By WILLIAM HUNTER

Clyde 0, Celtic 7

Ahead of today’s big game Celtic on Saturday made an appetiser of little Clyde. They toyed briefly with the aperitif, then swallowed it utterly, running up to 16 their total of goals in two games against Clyde.

The Shawfield spectacular was one of exhilarating excitement, but cruelly so. The scene was less that of a football field than the bull ring so compete and inevitable did the result have to be.

Clyde did well. Five down at half-time, they came off in a condition of utter dejection. Their despair was so obviously total it was embarrassing. Entering the pavilion Hood was moved to nudge Mulheron in the ribs in a gesture of unobstrusive sportsmanship that was part encouragement, part apology, and most moving.

Heads up

Clyde returned to their hopeless chores of the second half with their heads up. They made a game of it. They did the best they could and kept their pride.

Mulheron grafted on manfully at the back. Burns and McGrain stoked away tirelessly in a midfield boiler-house which by rights should not have had any steam left in it. Sullivan continued to run his heart out on the wing as if unaware of the score. Thomson refused to abandon his deft artistry, although there could be no material profit in it. Cairney kept goal courageously and with never a complaint.

.

Altogether Clyde’s second-half effort was a display of guts and professional honour which warmed the blood and touched the heart. Effectively, it reduced the goals against them to two and brought the rate of corners down from five to only a pair as Celtic, slowing up, switched most of their mind to today’s big match.

Celtic’s mastery was complete. Their competence in every department was total. Dalglish perhaps lacked a little of his edge. Brogan may have been a trifle artisan. It is pointless to quibble. Simply, Celtic were superb.

Hay had a particularly fine match, switching smoothly from back to midfield when McGrain replaced Deans, who came off after about 50 minutes and two goals, presumably to save something extra for today.

Box of tricks

Hood plotted brilliantly. Davidson’s ball control was awesome. After the interval when all was won Callaghan performed from a box of tricks more to be expected in the circus ring than the soccer pitch.

Above all, perhaps, there was Connelly, alternately a creative source of seemingly inexhaustible ideas or a granite tower of defensive strength as each situation demanded.

Celtic’s scorers were Hood –one goal in each half—plus the two from Deans and one apiece from Davidson and Dalglish. Mulheron suffered an own goal.

The entertainment was much helped by refereeing of crisp and easy confidence –perhaps at times a little heavy and obstrusive—by Mr Wilson.