Celtic's Struggles: From Dominance to Crisis

The Celtic crowd is used to clinging to Martin O'Neill as a kind of footballing constant – the man who rides out storms, bends bad weeks back into shape and restores order with a snarl and a plan. Right now, that faith is being stretched to its limit.

A humiliation at Ibrox on Sunday. Another heavy defeat to Ferencvaros on Thursday. Three more goals shipped. The slump is no longer a blip on the radar; it’s starting to look like a full-blown crisis.

From ferocity to frailty

This was Celtic in outline only, a ghost of the Ange Postecoglou era. Back then they were all front foot and fury – aggressive pressing, daring passing, defenders dragged into places they hated, a team that played like it believed every attack would end in a chance.

Against Ferencvaros, they ambled.

The midfield drifted in and out of the game. Passes went sideways and backwards, safe but utterly joyless. Defenders stood off when they should have snapped in. The basics – pass, move, support, press – came and went like suggestions rather than demands.

At 3-1 down, Celtic tried to rouse themselves. Long-range efforts, hopeful hits, nothing built on any real structure or tempo. It looked like a team trying to skip the hard work and jump straight to the heroic comeback.

The comparison with the club’s darker European nights was inescapable. Cluj, Copenhagen, Sparta Prague. Names that still carry a shudder. This felt cut from the same cloth – Legia Warsaw, Salzburg, Maribor all over again. Low energy, high anxiety, and a stadium that knew exactly what it was watching.

The boos told their own story. So did the body language.

Numbers that don’t flatter

Celtic actually started reasonably well. They had territory, they had the ball. Then they conceded a soft goal, clawed their way back with a rare flash of quality, and promptly fell apart again.

The second Ferencvaros goal, just before half-time, was the kind that poor teams concede. No bite to win the first loose ball. No strength to stop the cross. No organisation when it mattered most. One lapse became two, then three, and suddenly the net was bulging.

By the break Celtic had 62.5% possession and trailed 2-1. It was sterile dominance, numbers with no menace.

Camilo Duran, restored to his preferred central role ahead of Kasper Hogh, had just eight touches in that opening half. Eight. A player who arrived in Glasgow bursting with energy and enthusiasm now looks like he’s playing with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Hogh’s situation is even more jarring. A forward who once scored freely for Bodo Glimt against the likes of Man City, Atletico Madrid, Inter Milan, Sporting, Porto, Jagiellonia and Olympiacos has turned into an awkward, isolated figure. His first touch has deserted him, the chances have dried up, and with them his confidence.

One goal in eight Celtic games is a brutal return for an £11m signing. O'Neill has not found the key to unlock him yet.

Even Callum McGregor, the heartbeat, looks disorientated. The totem of so many recent triumphs now appears unsure of the players around him, the structure behind him, the options ahead of him. When McGregor looks lost, Celtic usually are.

Arzani’s sting and O’Neill’s flat tone

On nights like this, football has a knack for cruelty. Daniel Arzani, who once passed through Celtic in a blur of unfulfilled promise, stepped into the script.

The move that led to his goal exposed Celtic in the most embarrassing way. A counter-attack that sliced them open, Colby Donovan stranded upfield and then desperately chasing shadows on the way back. Arzani had time, space and calm. He waited, picked his spot, and whipped the ball into the top corner.

There was more structure in a Keystone Cops chase.

Afterwards, O'Neill spoke about frustration, failure, psychological damage. He acknowledged how nights like this hit hard and test your resolve. He insisted Celtic would “get ourselves together” for Rangers on Sunday, but the words lacked bite. His delivery sounded tired, almost drained.

He listed the shortcomings – the obvious ones anyone in the stadium could see – yet he did not sound like a man brimming with solutions. His interview felt like a reflection of his team: heavy, joyless, uninspired.

This is the manager who walked back into chaos last season and imposed order and belief. His personality dragged Celtic through the title run-in. They were not always pretty, but they were brutal to play against. Nobody beat them when it mattered.

That resilience now feels like a memory from another age, not a few months ago.

A broken edge before Rangers

The timing could hardly be worse. Another Old Firm showdown arrives on Sunday, the second act of this season’s Glasgow drama, and Celtic limp into it wounded.

They have conceded five to LASK, folded at Ibrox, and now unravelled against Ferencvaros. McGregor has admitted the team is “a little bit broken”. That phrase will not have gone unnoticed across the city.

Rangers will sense weakness. They will see a Celtic side that looks short of ideas, conviction, composure, physical presence, creativity and ruthlessness. Above all, a side that doesn’t currently look like it enjoys the fight.

O'Neill himself does not look like a man overflowing with inspiration. He has rebuilt before, he has stared down pressure before, and there is a temptation to assume he will simply do it again by force of habit. But there is a lot to mend here. This is not one loose thread; it’s a tangle.

Celtic’s attack misfires. Their midfield lacks spark. Their defence creaks. Their mentality, once their greatest weapon, looks brittle.

Football, though, rarely sticks to the script. A wounded animal can be dangerous. Celtic Park, snarling and defiant, can change the tone of a season in 90 minutes.

Rangers will arrive on Sunday with a chance to land another blow. Celtic will walk out knowing that, this time, the questions are not about style or swagger, but about something more basic.

Do they still remember how to fight?