When you strip everything back — the excuses, the panic, the tunnel dash, the “safety concerns”, the media spin — the truth is painfully simple. Derek McInnes grew up supporting Rangers, . In my opinion, He has no love for Celtic: the history, the size, the finances, the global support, the influence, the trophies, the dominance — and the success. Because Celtic’s success is the thing that has defined his failures. Every time he has dared to dream, Celtic have been the ones to crush it. And yesterday, when he came within minutes of finally stopping them, Celtic ripped it away again in the most Celtic way imaginable. In that moment he wasn’t a manager — he was broken, watching his worst nightmare unfold. That’s why he became irrational. That’s why he ran. That’s why he dragged his players with him — still in their kits, denied even the dignity of standing on the pitch at the end of a title race they had poured their hearts into. And that’s why he’ll never admit regret. Because admitting it would mean admitting that Celtic — once again — got inside his head and shattered him. He’ll never say it out loud, but we all know the truth: Celtic broke him, and it showed.
Add‑On Piece**
And if Derek McInnes’ behaviour wasn’t embarrassing enough on its own, along comes Lord George Foulkes to underline it in thick red ink. The former Hearts chairman has spent the week firing off conspiracy‑tinged complaints to anyone who’ll listen, culminating in a letter to FIFA that reads more like the outburst of a wounded supporter than the considered view of a seasoned politician. It’s the same emotional collapse McInnes showed on the touchline — the same inability to process Celtic’s success — just expressed in a suit instead of a tracksuit. Two men, one reaction: Celtic win, and they lose their composure. Hail Hail! 
