KEITH JACKSON
IF there are a hundred ways to win a trophy Celtic probably thought they had experienced the lot. And then along came yesterday.
Because this was the day Alfredo Morelos won them their latest piece of silverware during 90 minutes of unrelenting, dizzying drama which, as far as the crestfallen Colombian is concerned, deteriorated into the ultimate car crash of a cup final.
In theory this was supposed to be the day the free-scoring phenomenon scrawled his name all over Hampden Park and perhaps even brought Celtic’s historic trophy sweep shuddering to a halt all on his own.
In reality, this was the day he ran into a yellow brick wall in the shape of 6ft 7in Fraser Forster and battered his head against it so many times he left the stadium feeling numb, with his goalscoring senses scrambled.
Morelos had nine reasonably gilt-edged opportunities to break his derby-day duck. Some were more easy than others, including a free shot at goal from 12 yards out having been handed penalty-taking responsibilities by captain James Tavernier.
But at no point could he find a way around Forster and when Celtic’s keeper even kept out his spot-kick, midway through the second half, Morelos looked increasingly demented by what was happening to him, to such an extent by the end even his instincts had ran out on him.
That the Celtic supporters sarcastically chanted his name as Scott Brown led his team on their latest lap of honour, merely rounded off a thoroughly miserable day for Morelos, who must now wait until the end of the month for the chance to make Celtic smile on the other side of their face.
For the time being though the jokes will be on Morelos and no one at Gers will be able to see the funny side at losing a final they dominated from start until finish.
For both managers there was a pre-match hammer blow from the treatment room.
Steven Gerrard would have to send out a midfield minus the mastery and craft of Steven Davis who failed to recover from a clatter on his ankle at Pittodrie.
In the green corner Neil Lennon had to find a way of winning this final without Odsonne Endouard leading his attack as the Frenchman was able only to take a place on Celtic’s bench.
These were handicaps neither manager would have wished for but which both had to overcome against the most unforgiving of backdrops.
But it was Lennon’s ears that were ringing in a first half which bewildered Celtic’s supporters to the point of enraging them.
In truth Celtic started sloppily and went downhill fairly rapidly from there. They were saved only by the heroics of keeper Forster who, amidst the lashing rain and swirling winds, pulled out one stop after the next to prevent Rangers from converting their superiority into a storm of first-half goals.
Some of Forster’s handiwork defied belief. The superhuman stretch to his left to claw out Ryan Jack’s thunderbolt was so spectacular it made jaws slacken all around the ground and left Jack staring at the skies in utter dismay.
But it was Morelos who was suffering the most.
His first effort after 20 minutes squirmed under Forster and was bobbling towards the keeper’s net until Jonny Hayes darted back to lash clear from under the bar.
More chances came and went the way of Morelos who seemed so determined to score his landmark goal he forgot he might have team-mates in far better places and at crucial moments too.
And then five minutes before the break Forster pulled out his best one yet, jabbing out one of those tree-trunk legs to instinctively divert the South American’s blast away at pointblank range.
Forster got back to his feet, the picture of yellow-shirted defiance, but he must have been as confused as the rest of us as to what was actually happening out there before his eyes.
He can’t have seen a Celtic side crumbling just as easily as this one was, in an apparent state of confusion.
Were it not for tiny Jeremie Frimpong and big Kris Ajer – both of whom were making massive contributions – then Forster might have felt as if he was completely on his own out there, so lacklustre and devoid was the rest of Celtic’s performance.
Swamped in midfield, they struggled just to get out of their own half for most of that first 45 and were reduced to launching long, high balls up towards little Lewis Morgan, who was ratting around the ankles of Connor Goldson and Filip Helander but without any success whatsoever.
After penalty
On the contrary, Rangers were succeeding all over the pitch. In the case of the likes of Ryan Jack and Ryan Kent, often they were excelling.
That the inconsolable Jack broke down in floods of tears at the final whistle summed up the scale of Gers’ disappointment. That slow-motion replays then showed the toe of Christopher Jullien’s boot was offside a split second before he used the instep to cushion home the winning goal? That will only slap another layer of pain on to Jack’s suffering. But it’s Morelos who ought to have been staring at his bedroom ceiling last night, wondering how he managed to make such an almighty mess of his own big Hampden moment.