Aidan Smith: Hibernian have slipped back into disinformation days after Lennon departure

So, Neil Lennon, you’re the new Hibernian manager, what do think you’ll bring to Easter Road? “Nothing!” he roared. No seriously, Neil, what do you think you’ll bring? “Baggage!” Then he asked a question: had we missed him since he’d been out of the Scottish game? “Of course,” said one journo, to which Lennon retorted: “Liars!”

Neil Lennon joined Leeann Dempster at his unveiling as Hibernian manager

Oh what fun we had that day in the summer of 2016 and – whoa! – some of you will have stopped reading right there, anticipating another love letter to Lenny. Yet more evidence of the widely-held belief that we, all of us in the tartan fitba meeja, arrange a selection of little Lenny gonks in little black tracksuits wearing varying expressions of dugout disenchantment right along the top of our computers.

Well, I’ll try not to make this a love letter. I liked him as Hibs manager. Contrary to the view that there was only one place he really wanted to be, I thought it suited him. Swapping Glasgow’s goldfish bowl for Lochend Pond, with the obvious exception of the odd hairy Edinburgh derby, seemed to offer an equable environment for one so easily stressed. As a guy who loves a (metaphorical) scrap, he was battling for a club of strivers, surely a pleasant change after promoting the cause of a team who usually always win and not engendering much in the way of sympathy. The opportunity to jump up and down in celebration at having won at Ibrox was more rare and surely therefore sweeter. There was the chance to lift the occasional cup and if he meant it when he said that winning the Championship with Hibs was on a par with anything he’d achieved at Celtic then that really would have been something.

And, if he’d hung around a little longer, although no one expected him to stay for ever, probably moving on in the summer anyway, then I could have asked this question: “So, Neil Lennon – is it true or just one of football’s urban myths that in a pub in Glasgow’s West End when the books round was proving a stern test, you impressed the room by being the only one who correctly answered ‘Saul Bellow’?”

Love letter! Love letter! OK, pipe down. It’s true that a working knowledge of American literary titans is less use to a Hibs manager than a working knowledge of Scottish midfield titans when you’re required to replace John McGinn. We should talk about Lennon’s record at Easter Road and we should talk about the club’s handling of the manager’s exit.

Exit first, what a shambles. This has been the Hibs of old. The blundering disinformation days apparently half-learned from a dog-eared KGB manual where the club said nothing or little that illuminated their affairs. Leeann Dempster promised glasnost. Identifying a clear disconnect between club and supporters, she vowed the lines of communication would work much better, and they have done.

But this mess has been terrible. The manager suspended only to be cleared of any “misconduct or wrongdoing”, eulogised for his work, no longer employed but with nothing in the official statement to explain how or why the grim situation arose? As others have pointed out, this all smacks of Rod Petrie, inset above, wearing the Cossack hat, for what has been a great leap backwards in public relations. What an insult to the fans’ intelligence!

What will history make of the Lenny Years? They were never dull, his briefings certainly referencing Kim Jong-il if not quite Saul Bellow. There was a lot of fine football, more than some thought there would be. He gave good profile for the club, something it’s been claimed Hibs will be lucky to repeat with the next incumbent, though if he happens to have an Old Firm backstory that should keep the tabloid boys intrigued.

Lennon’s purple patch was the second half of last season. Thrilling wins (Celtic, Hearts and Aberdeen); five goals against Kilmarnock and another five against Rangers. His midfield, from an original idea by Alan Stubbs, were scintillating. He loved wingers, turning Martin Boyle from fringe to internationalist and finding Brandon Barker. The loan strikers, Florian Kamberi and Jamie Maclaren, seemed like a perfect pairing.

And then, returning after the summer, they weren’t. Both were hampered by injuries but they didn’t seem like the same guys. The midfield, completely re-cast, certainly weren’t the same. Lennon was learning the lesson of Hibee history. It’s almost a fluke if the manager, required to sell a star, finds a more durable replacement. Peter Marinello discovered he was being flogged to Arsenal while standing at a bus-stop, the news coming from a passing Arthur Duncan on his way into the club from Partick Thistle. But John Collins had Scott Brown, Kevin Thomson and Michael Stewart at his disposal and then suddenly his midfield was being helmed by Brian Kerr.

McGinn departing has left Hibs as bewildered and bereft as did the loss of that other Duracell-powered dynamo Des Bremner in 1979, although at least this team won’t be relegated. Lack of ambition? This is the charge being heard now. But Hibs are Hibs, they don’t go wild and crazy in the market. Grudgingly, the faithful have come to accept this, tidy balance sheets being the new rock’n’roll. Hibs managers need to be resourceful, creative. Lennon got frustrated and showed it more than most. I half-thought this latest storm would blow over, and if nothing tragic really happened, why didn’t it?

Of course, managers bellowing – if not Bellowing – at players is the modern world’s idea of tragic. Back at the beginning Lennon likened old Hibs teams to boybands for their faffing and frailties. Are we witnessing a musical reincarnation? The return of Take Hibs? New Hibs on the Block? East(-er)life? Good luck, then, to the club hierarchy hoping to retain that record number of season tickets.

Good luck, too, to Lenny. When Saul Bellow won the Nobel Prize for Literature the testimony spoke of “picaresque adventure, drastic and tragic episodes, philosophical conversation, a witty tongue”. Remind you of anyone?