Glenn Gibbons on Saturday: Desperate measures for desperate Old Firm times

Published on Friday 13 November 2009 22:01

IN A week when the extent of Rangers' financial fragility was revealed, it was also noticeable that Celtic's potential for backsliding towards recession was marked by a promotion that could have been codenamed Operation Desperation.

Financial imperatives at Parkhead and Ibrox these days clearly supersede any sense of embarrassment if we are to take as an example the sight of Stephen McManus trying to reverse the trend of diminishing attendances by begging supporters – including children – to snap up cut-price books of tickets for the remaining half of the current season.

From a personal perspective, the most depressing aspect of the entire exercise is that newspapers and broadcasters should fall for this guff, stampeding towards Lennoxtown to record the utterances of a mediocre player puzzled by the widespread criticism of a poor team because they are at the top of an equally impoverished league.

As the other half of what is appropriately known as the Old Firm, Rangers are no different, summoning the various media to Murray Park every time they are overcome by the urge to take out some free publicity. The phenomenon recalls the address of the late Lord Beaverbrook to his editorial troops: "Real news is what somebody is trying to hide from you. All the rest is just advertising."

The problem at the core of the publicity drive, however – the steady decline in crowds – should be neither surprising nor alarming. Indeed, it is an inevitability for which both clubs should have been making provision for at least the past five years.

What is astonishing about the nearly full houses Celtic and Rangers have been enjoying for the past 15 years is that the bonanza should have lasted so long. This was the result of possibly the greatest coup in the history of marketing, when Fergus McCann arrived at a bankrupt Celtic Park and managed to persuade fans to increase season ticket sales from 7,000 to 53,000 – plus a waiting list for the "unfortunates" who missed out – and create a climate in which they were storming the gates to watch matches against opponents for whom they would not previously have crossed the street.

Crowds of almost 60,000 at Celtic and 50,000 at Rangers for Falkirk, Motherwell or Kilmarnock? These were unprecedented, even in the golden years of the post-war boom between 1945 and 1960. Just as gates back then began to slide towards a more realistic level for a country the size of Scotland – while remaining, for the Old Firm, absurdly high in relation to locations of comparable populations – it should have been obvious that the attendances that have been artificially swollen since 1994 would certainly at some time begin to reduce.

Thanks to a cavalier attitude towards financial husbandry, Rangers seem to have been caught in rainy days for a number of years. Celtic appear now to be feeling the first spit, but if their solution to the problem of staying dry is to put up their captain to plead with customers to purchase an inferior product, it is not difficult to infer that they may be ill-equipped for the coming storm.

Fuss about Fletcher is simply not founded

NOBODY can spend in excess of 40 years as a football correspondent/columnist without having to endure regular challenges to his views. The most inflammatory opinions invariably involve the merit of players, and the ageing process merely ensures that the opposition – in fact, the ridicule – from appreciably younger colleagues come thicker and faster with each passing season.

The latest "debate" centres on Darren Fletcher, the Manchester United and Scotland midfielder, whose recent sound performances for the Old Trafford club appear suddenly to have propelled him to unprecedented heights of esteem.

During a recent conversation with a younger fellow scuffler, I proposed my long-held conviction that the present Scotland squad does not contain a single outfield player who would be coveted by any national team with serious aspirations to honours.

"What, not even Fletcher?" he retorted, clearly aghast. "Not even Darren Fletcher?" he added, to avoid confusion with Burnley's Steven.

This incredulity over my apparent dismissal of a player he clearly considers exceptional was followed a few days later by George Burley's preposterous suggestion that Fabio Capello, given the player's eligibility, would be falling over himself to put Fletcher in the England team.

In their haste to acclaim the midfielder, neither Burley nor my friend seemed to take cognisance of the generally-agreed contention that one of the features of Scotland's performances in the past 18 months or so has been Fletcher's palpable failure to contribute.

Nor does anyone who promotes him as a special talent appear to distinguish between the contexts in which he performs for club and country. Despite some claims for his elevation recently, Sir Alex Ferguson and his staff have never considered Fletcher as extraordinary, a shaper of games in the fashion of, say, Eric Cantona, Paul Scholes in his prime, or Cristiano Ronaldo.

Ferguson obviously loves Fletcher for his attitude and his willingness, and he is unquestionably an admirable trier. But that makes him more Nicky Butt than Cantona. It is unlikely, for example, that any club would regard him as the difference between winning and losing a league championship – or that one from the lower orders would buy him with a view to improving them by four or five places.

But the most telling test of Fletcher's capabilities comes from answering two questions: if he is, as is now argued, Manchester United's most formidable midfielder, would that explain why they are five points behind Chelsea and the biggest price they have been in years to win the league championship?

And if, as is widely accepted, he is Scotland's best, is it any surprise that Burley's team should have failed so spectacularly in the recent World Cup qualifying campaign?