A STOCKY Greek-Australian, bearded and still hanging on to the thick woollen jumper in the May Glasgow sunshine may have cut a strange looking messiah at Celtic Park.
A year ago he arrived to an indifferent reception; no hordes of supporters outside, no barriers to hold off an adoring public desperate for a first glimpse. Spool forward to this afternoon amid the ticker tape and the fireworks and Ange Postecoglou could barely get a word in edgeways as the home support chanted his name over and over. When he did speak, his first word predictably brought the house down: “Champions.”
