Resilient Celtic time run perfectly to win race after eight-month chase

Resilient Celtic time run perfectly to win race after eight-month chase Celtic lift Premiership trophy after dramatic final day

For eight months Celtic chased Hearts at the top of the Scottish Premiership. Eight months, a game of catch-up for 32 games, 2,880 on-field minutes, 48 hours.

They stayed in the fight, somehow. Kicking and screaming, they won matches they looked like they weren't going to win, dug out key goals in the dying seconds, triumphed over their own mediocrity at times, driven on by Martin O'Neill.

Somewhere in the city, somebody is chiselling away at a statue of the 74-year-old. Somewhere in the city you hope, also, that security people are poring over footage of Celtic fans on the pitch.

The invasion was an outpouring of emotion but it careered so far over the line as to be an outrage. An investigation will be launched; swift and with proper punishments, you'd hope.

Certainly, Hearts staff were enraged. They got on their bus and got out of there as fast as they could. They deserved a whole better than that. We'll be hearing plenty more about those scenes.

But this was O'Neill's piece de resistance – his moment, his day.

Last-day dramas are nothing new to him. In a previous life at Celtic Park he lost two titles in the last match of the season. This one went to the wire as well. Of course.

Only a dozen minutes of normal time remained in this season to end all seasons – Celtic were drawing, which meant that Hearts were winning. They piled forward, the late-goal kings of Scotland, the 90th-minute heroes, but nothing was sticking.

With 11 minutes left, Kelechi Iheanacho hit a post. With 10 to go, Benjamin Nygren forced a dramatic save out of Alexander Schwolow.

Time ticked on, slowly. Hearts were champions with nine minutes to play, eight minutes, seven minutes. Six, five and four minutes on the clock and Hearts were winning the league, smashing to smithereens that established order; history-makers, epoch definers.

From their first league game under Brendan Rodgers and onwards – through the turbulence of O'Neill part one, the calamity of Wilfried Nancy and then O'Neill part two – Celtic had been playing for 57 hours since the start of the season.

Yet it took until three minutes from the end of the 90 here for them to get their nose in front and score the goal that ultimately won the title.

There's leaving it late – then there is this. Daizen Maeda was the man again. Maeda and the comeback boy Callum Osmand, who delivered the cross for his Japanese team-mate in his first game since early November. Resilience, in other words.

Maeda has been an electrifying force these past weeks; full of energy and bite and goals. He came alive when his team needed him, scoring in each of his past five league games. Seven goals in that run.

The man was in tears afterwards, utterly spent, completely overcome.

For much of the day, Celtic had been true to their season-long form, lacking in threat, creativity and accuracy. Hearts coped with them easily for the longest time.

After more than half an hour, Celtic had registered zero shots on target and had just two touches of the ball in Hearts' penalty area.

So far, so good for the wannabe disruptors. And then, so much better. Lawrence Shankland's back-post header put them ahead. It was their first attempt on target all day. It had to be Shankland. The captain, the inspiration, the totem of Tynecastle.

Celtic needed two goals now. Arne Engels provided one of them from the penalty spot – no argument this time. O'Neill brought on Iheanacho for the second half and he made a difference. Later, Osmand appeared, and what an impact he had.

All the while, Hearts men were dropping. Beni Baningime was invalided out of the action, and in rapid fire Michael Steinwender, Stephen Kingsley and Alexandros Kyziridis went down. They carried on, but they were struggling, pushed back all the time by the gathering menace in green and white.

They were dealing with everything Celtic were throwing at them, though.

The hour-mark came and went, then the 70-minute mark and there was barely a coherent stir from Celtic. Iheanacho hitting a post sounded the bugle on the cavalry charge. Maeda landed the critical blow.

We went into eight minutes of added time. Hearts blew a gasket in trying to get level; their intensity and desire to score was so palpable that you could reach out and touch it.

In Jamboland, those minutes must have been murderous and cruel. The angst must have been off the charts. So much done, so much history made and yet it wasn't enough.

Osmand broke away to score seconds before the end, two team-mates running in his slipstream with every man in maroon up the other end. What a moment that must have been for the youngster, a free run on goal, an open target and the noise of 60,000 fans screaming in his ears.

There was still 30 seconds left to play when the invasion happened, but that time was binned in the chaos. On streamed the Celtic supporters and eye-witness reports with a clear view say things got ugly.

SPFL were informed by match officials later that the final whistle had been blown but still it was a pitiful end to a glorious moment for the home team. A shameful way to treat the visitors, who have given us so much this season, so many supreme moments, so much that made the title race the greatest in the lifetime of so many.

Hearts will be distraught, naturally, but there is a sense that this is just the beginning of their story, that they will come again and again under the management of Derek McInnes, the data analysis of Jamestown Analytics, the backing of the Foundation of Hearts, Tony Bloom and James Anderson, their benefactor-in-chief.

None of that will ease their pain in the here and now. Until they get over the line in this league then that hurt will be an open wound. There has to be enormous pride, too. And hope. A bittersweet season.

Celtic have so much work to do, so many important foundations to put in place for next season. O'Neill pulled off a feat of escapology that wouldn't have been required had the decision-makers above him not been so slapstick for so long.

They'll do a review, no doubt, but they'll be doing it from a position of strength. Champions again, just. And this time, more than any other time, 'just' was enough.

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