Maeda's moment.
For all the angst that has accompanied this season. For all the existentialism surrounding our dominance and dynasty. For all the toxicity, fulminations and off the field controversy, this Celtic team is now on the verge of glory.
A beleaguered, brow beaten bunch of players/misfits are two wins from modern folklore.
Daizen Maeda took the roof off Celtic Park yesterday. In many ways, it was a reminder of what this club is; gigantic, successful, inspiring but ultimately, something else. Stood apart from all others. Miscellaneous and innately magic.
The celebrations that greeted the goal; the primal, unexpected, unbridled joy. The trepidation vanquished, the sheer elation, that anxious itch scratched in unison by 60,000(minus those clad in black) created a noise that can’t be replicated anywhere else, in any other stadium in the UK. Often, it’s hard to describe what is so special about Celtic Park’s atmosphere but this was it.
Platitudes from Europe’s finest are fine. Anecdotes of great goals and great times bring a smile to your face.
This was pandemonium, pure hysteria and it corroborates the idea that Parkhead, is a fine piece in the pantheon of football stadia. Not necessarily the bones of the place these days, but its soul remains unrivalled.
It was breath-taking, literally. Spinetingling, still.
It was a where were you moment. Comparable to Larsson’s chip, Nakamura’s free kick or Rogic in the Invincible final.
Fairy-tale stuff. Football has this strange ability to, on occasion, be utterly perfect, just when you need it to be.
This was that.
The Goal.
You’ll have no doubt watched it back 4723 times by now. You’ll no doubt see it a million times in the coming years.
The aesthetic beauty of it was matched only by its spontaneity. A cross only half cleared, bounced to Maeda. His improvised touch with his left foot, went upwards and left him with his back to goal, awaiting gravity to do it’s work on the ball. The next thing we knew, was that Maeda was horizontal in the air, attempting an overhead kick with a technicality and audacity, not immediately associated with him.
The trajectory of the ball as it left his foot was confusing, it seemed farcically speculative. It’s flight then started to plateau. Confusion turned to curiosity as the ball suddenly appeared to head in the general direction of goal. It was in the air forever; allowing me time to nudge my pal, as if it to alert him to the fact that something was happening, that this isn’t in fact going nowhere. The moment prior to it hitting the net was surreal. A whole stadium, stupefied into silence, spellbound and bewitched by the ball.
Jack Butland’s reaction confirmed suspicions. He stood there resigned to his fate as the ball and the penny dropped. It hit the net just inside the post and under the bar.
The entire stadium jumped clean out it’s skin. Delirium.
Celtic Football Club (@CelticFC) on X
It’s a moment that will live with me forever I’d imagine. I don’t have a season ticket currently but my good friend, and now probably the godfather of my first born, Ryan Kelly, gave me his ticket as he was away working. I am eternally grateful to him.
Celtic 3 v Rangers 1 – 10/05/2026
These games are relatively non-descript. In fact, the only thing that matters is the score line above. I remember little despite being perfectly sober. In between the ball flying about like a hissing potato, the arms flailing in protest and aching tension, the actual football seems intermittent and somewhat irrelevant.
This is my take from the game despite having just watched it all back. Other outlets may be able to offer more insight.
Celtic played with the feral energy and competitiveness that is necessary to come out on top. There was none of the passive, second guessed play we’ve seen and now that the end is in sight, the players seem focused, the collective is tuned and recalibrated. The plan seems more calcified.
A confident Maeda, a fully fit Engels and the flying Alistair Johnston have added drive and physicality to the team and rejuvenated the redundant right-hand side.
Wednesday night can’t come quick enough.


Yeah, completely agree, Mark. And when it comes to the relentless pressing and chasing down, he must tup there with the best in the game.
When DM hit the ball my immediate thought was "Where the fuck is this going to end up?". Cue gleeful pandemonium.