Old infirm league doesn't work

About 100 yards past the self-styled bar, "The Last Pub In England", still on the southern side of the England-Scotland border, lies the oddly-named village of Conundrum. Don't ask.

When, a couple of days into the Euro 2000, Martin O'Neill finally accepted the invitation to become Celtic's fifth manager in as many years, he may well have passed the puzzling little hamlet on the long journey north from Leicester City. And, once he arrived in the east end of Glasgow, O'Neill could have been forgiven for thinking the impressive Parkhead stadium had somehow been twinned with the little place he had driven by on the way up.

Certainly it was peculiar how such premises could be the home of such underachievement. It is not difficult to imagine O'Neill's furrowed brow.

But what was also peculiar was O'Neill himself. Here was a man who had won European Cup medals with Nottingham Forest, who had led Northern Ireland to the World Cup finals, who had proven his managerial worth at then non-league Wycombe Wanderers - they were a league club by the time O'Neill left - and who transformed Leicester into a Premiership stalwart and European contenders. Leicester City!

Along the way O'Neill had turned down the tempting opportunity to succeed Brian Clough at Forest. Then the chance came to resurrect Everton. He turned that one down, too. Then when Leeds United came along two Septembers ago, O'Neill was frustrated at not being given the room to talk to the Elland Road club.

Only it did not come across like that; it looked like another O'Neill rebuff. His reputation in football crystallised: likes the chase, but no action. It appeared he was overly concerned about, and by, his obvious talent. By his own admission Leicester could never win the Premiership. Times had changed since provincial clubs like Clough's Forest could challenge. But what of his own ambition?

All the while Celtic were losing ground, to Rangers in Scotland, and financially to clubs the size of Coventry City in England and Celta Vigo and the like abroad. The 60,000 who regularly filled Parkhead and who regularly left it empty stroked their weary brows, too. Both O'Neill and Celtic seemed destined to remain unfulfilled. No-one really understood why.

Then came yesterday. Yesterday O'Neill stared at Celtic and Celtic stared at O'Neill; both came away from Parkhead thinking each had found an answer to the other's conundrum.

Both could be right, for by any standards these were remarkable epiphanies. One particular standard is most revealing: on March 26th, just 14 matches ago, Rangers beat Celtic by four clear goals. For Celtic not only to reverse that situation but to then repeat the margin of victory represents a serious clank of the swingometer. O'Neill deserves the credit.

At 11 minutes past one o'clock, just as Paul Lambert drilled in Celtic's third, the new Celtic manager must have looked down at the bottle of water he was drinking to see if it had changed into wine. Nine of Celtic's performers yesterday had played some role at Ibrox in March. Only yesterday Stephane Mahe looked useful as opposed to a lunatic.

Then there was Bobby Petta, pretty and productive as opposed to pitiful. Chris Sutton looking Celtic sharp rather than Chelsea blunt. Even Stilian Petrov's fat arse seemed slimmer than the Cheltenham Festival-sized one he had before. O'Neill truly is the miracle worker.

Naturally he rubbished such suggestions. Maybe rightly; football now rushes at such an accelerated rate there is an unrestrained urge to see the profound in what is simply the immediate.

Celtic won a match yesterday. Yes, they beat Rangers and by four goals, but it was less than two years ago that that happened under Jozef Venglos. November 1998, 5-1 to Celtic. Goals from Moravcik, Larsson and Burchill. Rangers still won the treble.

Dick Advocaat, the subject of high praise from Dermot Desmond last week, pointed out that 5-1 in the run-up to yesterday's game. Dick, like Dermot and Martin, thinks of the bigger picture.

The biggest picture of all is the future of Scottish football. Those who think that Celtic's and Rangers' desire to flee their native league is unnecessarily selfish should note that the teams who started Saturday fifth and sixth in the same division, St Johnstone and Kilmarnock, played in front of 3,773 paying spectators in Perth. Dunfermline versus Dundee United, another Premier match, pulled in 4,980. The Scottish Premier League doesn't work. Rangers and Celtic's selfishness is necessary.

Which brings us back to Conundrum. Celtic and O'Neill may be on the way to solving each other's, but the Old Firm are still on the outskirts of town. You can hear the North Atlantic calling from there.