposed. Out-thought. Out-fought. Outplayed. From the opening moments, the team looked unsure, scattered, and painfully unprepared for the weight of the occasion. Conceding inside two minutes in a final was not just sloppy. It was symbolic.
By the time the second and third goals arrived, the feeling among supporters had shifted from disbelief to shame. This was Celtic on a national stage, wobbling, panicking, and offering little resistance as St Mirren played with clarity and conviction. It felt like watching strangers wear a sacred shirt.
On the touchline, Wilfried Nancy looked overwhelmed, almost haunted. Less than two weeks into his tenure, he stood in the middle of a nightmare few could have imagined arriving so quickly. Three defeats. A cup final lost. Tactical decisions unraveling in real time as the opposition calmly dismantled his system.
The fans noticed everything.
Confused positional changes. Players forced into unnatural roles. A structure that collapsed the moment it was tested. Celtic did not lose control gradually. They lost it completely.
The reaction was fierce. And raw.
Supporters did not just criticise the result. They questioned commitment. Awareness. Respect for the moment. Calls for change flooded in almost instantly, with furious demands that Wilfried Nancy and several players be shown the door. Three names, in particular, became lightning rods for anger, representing a growing belief that some in the squad simply do not understand what this club demands.
“This is embarrassing. Not unlucky. Not unlucky at all. Embarrassing.”
What made it worse was the sense that St Mirren wanted it more. They believed. They pressed. They punished hesitation. Celtic, by contrast, looked weighed down by their own confusion, leaving supporters to watch helplessly as another trophy slipped away without a fight worthy of the badge.
“You can accept defeat. You cannot accept humiliation.”
The rage among the fanbase is not born from entitlement. It is born from pain. From seeing standards slide. From watching a club defined by resilience look fragile in front of the entire country. From fearing that accountability is being lost at a place where it once defined everything.
Even those urging patience admit the truth is brutal. Celtic managers do not get time to look lost. They do not get long learning curves. And they certainly do not survive repeated embarrassment on the biggest domestic stages.
“This shirt is heavy. If you can’t carry it, step aside.”
This defeat did more than cost a trophy. It shook belief. It embarrassed a fanbase that has defended this club through far worse circumstances with far more dignity than what was shown on that pitch.
Now comes the reckoning. Every selection. Every tactical decision. Every performance will be judged through the lens of this humiliation. Celtic fans are watching closely, not with patience, but with wounded pride.
Because some nights demand more than reflection.
They demand answers.
