Lennonism

I said I wasn't going to write about Neil Lennon, or James McClean, but sometimes you have to do as your conscience dictates -:

Derry. 30^th January 1972. Bloody Sunday. British paratroopers summarily execute 14 completely unarmed, wholly innocent members of the Nationalist community taking part in a peaceful march for Civil Rights. This was long before the idea of a Backstop, before parity of esteem, respect for divergent traditions or any other of the glib clichés supposed to denote the winds of change that the Good Friday Agreement brought about in the Six Counties, had been thought of.  It was a time when the British Government used their occupying army to openly collude with Loyalist paramilitaries and the RUC in replicating apartheid era South African norms of repression and state terror to subjugate the entire Nationalist population; not just those seeking self-determination outside the scope of Westminster rule.

Just to bring things up to date; 47 years later not a single person responsible for slaughter on Bloody Sunday has been called to account for their actions, from the military top brass who planned the attack to the squaddies who committed the murders to the politicians who covered the whole thing up. Meanwhile, Stoke City footballer James McClean, a proud son of the Bogside, suffers unending abuse each October and November, both on line and in real life, for practising free speech and refusing to dance to the dog whistle flute band jig of British militarist populism by not wearing a poppy. McLean’s latest Instagram posts, among family snaps of his wife and kids who’ve received innumerable death threats because of his stance on poppies, include a tribute to those whose blood was spilled, and lives ended on that fateful day almost half a century ago.

I didn’t want to write about James McClean or Neil Lennon or, by reputation and inference, Martin O’Neill or indeed any footballer from the nationalist community in the north of Ireland who have become cyber and terracing hate figures in British, and especially Scottish, society for the supposed crimes of being Republican sympathisers. However, in the febrile atmosphere whereby any passionate, articulate and high-profile Catholic from the Six Counties is assumed to be a supporter of the Provos, despite the fact that the Army Council of the IRA announced a permanent cessation of all activities on 28^th July 2005, I simply must comment on events pertaining to the initial suspension and subsequnt departure of Neil Lennon from the role of Hibernian manager.

Being honest, I have no idea what James McClean’s voice sounds like, as I’ve never heard him speak. In a coincidental parody of the Section 31 gagging order on Sinn Fein members in the Republic, McClean is never heard on British television. I don’t know for certain, but I’d imagine this is his choice and fair play to him for refusing to set himself up as a soft target for media manipulation and the resultant unending abuse he would endure, whatever the subject he was commenting on. In contrast, Martin O’Neill, his voice tending to the falsetto when agitated, and the controlled almost monotone that signifies Neil Lennon’s strident, unbowed tones are as alive in my head as if the two of them were sat next to me.

Now, for many reasons I ought to dislike Martin O’Neill, specifically his lifelong support for Sunderland, the club who sacked him after barely a year in charge, and his dire final year in charge of the Irish national team following the failure to qualify for the 2018 World Cup, but I like the bloke. Not just for his cussed and disputatious nature, but because he was a stylish and artistic player back in the day, as well as a particularly effective manager at Leicester City and Celtic, as well as a decent one with Aston Villa. Before the miracle of 2015/2016, O’Neill’s stewardship of the Foxes, whereby he took them to 3 League Cup finals and won 2 of them, was seen as a high-water mark. Moving on to Celtic in 2000, after the fiasco of the John Barnes managerial debacle, O’Neill restored the Parkhead club’s habitual dominance over the original Glasgow Rangers club that eventually folded in 2011, laying down a marker with a 6-2 win in his debut Old Firm game and subsequently recording 7 successive wins in future fixtures. The fact O’Neill left in 2005 to spend time with his wife, who had been diagnosed with cancer at that time, shows the quality and principles of the man. You may not like him, but you must respect him. While it may be true that his tactics at Sunderland and with Ireland showed him to be something of a dinosaur in the modern game, his latest, and probably final, posting at Nottingham Forest, with the cheerful, happy-go-lucky, natural comedian Roy Keane again at his side, will be less subject to public scrutiny and obloquy, allowing him to specialise in uncomplicated, percentage football that will prove effective in the second tier.

One of the repeated criticisms of O’Neill is that he is a long-ball merchant. The fact is though; you do not reach the final of a major European competition and lose in heart-breaking circumstances, simply because you launch the ball long downfield as often as possible. You get there because of astute planning and by assembling a good team and one player who was central to everything O’Neill achieved at both Leicester and Celtic was Neil Lennon. Bought from Crewe Alexandra for £750,000, Lennon immediately took his place in the Foxes side that went up via the play-offs in 1996, becoming a mainstay in the team and appearing in all 3 League Cup finals. However, perhaps his most notorious appearance was in a more passive role in April 1998, when Alan Shearer deliberately kicked Lennon in the head in the closing stages of a dire 0-0 draw at Filbert Street.

While the referee deemed the incident as not worthy of punishment at the time, the FA had no choice but to charge Shearer with violent conduct on the basis of video footage that showed the barbarity of the attack. At the FA hearing, Shearer’s legal team stated that if he were to be punished for the assault, which would mean he would have been suspended for Newcastle’s FA Cup final appearance against Arsenal, he would make himself unavailable for that summer’s World Cup in France. A hasty conflab between the blue blazers resulted in Shearer being let off scot free to the incredulity of the entire football world. I lost a lot of respect for Shearer after that incident but, paradoxically, gained a whole lot more for Neil Lennon who, as is often conveniently forgotten, spoke eloquently as a defence witness that day, insisting any contact had been purely accidental. This did not seem to register with the wider football public.

It seemed from the day of that challenge onwards, it was open season on Neil Lennon; despite being partnered in midfield by the loathsome Robbie Savage, all criticism was focused on the man from Lurgan. It was no surprise when he jumped ship to join his mentor O’Neill at Parkhead at the first opportunity. In 7 years as a player with Celtic Lennon, like Scott Brown in recent times, combined being the idol of the Tic fans and a folk devil for the opposition; his ability to control a game, combined with a ruthless streak of ambition that mirrored Roy Keane’s, as well as an unrepentant persona, saw him on the end of innumerable death threats from Loyalists, both armchair and actual. Like O’Neill, Lennon received bullets through the post and endured physical assaults when going about his daily business. Worse though, despite playing for Northern Ireland during an era of relative peace, Lennon was subjected to vicious sectarian abuse from his own fans while captaining the side, unlike O’Neill’s remarkably hassle-free appearances in the dark days of the 70s and 80s.

Lennon stepped down from the Northern Ireland team in 2002 to concentrate on playing for Celtic, which he did with distinction until 2007. His last game saw the Hoops win the Scottish Cup against Dunfermline Athletic and he left on good terms to play briefly for Nottingham Forest and then Wycombe Wanderers, two clubs very close to Martin O’Neill’s heart in point of fact, before returning to Celtic, first as Reserve Coach in 2008 and then as manager, following Tony Mowbray’s departure in 2010. While his appointment was seen by many as a natural succession, it was a high-risk appointment, bearing in mind Lennon’s passionate nature. Overall, his 4 years in charge were a great success; he won 3 successive titles and the Scottish Cup on 2 occasions. However, following a frank admission of his struggles with depression on account of the pressure cooker environment in which he worked, Lennon departed Celtic in summer 2014. 

Mind, having walked into the train wreck that was Bolton Wanderers in late 2014, trying to juggle £80m debt, the threat of administration and a transfer embargo, he may have pined for the sectarian brickbats that flew his way at Ibrox and Tynecastle and, on being appointed Hibs manager in summer 2016 in succession to Alan Stubbs, he was soon to renew his acquaintance with the vile abuse that Rangers and Hearts fans get away with as a matter of course. During his tenure of the Easter Road hot seat, Lennon was attacked by Morton players, assaulted by opposition fans at Tynecastle and subjected to a barrage of coins at Ibrox, with the official narrative stating that Lennon brought it all on himself by being a mouthy Taig who didn’t know his place.

Without question, Hibernian are one of the world’s greatest clubs and Easter Road is a palace of football. That said, there have been some desperate times on the pitch in Leith in recent years, as the cycle of boom and bust is endlessly repeated. After the glorious football during the Tony Mowbray era and the superb 5-1 League Cup final win over Kilmarnock in 2007 under John Collins, who left the club, having been frustrated by a lack of ambition and funds from the boardroom, things got ugly for a while. Mixu Paatelainen achieved little, John Hughes was only a marginal improvement, Colin Calderwood was predictably dreadful, Pat Fenlon was out of his depth, despite 2 cup final appearances and Terry Butcher, who took Hibs down in 2014, was the worst of the lot. The unheralded appointment of Alan Stubbs was a stroke of genius; who would have thought that the cumbersome centre back would be such a devotee of total football? In the toughest ever Scottish Championship, Hibs came up short in 2015 and maddeningly lost again in the play offs the year after. When Ross County, totally against the run of play, defeated Hibs in the 2016 League Cup final, it seemed as if the traditional Hibs way of gallant underachievement was the only way the club would go. And then, the magical moment when David Gray’s unstoppable header tore into the roof of Wes Foderingham’s net, released 114 years of pent-up passion as the Scottish Cup came back to Leith for the first time since 1902.

In the delirious aftermath of this incredible triumph, Stubbs left, and Lennon came in. It would be fair to say the Lurgan native is not a romantic. He rolled up his sleeves, assembled a strong side and strolled to the Scottish Championship. Back in the top flight, Hibs played sparkling football in 2017/2018, summed up by an incredible 5-5 draw on the last day of the season against Rangers, which saw The Cabbage finishing a deserved and encouraging third. Not bad for first season back, but still not enough to make Dempster, Farmer or Petrie release the purse strings. Lennon, as ever the target for sectarian abuse from the terraces and institutionally racist harassment from the SFA, cut an increasingly frustrated figure as the Hibees stuttered along in lower mid table this season. In many ways, the surprising thing about Lennon’s suspension on 25^th January and departure 5 days later, was that it took so long to happen. It seems remarkable, considering the strictures he worked under and the abuse he endured, that he hadn’t quit the club before as, rather like Rafa Benitez, his palpable anger and disappointment with the owners appears to have made his position untenable.

I sincerely hope Lennon returns to his role with Hibs, if at all possible. If not, I hope he replaces Benitez at Newcastle as I’m sure his brand of football will be the perfect antidote to the sterility of the Spaniard’s tenure. If there is no chance of a brokered peace between Lennon and the Hibs hierarchy, then the club have an enormous task to replace him; obvious names such as lifelong Hibby Gordon Strachan or the unemployed Alan Stubbs come to mind, but if the board try to do it on the cheap, as so many times before, by appointing some has-been or never was, then the unavoidable thought that the wheel of fortune has revolved towards another period of mediocrity at Easter Road, becomes a compelling one.

Most importantly though, if Lennon is driven out of Scotland, for whatever reason, it will provide the brainless Billy Boys with another reason to think their unacceptable attitudes and crass, illegal behaviour is acceptable. That must not be allowed to happen.