A little over ten years ago, I set off for the small Spanish island of Gran Canaria to enjoy a week’s holiday with my old man. I was really looking forward to it as it was only my third trip abroad. The first had been a pretty good school trip to Holland – but it was still a school trip and had all the usual baggage that comes with that. The second had come two years earlier when my entire family had gone to a pretty poor resort in Rodos aka Rhodes. It was during a heatwave in an already hot climate and our hotel was miles from the beach with no pool. We eventually got the hang of the place but it left a bad taste in the mouth about Greek islands – a feeling I’ve only just shaken with a much better holiday last week in Zakynthos aka Zante. So I was hoping for third time lucky.

Of course, there was a small disappointing element. Celtic had qualified for the group stages of the Champions League and their first home game was going to be on Wednesday night – the 12th. I was going to miss the Rosenborg game. But we had the pub picked out for the game – Scruffy Murphy’s in Peurto Rico if I remember rightly – so we’d still see it.

The place we stayed was nothing spectacular. A nice wee self catering apartment on ground level next to the pool. It was already better than Rhodes then! So we set out to enjoy the next few days with a pile of books to read and the September sun to enjoy. The Canary Islands are still cooking in September after all.

What I didn’t realise was I’d made a bit of a meal of getting sun cream. Not only had I got too low a factor – something like factor 8 – but it was a spray bottle. Far too easy to apply too little with a spray, I prefer the cream you can slap on. So for the next few days I was living dangerously. We didn’t do much the first day, and the next couple of days we went exploring in the car we had rented. So for the most part, I avoided any serious sun exposure.

Then came Tuesday. No more exploring, this would be a day for being by the pool and reading while getting a nice tan. Or in my case, burnt. All morning I was out there getting redder and redder. Even after lunch my only thought to cool off was to dive into the pool instead of getting inside. Apparently I was still a total moron at aged 20. Fortunately for me, around about 2pm an English guy came running by the pool shouting just three words finally got me inside.

“America’s under attack!”

Our apartment had Sky News, so inside we went to see what he was talking about. The scene we were presented with was like something from a movie as one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center was burning in New York.

I don’t really need to tell you the rest of the story. I stayed in the rest of the day, watching as the second plane hit live on the news. Watching as news of other attacks came through. Watching as the towers fell.

I didn’t go back out into the sun that day. By the time we did go out for dinner, the sun had gone down and my skin was as red as it had ever been. For the rest of that week I stayed inside reading my books. I even felt a bit chilly my sunburn was so bad. Had I not gone in from the sun when I did on that Tuesday, I’d probably have required medical assistance. Not something you want while in a foreign land.

For ten years now I’ve felt guilty about that. Ten years of thinking that I’d gladly have been fried if it meant nearly 3000 people didn’t die in those attacks. Ten years of thinking how lucky I am.

I did miss a Celtic game – even if it wasn’t the one I thought I initially. While UEFA pressed ahead with the games on the Tuesday night, despite calls to postpone them, the Wednesday night games were postponed eventually. The rearranged date was one I did make. But because I hadn’t taken the option of the three match package, we had to get the games individually. Rosenborg and Porto we made it to, but Juventus – the best of the six group games – was sold out.

I consider myself to be very fortunate throughout my life. Everything that has happened to me over 30 years has got me into a really good position. A great job, a wonderful wife, a terrific house, decent holidays… for the most part I’m delighted about my good fortune. But one day ten years ago I’d happily trade my fortune.

I’m also very lucky that my biggest concerns in life are things like a bit of bad sunburn that leaves me very uncomfortable for a while or that I miss the odd football match or that on the 15th of September 2001 it was a weird experience getting on a plane to go home just days after the attacks. My life is quite simple by comparison really. A few nights ago I watched a brilliant documentary filmed during September of 2001 about a new fireman recruited in New York. The footage and the story of those men is like nothing I’ve ever watched.

For all of the nearly 3000 people who died, 343 of them were firemen. That’s over 10% of those who died. While so many people were trying to get out, those men went rushing in the opposite direction to help. Every single one of them – those who died and those who survived – is a hero. Those who survived still live with those awful memories and many have both physical and mental scars from that day.

Whether or not the world is safer today than it was ten years ago is a huge debate, as is the actions taken by governments over the last ten years, but they are debates for another day. Today is about remembering the senselessness of the deaths in the attacks, and hoping that we never see another defining moment in history as bad as that one ten years ago.

Well, since it was Lionel Messi last year just as it is this year, I’ll just alter this slightly to be my favourite Celtic player at this time last year.

Artur Boruc.

Continuing yesterday’s theme, a player from Poland. Not just any player though – Artur is probably the best goalkeeper that Celtic have had in a generation. Okay, so he hadn’t exactly been on his top form in the latter couple of season, but he was still a cracking goalkeeper and one I would have back in an instant. Although, he did get substituted off against Rangers in a game we won, so that’s not a bad way to bow out. Especially since they hated him. I’ve mentioned the Champions flag at Ibrox incident in a previous post, but this is also a man who managed to piss off some sections of the Rangers support purely by blessing himself. Wow, you’d think Poland was a Catholic country or something…

All the side-show bits aside, Artur had some brilliant heroics during his time at Celtic. The big ones were in Europe. Saving penalties in a shoot-out against Spartak Moscow made sure that we won a shoot-out in Europe for the first time. Another penalty save from Louis Saha ensured that we beat Man United 1-0 and qualified from the group stages of the Champions League for the first time. Nakamura’s free kick is the moment that everyone remembers first about that game, but the save from Artur was just as important.

Artur left for Fiorentina in the summer. We knew he was going this time last year, but it was still disappointing. Fraser Forster has done a decent job in the 12 months since, but we still need to do something about that as he’s heading back to Newcastle now. Maybe we’ll get him permanently, maybe we’ll get someone else. But the “Holy Goalie” will always be fondly remembered by me and the rest of the Celtic support.

“A Player From Your Childhood”

This is one of those “who was your first hero” questions, and my answer to this varies because there were three players that all signed for Celtic around the same time that I loved. I’m just a wee bit too young to properly remember Celtic’s centenary year, and I vaguely remember Joe Miller scoring the winner in the Scottish Cup final of 1989. So it’s three players that signed just after that.

First, there was Paul Elliott. I remember him being a big, solid defender who once scored a goal against Rangers in a final we didn’t win by ducking down and heading the ball into the net. I had to look up which game this was, but it turned out to be the League Cup final in the 1989/90 season, and we did indeed lose 2-1 with Elliott scoring the goal for Celtic. I also remember absolutely hating Dean Saunders for his tackle which ended Paul Elliott’s career just after he left Celtic. I know it was his fault, Paul knows it was his fault, but a bloody civil court action ruled it wasn’t. Seriously, I hate Dean Saunders for this one tackle. It might be an irrational hatred, but aren’t they all?

The other two players were the Polish players that signed for Celtic in 1989 – Dariusz Wdowczyk and Dariusz Dziekanowski. Due to my own Polish background, there’s a good chance that these two played a major part in ensuring I became the Celtic supporter I am today. They drew me to Celtic when my dad was still in his “the board suck, they should never have sold Dalglish” mood (yes, that was a whole 12 years before this) and they both played the first time I was taken to a football match – playing for Poland against Scotland.

There’s an odd quirk here. I never liked Anton Rogan, at least not until his recent Lostbhoys interview. The irrational reason for this – he missed Celtic’s last penalty in the Scottish Cup final in 1990 against Aberdeen. What I completely forgot until recently was… Wdowczyk missed a penalty earlier in the shoot-out! He got away with it because the Aberdeen player who followed him also missed, which eventually lead to Rogan’s penalty.

But really, despite these two, it was Dziekanowski that was probably the hero for me. His great performance against Partizan Belgrade where he tried (and ultimately failed) to score more goals than the Celtic sieve defence could concede – he got four of the five as Celtic won 5-4 which just wasn’t enough on the night. Sadly, the money went to his head and he pretty much faded away. He left to go to Bristol Rovers after a couple of years and was never really heard from again. I still remember being gutted when he left though.

They may not have been good times for Celtic, but they’re where I started, and even in the bad times you have your favourite players.

“A Player That You Look At And Wonder How They Made It”

This could cover a multitude of players I’ve not liked over the years, but to be honest I know better.  I’ve played football enough myself to know what while I think I might be good enough playing with some people, it doesn’t take much to be completely outclassed by someone else.  I’ve played with people who have played at Junior level in Scotland (a level below the professionals in the Scottish leagues but still good enough that they feature in the Scottish Cup these days) and they’re embarrassingly better without trying.  When they do try though, that’s not exactly good enough for the professionals.  So I know better than to say “dunno why he made it” when I know they could make me look very silly without trying.

So I’m not going there with this one, even though I’ve probably said it about Celtic defenders who can’t header a ball any more than five yards (oh how I miss Bobo Balde’s headed clearances to half way), Rangers players that can’t shoot and run over the touchline with the ball (SEBO!) and assorted other players in England and across the richer leagues where you wonder why someone would pay them any money at all let alone the silly numbers they get.

Gerard Pique of Barcelona. Phwoar… Shakira, eh?! Jammy bastard.

I dunno actually. How do you answer this without repeating what was said for day 11 or day 15? You can tell this is the point of the challenges where it goes a bit pear-shaped and you run out of good ideas.

So actually… aye, Pique will do. He gets to play in defence (my favoured position) for probably the best club in the world currently, winning big trophies. He’s also Spanish and was part of the World Cup winning team so he’s done it at the highest level for both club and country. He even chips in with some big goals now and then. Admittedly, he’s not perfect and generally makes an arse of something once a game from what I’ve seen, but he gets away with it a lot. What’s not to like about a career like that?

Plus, Shakira’s no bad.

Lionel Messi. Seriously, I’m awesome on the pitch, it’s like we’re twins.

Actually, this is the one day I’m going to skip. I can’t do impressions of football players. I can’t really do impressions of anyone. Any impressions I would attempt would probably be a bad impression of the Only An Excuse characters rather than the players they are based on. And that programme stopped being funny a long time ago now. I think the last time I laughed at it was when Larsson fixed the radio – and since he hasn’t played for Celtic since 2004, that shows how old it has become.

Well, there are plenty of players I laugh at for their inability on the pitch or their general attitude, but I’ll assume we’re looking for someone who can crack a good joke or make a funny comment. So in that case, I’m going with Ian Holloway.

Currently manager at Blackpool, Holloway is one of those managers that’s been about a few clubs. He’s from Bristol, which already gives him a West Country accent – basically, he sounds like a stereotypical farmer – but it’s his comments that really make you laugh. My favourite one – and I’ll admit I googled this – was on how teams need to win ugly sometimes. That day where the game is dreadful, but you grind out the three points. They get you places if they’re not pretty. That’s how I’d put it. He put it like this:

To put it in gentleman’s terms if you’ve been out for a night and you’re looking for a young lady and you pull one, some weeks they’re good looking and some weeks they’re not the best. Our performance today would have been not the best looking bird but at least we got her in the taxi. She wasn’t the best looking lady we ended up taking home but she was very pleasant and very nice, so thanks very much, let’s have a coffee.

Brilliant.

He never minces his words either, so I’ve a lot of respect for him. His rant about Wayne Rooney trying to work his way out of Manchester United last year was brilliant, and really echoed how I feel about the power struggle between clubs and players in this ridiculous money-driven football world. More recently, he’s been one of the few managers to come out and mention what awful treatment Neil Lennon has been getting. He even stressed that obviously Lennon has been doing something right otherwise people wouldn’t hate him as much. You want to be hated – but not to the extent it has got to with him.

Anyway, Ian Holloway’s a terrific guy, and he makes me laugh. Not only that, but his teams generally try to play entertaining and attacking football. It’s going to be really difficult for them this weekend to stay in the Premiership, but I’d love it if they did. Good luck.

Jordan Larsson.

Well, assuming I can’t say Neil Lennon again for fear of repeating myself, it’s rather a struggle to think of one. Mainly because I’m still of the age where no football manager is younger than me and I’d like to think that when my time comes I will be an old man! So lets assume Henrik’s son becomes a player and then a manager. He can tell us about how life at Celtic – the club the deceased loved so much – was when his old man was there, and then when he went there. He would then go on to tell of the time when he met me in the player’s lounge following his hat trick in the Champions League final for Celtic, going one better than his dad managed in his time.

Well I can dream.

If I were to die tomorrow though, I’d want Neil to speak at it. Sorry, this entry seems a bit pointless to be honest!

Interesting timing for this one to come up since I’m getting married in less than two months, not to mention my choice is dealing with all sorts of nonsense. How could I not pick the man who has brought so much joy and passion back to the football I attend?

I have to admit, I was never Neil Lennon’s biggest fan as a player. In my mind, midfielders were more like the Stilian Petrov box-to-box kind. They’d be back helping out the defence one minutes, up supporting the attack the next. A tireless task for anyone. Lennon’s style was different. He was the defensive midfielder. Sitting in front of the defence, breaking up attacks before they came to anything and picking out passes. Quite a leisurely style compared to the box-to-box style.

I didn’t know much of him in his time in England, but obviously when he came to Celtic I got to know him. He came towards the end of 2000 but it wasn’t really until 2003 that I truly appreciated what he brought. In the blazing heat of the UEFA Cup final in Seville, deep into extra time and losing the game 3-2, here was Neil Lennon running 30, 40, 50 yards in an effort to close down the opposition in their own box. I was too knackered in the stand but here was Neil still bursting a gut after 120 minutes of scorching and heartbreaking football! Maybe I’d under-estimated him.

There was another time I was in a pub in Glasgow. We had just beaten Rangers at Celtic Park and Lennon had played in the game. So we were all in the pub celebrating. In walks Neil! He’s a Celtic fan just like the rest of us, but in this era it’s so unlikely to find yourself in the same pub as a player. It’s little things like that you appreciate.

The last few years for Celtic have been disappointing. A lack of league titles, boring football to watch, and a feeling that the fans and the club were drifting apart. That all changed in the summer. Lennon became Celtic manager, brought in some exciting young players and set about “bringing back the thunder” to Celtic as he put it in one press conference. With the league still to be decided but Rangers slightly ahead and us hoping for a slip, we may not get the title back this season. But the feeling is that, should Lennon stay on then we’ll be in a great position to get it next season and possibly for several more too. The crowd are enjoying the football and the atmosphere has been returning to Celtic. It’s a great place to go once again.

The trouble is, Neil has been putting up with stuff that no one should have to put up with. Death threats, bombs in the post, and some moron Hearts fan attacked him during the game last night. I wouldn’t be surprised if he walks away at the end of this season. If he did, I’d back him all the way. He has a family, he’s done nothing to deserve any of this nonsense. Anyone that thinks otherwise is a moron. I’m not saying he doesn’t upset the opposition, but there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s plenty at Rangers I hate – as previous blogs in this challenge will show – but there’s a level that it stops at. I wish El Hadji Diouf would clear off out of football, I certainly don’t wish him any real harm. Kyle Lafferty is a big lanky streak of pish, but in the end I suspect he plays up to it and he’s probably just a bit of a fanny. I can understand how Lennon rubs other the wrong way, but to the extent it has got to this season you have to question if it’s worth it and what is wrong psychologically and socially with these people.

Sad thing is, Lennon’s actually a nice guy. Away from the football he’s the kind of guy you would want to have a pint with. To still be in the job he’s in after all he’s had to put up with he’s clearly a very strong character. He’s always up for a laugh – as former Rangers captain Barry Ferguson would testify. During some ceremony for Barry there was a joke of a video shown to him of Neil sitting on his couch drinking tea! It was all good natured, and proof that the footballers at the team probably live on a different – much friendlier – planet from the fans of the teams.

I have plenty of time for Neil, I trust in him and he’d be a great laugh. Can you think of a better best man?

(Well, I can, I have one that knows me better than Neil would. He’s also a Rangers fan, but no one’s perfect!)

For all I hate the build up to it, I hate all the nonsense that surrounds it, I hate half the teams involved in it… I’d love to play in a Glasgow derby. I think every Celtic fan would. I think every Rangers fan would too. I’m fairly sure at one time or another we’ve all had that same dream.

The game’s tied and time is running out. It’s away from home so three of the four stands are singing their hatred at you. You pick up the ball on the half way line and turn to beat your marker. Another defender comes across to cut you off, but you nutmeg him and go round him. Another one comes across and tries to kick your heels, but you see him coming and jump out of the way, still in control of the ball. The keeper is all you have left to beat now as the defenders try to scramble back. He comes rushing out and you spot your opportunity… you chip the ball over his head. For an instant, it looks like you might have hit it too hard but it drops just in time, giving the crossbar a little kiss as it bounces over the goal line and hits the back of the net.

The three noisy stands are silenced as a wall of sound erupts from the remaining stand housing the away support – your support. You wheel away from the the distraught goalkeeper and run towards them, arms outstretched in triumph. They’re reaching over the barrier wanting to hug you and you dive in with them. Your teammates catch up with you and half hug you, half pull you back onto the pitch. The referee runs over and books you for over-celebrating because that’s what those spoilsports do. Eventually, the opposition take centre and the second they do the referee blows for full time. You’ve just scored the winner, spoiling the weekend for half of Glasgow and delighting the other half. You know people are going into work on the Monday morning to wind up their mates from the other side of the divide. But before then there are songs to be sung and pints to be drunk. Maybe when you’re finished you’ll even join them for a pint yourself.

There’s no better feeling than when this kind of thing happens. It makes all the build up, all the nonsense, worth putting up with.