The man who taught the Magyars and shaped the thinking of Stein and Fallon

‘The Match of the Century’, it became known as.

It was a game that marked the end of an era and the end of an illusion. And England never saw it coming. “We didn’t know about Puskas,” recalled Sir Bobby Robson, who was 20 years old and among the spectators at Wembley. “None of the Hungarian players meant anything to us. We thought we would demolish this team. England at Wembley; we were the masters, they were the pupils.”

The headlines on 25 November 1953 – ‘Hard Tackling The Way To Beat Hungary’; ‘Hungary’s Fancy Stuff Won’t Beat England’ – summed up England’s view of itself, of ‘the continentals’ and of the game as a whole. By the following day, the tone had changed. The Times led on ‘A new conception of football’, with correspondent Geoffrey Green writing: “Here, indeed, did we attend, all 100,000 of us, the twilight of the gods.”

The scoreline – England 3, Hungary 6 – would have been astounding enough in itself. But it was the manner of the Magyars’ victory and their evident technical and tactical superiority that established this game as a watershed moment in the sport’s evolution.

One of the humiliated England players spoke of having “learned more about tactics from Hungary’s lesson than in years of involvement with football”. The future Sir Alf Ramsey was not alone. Indeed, the visitors’ masterclass of fluidity and flair was described by the great Rinus Michels as having “laid the groundwork” for the ‘Total Football’ philosophy he would later champion.

Its impact would also be felt closer to home. Among the spectators that November afternoon were two young men who would become fixated on implementing the revelatory lessons learned. The journey from the slopes of Wembley to a bench in Lisbon would take another 14 years, but a shared fascination with Hungary’s dismantling of England was one of many things that Jock Stein and Sean Fallon held in common.

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“It opened our eyes,” Fallon said in his authorised biography, Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man. “The Hungarians changed everything, both in terms of their system and the way they played the game. It was all about skill on the ball and movement off the ball.

“You look at how much work the Lisbon Lions did off the ball, creating space – all those ideas came from watching teams like Hungary and the great Brazil and Real Madrid sides that came later. We knew that we couldn’t copy those teams completely – you have to bring your own characteristics. But you could see in those games what these teams were doing right that the others weren’t, and it helped form our opinions on the way we wanted Celtic to play. That Hungary team, they were special. We could have sat and watched them all day.”

A recording of the match was quickly obtained by Stein, and remained a prized possession. Fallon, meanwhile, devoted his entire newspaper column to the Magyars, lauding them for bringing about “a further burst forward in football evolution”. The article cited three principal areas – “greater speed”, “greater accuracy of the pass” and “team movement” – in which the Irishman saw the “improved continental game” as having left British football behind.

“What is the moral of this?” he concluded. “Surely we have to learn not to be satisfied by our present performances, but to always strive to do things faster, and by training and coaching to do them more accurately. And we must remember, forever, that it is the intelligent play of the man not on the ball that makes the man on the ball a better player, and makes 11 individuals into a real team.”

Contained within those words lay a thinly-veiled message for his team-mates. These principles were, after all, not new to Fallon. They had been imparted to him three years earlier when he joined Celtic, and the coach conveying the message had been the same man responsible for educating the Magyars.

Jimmy Hogan had been appointed in response to the club’s brush with relegation in 1948, and arrived with a cv like no other. The Hungarians at Wembley spoke of this little man from Lancashire having “taught us everything we know about football”, and he enjoyed similar status in Austria, where he forged the great ‘Wunderteam’ of the 1930s with Hugo Meisl, and in the Netherlands, Switzerland and Germany. Helmut Schon, who led the Germans to victory in the 1974 World Cup, described Hogan as “the shining example of the coaching profession”. The DFB said he had been “the father of modern football in Germany”.

Whether it was in promoting a style of play based on passing, movement, control and teamwork, in stressing the importance of training with a ball – a revolutionary concept at the time – or in addressing players’ diet, Hogan was decades ahead of his time.

Having been guided by Scottish players at Fulham, and as a devout Catholic, he said that joining Celtic “felt like coming home”. But Hogan admitted in this same early interview to having detected scepticism among certain players, “as if each and every one was saying ‘what can this old codger show us?’ ” His suspicions were well founded.

“Some of the more experienced lads didn’t buy into what Jimmy was trying to teach us, mainly because they felt they didn’t need to be taught,” said Fallon. “There was a lot of that attitude at the time – players thinking they knew all there was to know – and it was a shame, because Jimmy had so much experience to pass on. The fact he’d coached in so many different countries made him an amazing man to listen to, and I was hungry to learn. It was a pity I didn’t get more time to work with him.”

Fallon, in fact, spent barely a few months under the tutelage of this unappreciated giant, who had long since quietly departed by the time Stein arrived late in 1951. But the same players who had sneered at Hogan’s pioneering methods would be there at Wembley, having been dispatched by chairman Bob Kelly to broaden their football horizons, and saw then what their former coach had been getting at.

Later, they would read the quote from Magyars’ coach Gustav Sebes: “We played football as Jimmy Hogan taught us. When our football history is told, his name should be written in gold letters.” But by the time the penny dropped, it was too late. Celtic’s senior pros, as smug and complacent as Hungary’s ill-prepared English hosts, had wasted a golden opportunity.

Yet through the legacy of his work in Budapest, and that epochal Match of the Century, Hogan’s influence would still be felt. His gift to Celtic was to start Stein and Fallon dreaming. The journey towards a team of which the great man would have been rightly proud began 60 years ago today.


Article first published in The Herald on 25 November 2013

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Racing Club and Stein’s knighthood snub

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The concluding chapter of Celtic’s 1967 Intercontinental Cup final against Racing Club is notorious for having been one of the nastiest, most violent matches ever witnessed.

In this extract from his authorised biography, Sean Fallon recalled that infamous ‘Battle of Montevideo’ and the significant repercussions for the club and, in particular, Jock Stein.

They were the champions of South America, with the toughness and technical ability befitting that title. But Racing Club’s coach, Juan Jose Pizzuti, had watched Celtic dismantle Inter and arrived at a conclusion: his team could not win the Intercontinental Cup by fair means alone. Years later, their goalkeeper, Augustin Cejas, told Soccer Monthly that the players’ orders were to “take whatever measures necessary to stop Celtic from winning by provoking our rivals beyond endurance”. The beautiful game it was not. But in a sport in which the end almost always justifies the means, Pizzuti considered himself vindicated.

fallon with commissioner Ramon ruiz of Racing club oct 1967

“I couldn’t have looked myself in the mirror if Celtic had played like that. I honestly thought I’d seen it all by then, but I was really shocked by Racing. To see those kind of players – internationals most of them – going out with the intention of putting their opponents out of the game, it was very sad. It angers you to see talented footballers – and there’s no question that Racing and Atletico could play – wasting their ability by playing like hooligans. But it showed how worried the Racing coach was about us that he sent his team to play that way. Those games were a crime against football more than anything else because football should be a great game, and this was meant to be the best against the best. But all they wanted to do was spit and punch and kick.”

It was not, though, mindless violence. Racing’s brutality was, as Cejas explained, carried out with the clear and defined purpose of knocking Stein’s players off their stride. It worked. Celtic did win the first leg at Hampden on October 18 by a solitary McNeill goal, but a disjointed performance betrayed the extent to which they were taken aback by the South Americans’ cynicism.

Yet Racing’s display in Glasgow was merely a trailer for the feature-length show of savagery that would follow a fortnight later. Celtic had good reason to withdraw even before a ball was kicked in Buenos Aires, and must have wished they had, after Ronnie Simpson was struck by a missile that left blood gushing from his head. Instead, John Fallon was drafted in and performed heroically in a frenzied, foreboding atmosphere. “I am not a man who is easily scared,” remarked Stein. “But I am not ashamed to admit I was terrified at that game.” Bob Kelly later reflected that it was the one occasion on which he was grateful for a Celtic defeat. “I think there is no doubt that had we won or drawn the game and thereby won the world title, there would have been such serious trouble as would have shaken the very foundations of world football,” he wrote. “How our players would have fared at the hands of players and spectators who would not have stopped at anything, I shudder to imagine.”

Having been beaten 2-1, Celtic found themselves in limbo. The away goals rule, which would have handed them victory, had not yet been introduced, and tournament regulations stipulated the need for a decisive third match on neutral ground. Kelly’s inclination was to walk away, return to Scotland, bruised but with dignity intact and somehow free of serious injury. Stein, ever the competitor, saw a trophy still up for grabs and an eminently winnable match in Montevideo. “We were, I thought, bound to get fairer treatment in a neutral country,” he would ruefully reflect. Backed by club secretary Desmond White and the majority of his players, Stein was relentless. It wasn’t long before Kelly, while still muttering “against my better judgement”, submitted.

“We should have listened to the chairman on that one. He could be very far-seeing sometimes and, on that occasion, he read the situation better than anyone. I had supported Jock on it at the time as I wanted to be loyal but I did feel – and I told him so – that playing the third match was a mistake. We had already done well enough and, with the way Racing had gone about things, we would have gone home with a moral victory if nothing else. But Jock didn’t want to be seen by anyone to be running away, and I could understand his position. He knew that, if we were allowed to play football, we would win. Unfortunately, that was never going to be allowed to happen, and Bob Kelly obviously saw that. It was the only time I saw him and Jock have a major disagreement about anything, and Jock admitted later that the chairman had been right.”

Stein was aware of his players’ smouldering anger, and gave them licence to, within reason, fight fire with fire. “The time for politeness is over,” he told the press. But those players, just as Pizzuti planned, had been ‘provoked beyond their endurance’. “We went out like avenging angels,” recalled Billy McNeill. And while Racing’s viciousness three days earlier had been calculated and cunning, Celtic – in the words of Jim Craig – simply “lost the plot”. Of six players sent off in a brutal, farcical match immortalised as ‘The Battle of Montevideo’, four were Scots. One member of that dismissed quartet, Bertie Auld, simply refused to leave the field and played on under the gaze of an impotent and hapless Paraguayan referee.

Celtic’s reputation paid the price. Viewed out of context, the statistics and snippets from this notorious play-off suggested that the villains had been clad in green-and-white. When images of Racing’s 1-0 win were beamed around the world, they showed John Hughes delivering a boot to a grounded goalkeeper, and Tommy Gemmell kicking an unsuspecting rival in the nether regions. “I was livid,” Stein said of the latter incident. “So livid, so outraged that I leapt from my seat, got past the steel-helmeted police and raced across the pitch to tell Gemmell exactly what I thought of him.”

The manager knew that, at best, it would appear that he had failed to contain his players; at worst, that he had sent them out to exact retribution. The personal cost to Stein would be significant. In 2007, papers released under the Freedom of Information Act revealed that he was removed from the 1968 New Year’s Honours list and denied a knighthood “because of the unfortunate events in South America”.

“That wasn’t fair on Jock. He had sent the players out to play fairly – ‘hard but fair’ was always the message – and couldn’t be blamed for what happened. But I think the knighthood, even if he’d known about it, wouldn’t have bothered him much. What he cared about more than anything was Celtic’s reputation, and he knew that the game had shown the club in the worst possible light. Jock had always been very strong on discipline and representing the club well, so the Racing Club thing hurt him very badly. He was down about it for a long time, as were we all. It was amazing to think that we could all be so low a few months after winning the European Cup, but that was what those games did to us.”

‘Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats

When Fallon signed McStay

Posted on September 6 2014 at 21:00

THE 1977/78 season was not a happy time for Celtic or for Sean Fallon. The team was struggling badly and would go on to finish fifth, having sold off the last and most prominent of the stars signed by the Irishman over the previous decade.

The departure of Kenny Dalglish had added insult to the injury of Fallon’s demotion to the role of chief scout, and he saw that the end was approaching for both him and Jock Stein.

However, before being sacked, Fallon was able to bequeath his beloved club a handsome parting gift. It came in the shape of a youngster by the name of Paul McStay.

Ahead of McStay’s return to Celtic Park for Sunday’s MAESTRIO charity match, this extract from Fallon’s authorised biography recalls the circumstances of the legendary midfielder’s arrival.

While Celtic were in the process of offloading another all-time great, Fallon was busy replenishing their stocks. Having overcome the unhappiness that followed his demotion, he pursued with typical diligence and enthusiasm the familiar responsibilities of scouting, and proved as successful as ever.

The job came with its disappointments. Fallon remembered, for example, recommending Ronnie Whelan – then with Dublin side Home Farm – only for the board to balk at the £35,000 Liverpool proved only too willing to pay.

Fortunately, there were successes, too. One of the most notable came when he was tipped off about a youngster playing for Holy Cross High School in Hamilton. This player’s brother was also said to be useful and, encouragingly, they descended from a long line of famous Celts. But the deal proved far from straightforward.

“Paul and Willie McStay were two of the last signings I made, and I was delighted to get them in. It looked for a while like we might lose Paul, though. There were loads of clubs in for him and I remember Leeds United were the favourites. It was like the Eddie Gray situation – they were offering money we couldn’t compete with. But what I did at that stage was to put everything into getting Willie to sign.

“Paul was a shy boy and I felt if he had his big brother around the place to make him feel more comfortable, it would make a difference in his decision. That’s the way it worked out, although we had some competition for Willie, too. Brian Clough was very keen on getting him down to Nottingham Forest I seem to remember. But he did a fine job for the club and Paul, as everyone knows, was a tremendous player – one of the best the club ever had.”


At Fallon’s 80th birthday celebrations, a special recorded message from Paul was broadcast, thanking the Irishman “for all the help and guidance you gave me”. “If it wasn’t for you bringing me to Celtic Park, I don’t know what would have happened to me,” he added. His elder brother also had cause to remember with great fondness the man who changed the direction of his career and, ultimately, his life.

“I was all set to go to Forest,” Willie recalled. “I didn’t even know Celtic were interested. But I’ll never forget the sight of Sean, who to me was Mr Celtic, walking up to my house in Larkhall. I was just blown away that Sean Fallon was trying to sign me. I’d have signed before he got through the front door if he’d have let me.”

‘Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats

Football’s greats remember Fallon

Today would have been the 92nd birthday of Sean Fallon, the Celtic legend who passed away last January.

In the year before he died, Jock Stein’s former assistant – one of the finest talent-spotters in the history of the game – finally committed to paper the story of his incredible life and career.

And besides the Iron Man’s memories, his authorised biography also included insights from many of the men he influenced, including some of the biggest names in British football.

“Sean was a bit more forthcoming with me than Jock Stein in the early days. Jock’s personality meant he was a bit more secretive and sort of kept you down there a little bit, even as a young man. Sean was a brilliant help to me as an aspiring manager, and we were close ever since.”
Sir Alex Ferguson

“I think every footballer looks back on people who were important to their development, and Sean was certainly very important to me. Really, he was the man who started it all off for me.”
Kenny Dalglish

“Big Jock needed Sean. The truth was that he supplied everything the big man wasn’t particularly good at. He was the best assistant manager we could have wished for.”
Billy McNeill

“What Sean and Jock Stein did was take good players and turn them into great players. And more than that, they set the standards, the values, for the entire club.”
David Moyes

“I loved Sean Fallon. In fact, I didn’t understand how anyone couldn’t love the guy. He was just a great man.”
Danny McGrain

“Sean Fallon embodied all that is good about Celtic: its values, its roots in Ireland, in Sligo, its pride in Scotland, its competitiveness, its sense of fair play, its decency, its leadership… you could go on and on.”
Peter Lawwell

“He … seems to slip under the radar at times when you talk about Celtic’s history, and that shouldn’t be the case at all. There are a lot of people who owe him a great debt of gratitude for giving them their start in the game, and Celtic owe him even more.”
Neil Lennon

“If you asked me to name Celtic’s best-ever assistant, it would be Sean Fallon. I’ve never came across anyone who played the role better.”
Davie Hay

“People remember Sean as this devoted, wholehearted Celtic, but he was an awful lot more than that. His ability spot players, and his abilities of perception and analysis, weren’t picked up and appreciated the way they should have been.”
Brian Quinn

*’Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats

Willie Goldie: The craziest debut in Celtic’s history

Sir Robert Kelly is arguably the most divisive figure in Celtic’s history. Some remember him as the club’s greatest chairman, a selfless champion of its heritage and support. Plenty of others, though, view Kelly not as a hero, but a villain – someone whose meddling in team selection and botched youth policy were responsible for most of Celtic’s woes in the 1950s and early ’60s.

Sean Fallon and Jock Stein were to be found in the former camp, although both were able to recognise the flaws in a man they held in great esteem. Indeed, this extract from Fallon’s authorised biography recalls an extraordinary incident that, for the Irishman, underlined the downside of Kelly’s romantic outlook on all things Celtic.



“The chairman was very set in his ways. He was a football man through and through, and a great Celtic man. No-one could ever say otherwise. But he liked to pick the team. Although that was quite common with chairmen back then, it wasn’t a good way to do things.

“Mr Kelly had idolised Jimmy McGrory as a player, but he was the stronger of the two characters and that meant he ended up being in charge of almost everything at Celtic Park. It wasn’t out of badness, you understand; he thought he was doing what was best for Celtic. He wasn’t always right, though.

“He could have done with being more practical. The Willie Goldie incident has become well known in that respect. It wasn’t that Bob didn’t know his football; he just thought so much of people who loved the club as much as he did.”

The case of Willie Goldie is not so much well known as infamous. To Kelly’s critics, it encapsulated his reign. Mike Jackson, a player at the time, takes up the story: “We were on our way to a game at Airdrie and as we got near the ground, we spotted Willie, who was reserve team goalie, with his Celtic scarf on, walking to the match with his pals. So we’re battering the window, shouting on him, and Bob turns round from his seat at the front and asks what’s going on.

“When we told him, he shouted: ‘Stop the bus! Get him on. That’s wonderful, a young lad like that going to see the Celtic.’ Willie was delighted – he thought he was getting a lift. Then we get to the game – and he’s playing! Bob had put him in the team.”

Unfortunately for Celtic, Goldie had been out dancing until 3am that morning, thinking – not unreasonably – that he had a day off ahead. Airdrie went on to win 2-0, with both goals attributable to goalkeeping errors. Goldie never played for Celtic again.

Kelly, of course, hadn’t seen the reality; only the potential fairytale of a player arriving in a scarf and leaving as a hero.

*’Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats

Fallon remembers the real Stein

IT says everything about Jock Stein’s impact on Scotland and the game of football that, almost three decades after his passing, he continues to make the back pages.

The most recent headlines were none too complimentary though, with John Hughes and Tommy Gemmell promoting their latest autobiographies with attacks on Celtic’s greatest manager.

In truth, such disparaging views of Stein are nothing new. He was never a universally popular figure among his players, with Ally Hunter among many to have described his style as “managing by fear”. “I wouldn’t expect anybody would actually have liked him as a person,” added the former goalkeeper.

One man who not only genuinely liked Stein, but was a confidant, friend and virtual constant companion, was Sean Fallon. No-one spent more time with the Celtic manager than his long-serving assistant, and Fallon’s view was that opinions such as Hunter’s and Hughes’ were formed in response not to Stein’s basic character, but the way in which he purposefully projected himself.

In this extract from his authorised biography, ‘Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’, the Irishman offers some of his unique insights into the real Jock Stein.

“Jock showed only a certain side of himself to the players. I could understand why some of the boys didn’t like him because he could be very hard on them at times. As a manager, he was ruthless and not the kind of man who was easy to approach at all. But he felt he had to be that way – not show any weakness – and even if some of the players didn’t like him, he still got the most out of them. As far as he was concerned, that was his job and the only thing that mattered. He wasn’t there to be liked.

“But I was in a different situation to the players. I did like Jock. He was a great friend of mine for many, many years and we spent so much time together that I still find myself missing him sometimes. It took a long time to get used to the fact that he was gone. But I look back on all that time together with a lot of happy memories. I feel very fortunate to have known him.”

Though Fallon’s memories of Stein are of trips to the seaside with their families, of scouting trips together and laughter on the golf course, there was another, less ebullient side to Big Jock. Hugh McIlvanney, who knew the Celtic manager well, spoke of his “passages of great melancholy”, during which he would dwell on regrets and perceived personal failings. Fallon, too, remembered a man who, away from the public gaze, suffered greatly from the intense demands he placed on himself.

“You always knew that Jock’s mood could change from one extreme to the other very quickly. That old mind of his was always going and he would worry himself sick about certain things. He put himself under a lot of stress and strain, and I always felt that played a big part in his health problems. I would try to cheer him up, reassure him, and the fact we were so close meant that I was able to do that sometimes.

“I’d imagine he was closer to me than anyone but his wife at that time, and I often worried about him. He was a terrible sleeper – that was the case even before his car accident – and he would get into dark moods if things were getting on top of him. He couldn’t let go, and he would allow things to get to him. He would take setbacks very badly.

“People didn’t realise how stressed he was behind the scenes. I saw it because I was always with him at such close quarters and could read him. Sometimes I could see the pressure building up inside. The thing about Jock and myself you have to remember is that it wasn’t just a job for us – it was Celtic. Jock might not have grown up a Celtic fan but he became as big a Celt as anyone, and we both wanted so much for the club to be successful and to bring a bit of happiness to the supporters.

“When you have a big responsibility like that, it helps to be able to get away from it for an hour or two. But Jock found that difficult. The only time he unwound was watching the horses. He would get really into that and forget about football for a little while. Generally, though, he found it difficult to let go.”

*’Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats

Fallon and McNeill’s long walk in Lisbon


NO podium. No fireworks. No confetti. And no team-mates. The last time the European Cup was handed over in Lisbon, the winning captain had to make a solitary journey through thousands of pitch-invaders to reach the trophy. Well, almost solitary. Fortunately for Celtic, and fans eager to see the new cup held aloft for the first time, Billy McNeill had a companion and expert bodyguard in Sean Fallon.

The legendary Celtic assistant manager had many tales to tell from Lisbon: his clash with Inter Milan boss Helenio Herrera, the scene at half-time with the Bhoys 1-0 down, and the reasons behind Jock Stein disappearing as the game reached its conclusion. However, in this extract from his authorised biography, Fallon focused on his and McNeill’s seemingly impossible journey.

FOR Celtic fans old enough to witness it, this was their JFK moment. All can remember exactly where they were on May 25, 1967, when they watched their conquering captain, his green-and-white kit illuminated against a backdrop of dark suits, hold aloft the new European Cup. Fallon was never likely to forget. “I had the best view in the house,” he reflected with a smile.

It was a vantage point well earned. With the Celtic players holed up in their dressing room, stripped of their shirts, shorts and boots by delirious supporters now blocking the route to the presentation area, the job of reaching the trophy seemed impossible. But Jock Stein felt otherwise. He considered the chaotic scenes above, looked around the dressing room for someone capable of thrusting through the throng, and found just the man. An Iron Man.

Initially, Stein provided Fallon with a fellow bodyguard by asking Ronnie Simpson to help usher McNeill through the crowds. “When we got outside the dressing room, it was pandemonium,” Simpson wrote in his autobiography. “I soon lost contact with Billy and when a fan shouted, ‘Hey Ronnie, don’t come out again – you’ll never make it,’ I took his advice. I fought my way back to the comparative safety of the dressing room.”

McNeill, exhausted and overwhelmed, was tempted to do the same. “I had no idea where I was going,” he said. “But Sean had his wits about him and he just pushed me through. You couldn’t have had a better man to muscle you through a crowd than Sean. I still don’t know how he managed it.” Nor does Myra Fallon, who remembers the anxiety with which she watched from the stand as her husband and McNeill began their long journey. “I thought, ‘My God, they’ll never make it.’” Sean, too, had his doubts.

“I remember when Jock asked me to take Billy up, thinking, ‘How am I going to manage this?’ We had to push through a bit at first – some folk nearly pulled the ribs off me, trying to get my blazer off. But, before long, the Celtic supporters had crowded round us and were helping us get there. I don’t think I’ve ever shaken so many hands or been patted on the back so often. And it was tremendous to be up there with Billy, so close to him as he lifted the cup. It was the first time they had used that trophy and I remember thinking it looked magnificent. That was the big one for us; the ultimate success. It’s one of those moments you know you’ll never forget.”

Looking past the gleaming silver of the new trophy, across an expanse of green covered by cavorting Celtic supporters, he only wished that Stein and the rest were there to share it. The best view in the house of the greatest moment in Celtic’s history. This, Fallon knew, would take some beating.

*’Sean Fallon: Celtic’s Iron Man’ is available on Amazon and all high street stores; it is also available as an ebook in all formats