When Ronny Deila announced he was leaving Celtic, the worst kept secret in Scottish football was finally out there. Celtic would be looking for a new manager at the end of the season. I met Ronny Deila a few times, always at Celtic Park, and my view was at odds with the general perception of him that I read on social media pretty much every day. The general consensus out there seemed to be of a nice guy, struggling against the evil mechanism of a recruitment policy overseen by the evil dictator Lawwell and smothered with staff foisted on him as he tried in vain to play a high tempo, high pressing game.

I started thinking a lot about this stuff around February 2016 when Deila’s Celtic looked like they could quite easily throw away a league, five in a row and quite possibly a generation of support. The young me would have been shouting the odds everywhere, the old me talks, digs, researches and earwigs. This is when a different Deila began to emerge. Far from being the recluse he claimed to be in the tabloid press, I heard stories of long drinking sessions, daily trips to the golf course and every international break being spent in Marbella. Far from having staff foisted on him (He asked for an assistant who knew the league, Celtic gave six options, John Collins was the guy he picked), he was allowed to bring in 14 of his own staff as a Norwegian colony built up at Mar Hall, an uber posh estate in Glasgow. There were stories of parties, long into the night and women being coldly ushered out of a morning. There were tales of a lax work ethic, tolerated because it was still better than the previous manager, and a discord with senior players who felt Ronny Deila was one guy in public and quite another in private. Despite the perceived wisdom that Ronny was merely a puppet, people had already forgotten that Celtic had played a pre-season, bizarrely in Paisley, at his request and to absolutely no positive effect. Celtic turned down north of £1m from a pre-season friendly type tournament in Australia to back their manager and it hadn’t worked.

That’s not to say everyone disliked him.

Quite a few players loved him and some credit him for making them better players. Despite an obvious campaign against him by sections of the press in Scotland, quite a few journalists really liked Ronny Deila. Some told me they could “listen to him talk about football all day”. I get that. I have listened to him talk football and he is both engaging and logical. His flaw though was always evident when you heard him, he was stubborn. He had a belief in his system, his way of playing and would not be swayed. He could defend it with the vigour of Johnny Cochrane and leave you convinced he was the man to restore us to former glories say like how Gary Neville made you feel on TV before he went to Valencia. The reality of course was a tad different.

Celtic’s thinking when appointing him was that they could take a gamble after Roy Keane and Henrik Larsson had both been approached and both had rejected. Ronny Deila, earmarked to be first the assistant of Neil Lennon (replacing Johan Mjallby) and then to either Keane or Larsson should they take the job, could come in and make his mistakes in a relatively straightforward first season then progress the team on in his second with The Rangers now in the league. That Motherwell punctured the latter part of that thought process made no odds to Deila’s second season; It was dire for most of it. Performances were average, Europe was a damp squib and a pitiful semi-final losses to Ross County and The Rangers meant there was no way back for Deila, the man who was supposed to open the door for future managers to come in and develop players the way he had.

The night of that semi-final defeat to The Rangers there was a meeting of the higher echelons of Celtic. It was felt that enough was enough. A new manager had to be brought in and the growing disconnect between club and fans had to be plugged in again. Discussions flew around the room like stray birds through the open window of a 16th floor apartment and the consensus was reached. Dermot Desmond would get the guy, Peter Lawwell would do the deal and Dermot would ensure money wouldn’t be an issue. With that kind of remit, the shackles were released from Lawwell and there was a little awakening among the high heid yins at Celtic.

Forget any notion of “in excess of six managers interviewed”, Celtic knew what they wanted, a manager with good credentials who had green blood pumping through his veins.

When that remit was spoken, one man clearly fitted the bill.

It had been in the ether for a while but the day Brendan Rodgers first set foot in Celtic Park as manager was no less thrilling. The press conference was set for 4pm. Fans were initially told to gather on The Celtic Way from 5pm for the manager addressing them at 6pm but this was quickly shelved when the club realised thousands were going to show up and new arrangements were hastily organised with the stadium being open from 3.30pm. That was also the time I was told to be at Celtic Park so I got the train through to Queen Street (Lower Level via Partick, Anniesland and The Moon) and met up with Average Joe Miller at the corner of Buchanan Street and Argyll Street so he could drive us in. Celtic had opened up the press conference to bloggers who they had been dealing with for years. It was glorious day with the sun being a big orange thing that was actually welcome in Glasgow.

On arrival at Celtic Park we were directed in three different directions before finally parking up behind the Jock Stein stand. We made our way to the No7 restaurant where the press conference would be held but were blocked by two burly stewards. I knew both of them but they were in serious mode. “Can we help you guys?” We told them we were here for the press conference but this cut about as much ice as a plastic knife. As I said previously, Celtic had tried to, finally, embrace some bloggers and the like yet here we were on the outside whilst people like Chick Young and Graham Spiers were heartily embraced by Celtic stewards. Not a great start. We were told we had wait until either John Paul Taylor or Tony Hamilton could come along and accompany us. Meanwhile folk like Chris McGlaughlin were breezing in like they owned the place. Joe wasn’t happy and I could feel the red mist descending. JPT arrived in the nick of time to smooth things over. For a time. People had started looking at me funny, or more funnier than usual, and it became clear why. I had like a half brown circle going round my head. It was a really hot day and I’d been wearing a new cap which had combined with my own head sweat to leave a mark of dye on my head.

And that was me trying to convince the stewards we were as professional as the press men.

Eventually we were up in the lift to floor three and into the No.7 restaurant which had been converted for the press conference for the day. Most of the press were already there and making a beeline for the triangle shaped sandwiches washed down with still or sparkling water. Very little air was circulating round the place and it was a hub of people, cameras, microphones and laptops.

Soon my fellow new media folk started arriving, Paul Brennan from CQN, Brian Gilmour from Celtic Underground, Paul Thomson and Jim Blythe joined me and Average Joe. All clearly more successful at getting in with little fuss. Lots of people milled about or got equipment set up whilst the press packed. They were clearly agreeing a strategy between TV, Daily and Sunday newspapers. The one exception to this was Graham Spiers. He sidled up to folk, looked over his glasses at others and generally looked a bit lost. Clearly not popular with his ilk, he cut about, a lot smaller man than I imagined, generally looking like he hadn’t the first clue what was going on.

That made us feel at ease anyway.

Gradually, the press started to leave their huddle, some taking seats in front of the podium where Brendan Rodgers would be sitting, others daring to mix with other people. I spoke with three of them and probably three names that will guarantee you raise your eyebrows. The first was Richard Wilson. He was there as part of the BBC team but didn’t really seem part of Tom English and Chick Young. Then again, those two barely spoke either. I had a convivial chat with Richard, gentle ribbing about his team’s demise the previous Saturday in the Scottish Cup Final and the like. A lot of Celtic fans hate Richard but I’ve always got on well with him right up until he starts talking Oldco/Newco actually. A lot of time and energy is spent by folk on Twitter, me included, lambasting our rivals and whilst that it is all fun, the dehumanisation of other teams fans can temper the banter. Especially when they are coming to pay homage to a new leader in Paradise. The second journalist I spoke to was Ewan Murray. One of the biggest wind up merchants you’ll ever meet, Ewan is someone I’ve got to know well. Despite his Twitter persona, he is a good guy and spoke in warm terms about Brendan Rodgers. Lastly was Matt Lindsay. He was looming around the room and then made a beeline for me with an outstretched arm. A highlander who is nothing like the Ibrox PR machine he appears to be online.

Everyone is watching everyone else in these circumstances. Like the scene in Casino where Ace is telling you how a casino works, you can feel it happening around you. I could feel Celtic supporting eyes on me that said “Why is he talking to those pricks?”. Similarly I could see other members of the press looking at their compatriots saying “Why are they talking to that prick?”

Politics. And Brendan Rodgers hadn’t even entered the building yet.

By the time Brendan Rodgers did come among us there was electricity in the room. It came alive. The click of cameras seemed more in tune with a film premiere and a Tom Cruise type flashing a smile. Well we know Brendan can flash a smile. He was accompanied by Peter Lawwell and Ian Bankier. Peter had the look of immense satisfaction about him but it was subtle. Ian Bankier on the other hand spoke first saying “Who invented the digital camera eh?” to the utter bemusement of everyone who heard him. Television media were first to throw their negative questions at the manager, all batted away with the aplomb of a .500 hitter in Baseball.

After that, he was off to take some photos in Jock Stein stand seats, scarf held above his head with the look of a man who had done that once or twice before. Behind him in the main stand fans cheered. They knew he wouldn’t be addressing them until 6pm but they had started filing in from 3.30pm.

He came back in the No.7 and sat down with the daily newspapers. They fired questions at him round a table whilst Graham Spiers hovered around like a praying baptist.

Next up were the Sundays. A different breed of journalist, they’re trying for angles that will stay warm for, in this case, six days.

Now, after the kefruffle of getting in and all that, a few choice words had been exchanged and we had been assured we would get a sit down with the new manager.

So my fellow bampots and I huddled up and waited on the manager. Head of Celtic’s Public Relations Department, Iain Jamieson, was never far away. A long time target of fan angst, you only get a sense for his PR skills when you spend time in his company.

Conflabbing before, we agreed to ask Brendan Rodgers one question each, going clockwise, from his left, meaning it would be Mark Cameron, Jim Blythe, Paul Thomson, Paul Brennan, Brian Gilmour, myself and Joe Miller.

Brendan walked over and Tony introduced us as bloggers and fans who support Celtic, the foundation and would be a lot more positive than the media were. Brendan’s face lit up and said “Ah, so you’re the Tim Malloys then?” and promptly shook each of us by the hand.

He was engaging, assured and had an immediate aura about him. He talked the talk of a Celtic supporter, not someone who is kidding on to curry favour. What amazed me more than anything about him was how cool he was. He gave the impression of a guy who had been walking for years and then had been taken in by a family who vowed to look after him.

This could be some season folks.

Paul

@paullarkin74