Redemption – “What’s The Story…Postecoglory” | OneFootball

Redemption – “What’s The Story…Postecoglory”

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The Celtic Star

“What’s The Story?”…‘Postecoglory!’ (Redemption)…

. (Photo by Ian MacNicol/Getty Images)

Unsung, enigmatic, plucked out of the east; his remit, transition – from famine to feast. By dint of migration a proud Aussie Greek – his grasp of our ethos instinctive and deep. A pedigree peerless in Oz and Japan – none quite like Postecoglou had graced this fair land. Unleashed amid howls of derision and scorn from detractors, of impartiality shorn. Wrong-footed, ill-briefed, of all insight devoid – from the off Ange ragdolled them, their egos destroyed. Scribes, analysts, pundits forensically sussed; Antipodean bluntness – a media nonplussed.

Calamitous start – haunting knell of near past; still he stuck to his guns, to his tenets held fast. As the tide duly turned, concept ‘Angeball’ gained pace … Postecoglou swept up in a faithful embrace … and renewed kindred spirit welled up in the stands – a rock-solid bond between mentor and fans. With the doctrine entrenched and the ranks reinforced; as the players bought in … Ange’s tactics endorsed … so the mindset bore fruit, the performance beguiled – ripe the harvest erelong and imperious the style. Early silverware pay-off, “… and Oh! what a scene – the terraces were covered in banners of green!”

Ange Postecpglou with the League Cup (Photo by Ian MacNicol/Getty Images)

Expedient shutdown, opposed by just one; a commonweal triumph – bald self-interest shunned. A viral hiatus – scarce too much to ask; behemoths arrayed – which in glory would bask? Come the crunch head-to-heads … Newco’s valley of tears … brought to heel, then devoured by its innermost fears. On the cusp of the ‘Split’, handy cushion secured; the title that beckoned, a font of allure. One last push, seal the deal, let the ‘grand’ people sing; redemption at hand – epic feat on the wing. Veiled optimism – cautious, but hard to suppress; prize there for the taking, why hanker for less?

Dour Dingwall … with tension, so palpably fraught; control absolute – but long fragile, nerves taut. To ‘Paradise’, fronting the Govan undead – that heady concoction of yearning and dread! Scorned chances to clinch it, thus waved them back in; praise God, didn’t buckle – so, prospects undimmed. False start back at our place, Hearts rocked us – and how! Dug deep, reeled them in, turned the screw, felt them bow. Pursuers deflated – had hoped we might choke; not that team, not that day – rich folklore invoked. All done bar the shouting … checkmate … one more point; just to make it official, our saviour anoint.

Then, Tannadice … seat of much drama erstwhile; adversary rooted … like us … in exile. The spoils hot contested – no night for faint hearts; but, “We. Never. Stop.” … flat out, right from the start. So, mission accomplished – our chutzpah restored – an icon elect … die-hard Celt to the core. Impassively deadpan, as if hewn from rock; an aura of clout harking back to ‘Big Jock.’ Reviving our spirit, our faith and our pride; our sense of tradition – that warm glow inside. Tomorrow, take stock – ask yourself, “What’s The Story?” … for now, though, just wallow in ‘Postecoglory’! Copyright ‘The Bhard of Paradise’, March ~ May 2022


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