1995-12-16. Celtic 1-0 Falkirk. Premier Division.

BYLINE:Graham Spiers

They had various Santa Clauses bouncing around Parkhead yesterday, as well as the obligatory beer can-type girls offering further goodies, including some thigh. Fergus McCann, a thoroughly modern man, might want to ponder this kind of atmosphere.

Men were coming out of the stadium talking about "some right good-looking birds" they had glimpsed.

Celtic'sfootball was pretty good-looking as well although you would hardly say they were lining up to putFalkirkto the sword. After their goal – yet another in a recent glut for Pierre Van Hooijdonk – in the 16th minute, you worried for a humiliation about to be heaped on John Lambie's team. Amid no end of artistic effect, it simply never materialised.Lambie, about as dour and morose-looking as anyone can get at this festive time, stared bleakly from his dug-out at yet another defeat for his side.

That's 11 losses now, a record in the current Premier Division, although you can't help feeling that, good times or bad, if theFalkirkmanager had been a shepherd minding his flock in Palestine, he'd still have burst into tears at the sighting of yonder star.

He came into the press-room afterwards to be offered immediately some reviving alcohol.

"Naw, it's okay, I'll only be a moment," he muttered.

Derek Ferguson had shone forFalkirkbut so little else had been salvageable. "We took credit out of a game, but no points, and that's a sore one," said Lambie.

"I thought in the second half, when we were pressing them, they were happy to kick the ball anywhere." That seemed a mild exaggeration.

There's a Gadarene rush these days to condemn the now dubious transfer fee, as if it's morally been in league with Stalinism and syphilis. Bill McMurdo, the players' agent never averse to smudging his palms with banknotes, now calls it "slavery." If and when it goes, one of the last great acts of a corrupt old business, in Scottish terms at least, will surely be Tommy Burns's purchase of Jackie McNamara.

Burns has confounded a few of us who initially were quite sniffy about his naivety and inexperience.

All those years combing rutted midfields have evidently given him a sharper eye for talent. We thought Tosh McKinlay an honest beaver, but he has brought style and accomplishment toCeltic'sleft.

McNamara, too, proves his manager's astuteness with every match.

Last week he gambolled through Hibs defenders to meet Simon Donnelly's chip and volley sweetly past Jim Leighton.

Yesterday he was driving forward once more, flummoxing fellow defenders and walloping curling crosses into the box. At one point, his way barred by Stuart Munro and Maurice Johnston, he sidestepped Johnston, nutmegged Munro, and fired over his cross on to the forehead of Andreas Thom. Tony Parks, rarely a placid figure, trembled and fidgeted as the ball bounced wide.
What a rum lotFalkirklooked.

Half their outfield consisted of former Old Firm worthies and the ones that didn't came in all shapes and sizes. John Clark looks like he has haggis by the barrowload for breakfast. Clark clattered Thom, got booked, and by the 35th minute was being hauled off by his manager with a hamstring injury. At six feet and seven inches his replacement, Kevin James, had upwards what Clark had sideways.

Either through McNamara or McKinlay, John Collins or even Thom,Celticthese days bring luxurious havoc down their flank. The construction of their goal was not the doubt, merely its whereabouts. Collins built up speed on the left, fixed on to Thom's through pass, and his neat chip towards the near post was re-routed by Van Hooijdonk's forehead past a once- more quivering Parks.

TheFalkirkgoalkeeper was never fully burdened, but when he was he seemed somehow detached. On the training pitch he has the unnerving habit of yelling "ger outta here!" whenever he's practising crosses and colleagues stray accidentally into his area. Perhaps he should change the system and have bodies flooding at him. On the odd occasion here when balls and people were milling before him he looked as steady as a traffic warden in the middle of a pile-up.

Not far from Parks, poor old Thom got into another issue of right and wrong. Against Hearts three weeks ago, he went down on all fours as if flattened by a wrecking-ball to win a penalty.

Yesterday a challenge by David Weir seemed far more likely to have clipped him, but before he could scramble to his feet the referee, Bill Crombie, was snatching for a yellow. Burns was clearly irked by the referee's action. Somewhat testily, he said afterwards: "I think that was someone trying to show how clever he is."

There are bigger grievances around. Thom bowed his head, was substituted minutes later, and trudged from the field to a crescendo of clapping.

ThereafterFalkirkhad a mild rally, butCelticwere rarely in a fluster.