Peter is up there as the greatest ever Celt. Putting Jock Stein, Willie Maley, Brother Walfrid and Fergus McCann in his chubby shadow.
But at a recent meeting with Glasgow City Council’s Safety Advisory Group (SAG), Police Scotland objected to the ultras returning and that position was subsequently adopted by the SAG.
Coming from Lanarkshire he knows the background of John Beaton, the great taboos that legacy media outlets will never go near.
Mental strength. Organisation. Discipline. The unglamorous qualities champions tend to possess when circumstances demand it.
He was pushed into a room with the Celtic Fans Collective— who have had their fill of these disingenuous windbags who hold office atop the Celtic Way, surrounded by mahogany and sycophancy — entirely unbriefed on the matters to be discussed.
By disengaging from their dictated terms and refusing to be pacified by Haughey’s two-hundred-pound-a-head bounty, the support controls the tempo.
Then John Beaton arrives as VAR. McLean cites defenders. Beaton dismisses it — “I know, I know, I know” — before McLean finishes speaking.
On one hand, corporate Celtic is damaging the club from the top down. On the other hand, here’s the smiling photograph while the title race falls apart around them. That’s the optics; that’s the reality.
The man who arrived that October 2003 came from Clydeport. A ports and property company. Before that, Scottish Coal. ICI. Hoffman-La-Roche. Lawwell is an accountant. A capable, driven, intelligent accountant. But an accountant.
He should know that the fans are givers. Nicholson, Wilson, Hargreaves and Jamieson are on a lengthy list of takers.