Celtic: Dermot Desmond and the uprising on the 15th green — when the largest shareholder is chased by his own stands

A tennis ball rolls across the 15th green. Then another. Then another. In an instant, the Alfred Dunhill Links golf tournament — a gathering of the elite, businesspeople, and famous amateur golfers — becomes a miniature football stand. Dermot Desmond, 76 years old, the man who holds the largest individual shareholding at Celtic, is escorted away from the competition area. Jeers rise from people wearing green and white. They did not come to watch golf. They came to send a message.

That was the moment I recorded in my analyst's notebook. A protest that did not take place at Parkhead, not on a 60,000-seat stand, but on an unfamiliar fairway, where no one thought Scottish football could spill over. And when a 76-year-old man is forced to leave a golf course under pressure from the very people who pay to watch the club he owns, the issue is no longer football. It is governance.

I have tracked the transfer market and the power structures of European clubs for nine years. I have written about record-breaking deals, about contracts that do not smell of money but smell of a plan. But this story belongs to a different category. This is not the story of an expensive striker, but the story of who actually steers the ship, and whether the helmsman still retains the trust of those in the hold below.

The core lies here: a protest aimed at an individual largest shareholder usually strikes the symbol, but misses the machine that actually operates. Let me dissect that with data, with structure, and with the experience of sitting in negotiation rooms that most spectators never see.

Context: the 76-year-old man and the power machine in Glasgow

Dermot Desmond is the largest individual shareholder of Celtic, one of the two dominant forces in the Scottish Premiership alongside Rangers. He is an Irish billionaire, aged 76, and has been associated with the club for decades. In the world of football, there are two types of owners. The first appears in the media every week, speaks, makes promises, intervenes in every transfer decision. The second retreats to the background, lets the executive machine work, and only appears when he needs to defend his legacy. Desmond belongs to the second type — until he could no longer hold that position.

Celtic's ownership structure is an interesting equation. It is one of the few major clubs in Europe that still maintains a dispersed ownership model, with small shareholders holding a significant portion. This means no single billionaire — as Roman Abramovich once did at Chelsea, or Sheikh Mansour at Manchester City — can pour unlimited money into the club. Celtic is bound by its own structure: to spend big, it needs board consensus and balanced books.

This very characteristic creates a paradox. On one hand, Celtic is seen as a model of financial sustainability. On the other, as European rivals grow richer through television rights and sovereign wealth funds, Celtic's cautious model becomes a competitive disadvantage. This is the point from which every debate about transfers at Parkhead must start.

In the 2026/26 season, troubles overshadowed the early part of the campaign. Brendan Rodgers, who had a hugely successful first tenure, resigned. According to the records, Desmond placed much of the blame on Rodgers for the problems at the start of the season. This is an important detail, because it shows how the board allocates responsibility: when things go well, success belongs to the collective; when things fall apart, the fault belongs to the man on the coaching bench.

At the same time, in November of the previous year, Celtic's annual general meeting had to be abandoned midway due to unrest from supporters. The Green Brigade ultras group was banned after a recent incident. And in that context, Desmond called those who criticised him "bullies".

That is the backdrop. A big club, an ageing large shareholder, a coach who just left, an organised supporters' group that has been banned, an AGM that was disrupted, and a protest that erupted on a golf course.

The economic machine of Scottish football and the trap of sustainability

To understand why Celtic fans are angry, one must understand the economics of Scottish football. It is a small market, squeezed between two forces: the English Premier League just across the border, and the major European leagues far away. The television rights revenue of the Scottish Premiership is only a fraction of that of the Premier League. Each season, the financial gap between Celtic and its European rivals widens further.

In such a market, Celtic has two strategic options. The first is to gamble: spend beyond its means, pour money into a few big deals to compete in Europe, accept the risk of breaching financial fair play rules and face the consequences. The second is to operate cautiously: build the squad by recruiting cheap young players, develop them, sell them at a high price, and reinvest.

Celtic has chosen the second option for years. And this is exactly where the conflict erupts. That model is praised as financially wise, but is perceived by supporters as lacking ambition. When you dominate the domestic league but repeatedly fail in Europe, caution ceases to be a virtue — it becomes an accusation.

This is where I want to emphasise something analysts often overlook. The issue is not how much money is spent, but the structure of the decision-making on spending. A club can spend little and still be effective, if its recruitment machine is sharp and its tactical vision is clear. Conversely, a club can spend a lot and still fail, if its recruitment process is chaotic. The criticism of "underwhelming transfer business" that Celtic fans raise says nothing about the number — it says something about the process.

I have witnessed deals I call "panic premium". That is when a club, under time pressure and supporter expectations, spends an amount far exceeding a player's true value. Conversely, there are deals I call "disguised planning" — when a contract that looks modest fits perfectly with the tactical system. The difference between the two is not the price, but the quality of the decision-making machine.

At Celtic, supporters are doubting that machine. And that doubt has a basis, because when a club depends on a player-selling model to balance its books, recruitment quality becomes a matter of survival. If you buy wrong, you do not just lose money — you lose the development cycle of the squad.

The protest: striking the symbol or striking the machine?

This is the part I want to spend the most time on, because it touches the core question of modern sports governance: when supporters are angry, whom should they target?

The event at the Alfred Dunhill Links shows a clear tactical choice by the Celtic Fans Collective — the supporters' group that issued a statement about Desmond being "allowed to run Celtic" and "hiding from supporters and accountability". Throwing tennis balls onto the 15th green and escorting Desmond off the golf course is a highly symbolic act. It targets the place where the largest shareholder feels safest — not a football stand, but a golf course, where he appears as an individual, not as an owner.

This is a clever move in media terms. It creates an image, and images spread faster than any statement. A protest at Parkhead can be ignored as routine. A protest at a golf course becomes international news.

But — and this is where I want to pose a question — is it effective in structural terms?

A protest aimed at an individual often satisfies emotions, but does not change the operating machine. Dermot Desmond is not the person who negotiates each contract. He is not the person who decides to buy or sell a specific player. He is the largest shareholder, someone who influences the vision and appoints leadership. If supporters want to change how the club operates, they need to target the board structure, the chief executive, the sporting director, the recruitment process.

But targeting a 76-year-old man is easier. It has a face. It has a symbol. It has a story.

This is a rule I have observed many times in my career: when supporters are angry, they seek an individual to blame, because structure is invisible and hard to understand, while people are visible and easy to hate. The problem is that structure is what actually determines outcomes. You can replace a shareholder, but if the recruitment process and governance model do not change, everything returns to the starting point.

This does not mean Celtic fans are wrong to protest. The right to object is part of football. But I want to point out that there is a gap between expressing anger and creating real change. And that gap is often filled with symbolic actions rather than concrete reform proposals.

The blind spot of the official story: who is really responsible?

When you read the official statements from both sides, you see two parallel stories that never intersect.

The supporters' side: Desmond and the board have evaded accountability, have allowed the club to stagnate in Europe, have run underwhelming transfer business, and have used their wealth to stand above all criticism.

The board's side: supporters are behaving like "bullies" with "aggressive and irrational" criticism. Ross Desmond, Dermot's son, read a statement saying the board would not be "bullied" by such criticism.

What is notable is that both sides are right in their own way, and both overlook a key element.

That key element is: responsibility in a modern football club is so dispersed that it can hardly be attributed to any single individual.

Think of it as a supply chain. The shareholder sets the vision and budget. The board approves the strategy. The chief executive implements. The sporting director identifies transfer targets. The coach demands players who fit his system. The recruitment department proposes names. When the team fails, responsibility is stretched across that entire chain, and in the end no one is fully responsible.

This is why protests aimed at individuals often fail to produce structural change. Not because they are unjustified, but because they target the wrong objective.

I have witnessed this at many clubs. When a team fails, supporters demand the coach be sacked. The coach is sacked. A new coach arrives. The team continues to fail. Supporters demand the sporting director be sacked. The sporting director is sacked. The cycle repeats. And in the end, no one asks about the underlying structure that created the problem.

For Celtic, the real question is not "should Desmond go?". The real question is "what governance structure will allow Celtic to compete in Europe without breaking financial sustainability?". That is a much harder question, and it has no easy answer.

The claim that Desmond is evading responsibility may be emotionally true. But if supporters really want reform, they need a more concrete proposal than a protest. They need a plan for the club's future, not just opposition to the present.

Why targeting the golf course is a strategic mistake

This is the counterintuitive part I want to dedicate specifically to analysis, because it goes against the ordinary intuition of supporters.

Holding a protest at the Alfred Dunhill Links seems like a clever move: it draws attention, it creates pressure, it produces powerful images. But in long-term strategic terms, it may backfire for three reasons.

First, it shifts the debate from football to the individual. When you throw tennis balls onto a green and escort a 76-year-old man off the course, you are turning the story from "our club needs reform" into "Celtic fans are harassing an old man". That is a framing the board can exploit, and they have done so by calling supporters "bullies".

Second, it creates sympathy for the target. In any media conflict, the side that is personally attacked head-on often receives sympathy from a neutral public. An ageing billionaire being jeered on a golf course may make part of the public, who do not care about football, feel more sympathy for him than for the protesters. This is a risk any protest movement must consider.

Third, and most importantly, it does not create institutional pressure. A protest at a golf course cannot change the board structure, cannot change the recruitment process, cannot change the financial strategy. It only creates temporary media pressure, and media pressure fades quickly.

Compare that with another approach: if Celtic fans focused their energy on building a concrete governance reform proposal, mobilising small shareholders, and organising structured dialogue with the board, they might achieve more substantive change. That is a harder path, less visual, but more effective.

Of course, I understand why supporters chose the symbolic path. Emotion is an inseparable part of football. When you love a club and see it stagnating, you want to do something immediately. You want to shout. You want to protest. You want someone to be held responsible. And throwing a tennis ball onto a green is a way of saying: "We are here. We have not disappeared."

But I am an analyst, not a cheerleader. And my analysis says that symbolic action, however powerful, is usually not enough to change the power machine.

Lessons from other governance crises

I have tracked many governance crises in European football, and there is a repeating pattern. When a big club faces a prolonged crisis, the root cause is rarely one individual. It is usually a combination of three elements: an outdated governance structure, a financial model unsuited to the new competitive context, and a widening gap between supporters' expectations and the club's actual capabilities.

Celtic has all three elements.

Its governance structure rests on a dispersed ownership model with an ageing large shareholder at the centre. Its financial model relies on sustainability and selling players, while European rivals are increasingly fuelled by sovereign wealth funds and enormous rights money. And the gap between expectation — winning Europe, or at least going deep — and actual capability keeps widening.

In such a context, supporters feel powerless. They do not control the budget. They do not control the recruitment process. They do not control the strategy. All they control is their voice — and they use it in the loudest way possible.

This is why I say the protest at the golf course is a symptom, not a cause. It is the expression of a deeper dissatisfaction accumulated over many seasons. The tennis balls on the 15th green were merely the moment that dissatisfaction found a stage to perform.

The economics of anger

There is an economic dimension few discuss: the cost of supporters losing faith.

In modern football, revenue from matchdays, shirt sales, and commercial products is an important part of a club's budget. When supporters lose faith in the board, they tend to reduce spending on related products. This is an effect I call the "silent boycott" — not a publicly declared boycott, but a gradual withdrawal of financial support.

For Celtic, this could have a significant impact. The club has a large and loyal supporter base, both in Scotland and worldwide. If dissatisfaction persists, it could affect commercial revenue, and therefore the transfer budget — creating a negative spiral.

This is why the Celtic board cannot ignore the protest, even if it calls it "irrational". They understand that supporter dissatisfaction has a real economic cost. The question is whether they are willing to change the structure to address the root cause, or merely seek to soothe the symptom.

From my experience, most boards choose the latter. They seek to soothe, not to reform. They issue statements about "dialogue" and "listening to supporters", but rarely change the actual power structure. Because changing the power structure means those currently in power must cede part of their power.

The blind spot about the future: the succession question

There is an element both sides seem to avoid: Dermot Desmond is 76 years old.

This is a simple fact with profound implications. At 76, the question of succession can no longer be postponed. Who will take over his role? His son, Ross Desmond, appeared in public reading a statement that the board would not be "bullied". That suggests Ross may be being prepared for a larger role.

But this is precisely the biggest blind spot of the story. Supporters are focused on criticising the current Dermot Desmond, while the club's future may depend on who replaces him. If Ross Desmond takes over, will the governance philosophy change? Will the financial structure be adjusted? Will the relationship with supporters improve?

These are questions no protest can answer. They require a serious discussion about the club's long-term future, beyond present dissatisfaction.

In football, attention usually focuses on the present, but real value lies in understanding long-term trends. Anyone following Celtic over the next decade will have to follow this succession question, because it will shape everything else.

Counterintuitive: is caution actually the problem?

This is where I want to challenge the common assumption that Celtic is failing because it is too financially cautious.

That assumption holds that if Celtic spent more, it would be more successful in Europe. But historical data does not entirely support this assumption. Many clubs have spent big and still failed. Many clubs have broken financial sustainability to pursue European success, and the result was crisis.

Celtic's real problem may not be that it spends too little, but that it spends inefficiently. This is an important distinction. If you spend little but recruit well, you can compete. If you spend little but recruit poorly, you will fail. And if you spend a lot but recruit poorly, you will fail faster and more expensively.

The criticism of "underwhelming transfer business" from Celtic fans can be understood in two ways. The first: the club does not spend enough money. The second: the club spends money but not efficiently. These two interpretations lead to two entirely different solutions. The first requires a change in financial strategy. The second requires a change in the recruitment process.

From what I observe, Celtic's problem seems to lean toward the second. A club operating a player-selling model to balance its books depends entirely on recruitment quality. If you sell good players and buy poor ones, you are on a path of gradual decline. And gradual decline is one of the hardest forms of crisis to recognise, because it has no clear moment of collapse.

The trap of blaming the coach

One notable detail in this story is Desmond placing much of the blame on Brendan Rodgers for the problems at the start of the 2026/26 season.

This is a familiar pattern in football governance. When things go well, success is shared. When things fall apart, responsibility is pushed toward the coach. It is a natural defensive strategy, but it has long-term consequences.

The first consequence is that it erodes trust between the board and potential future coaches. If you are a good coach and you see how the Celtic board treated Rodgers — a man with a successful tenure — you will think carefully before accepting. This could narrow the candidate pool for the coaching position in the future.

The second consequence is that it undermines the legitimacy of the board. If the board blames the coach for every problem, supporters will start asking: if the coach is responsible for failure, what is the board responsible for? That question is the core of the current protest.

This is why I say blaming Rodgers may have backfired. It solved the immediate problem — finding someone to blame — but created a long-term problem: undermining the legitimacy of the board itself.

The broader context: supporters in the era of modern governance

The protest at Celtic is not an isolated phenomenon. It is part of a broader trend in European football: supporters increasingly demanding a greater voice in club governance.

Over the past two decades, European football has undergone a strong commercialisation process. Clubs have become global businesses, run by investors and investment funds. In that process, traditional supporters feel increasingly distant from the club's decisions. They still pay to watch, but they no longer feel part of the club.

Resistance to this trend has appeared in many places. In Germany, the "50+1" model protects supporter ownership. In England, supporter groups fight against ticket price increases and controversial projects. In Spain and Italy, protests against foreign owners have become common.

Celtic sits within this trend. Supporters feel the club is being run by a small group that does not share their expectations. The protest at the golf course is an expression of the tension between two conceptions of a club: the club as a business, and the club as a community.

This is a tension with no easy solution. Modern football needs both: it needs professional governance and capital to compete, but it also needs supporter backing to survive. Balancing the two is the greatest challenge of contemporary football governance.

The media blind spot: image decides the story

I want to spend a section on how this story is told in the media, because in the digital age, image often matters more than truth.

A tennis ball on the 15th green. A 76-year-old man escorted off the course. Jeers. These are powerful images, and they will be shared thousands of times on social media. Each share simplifies the story a little more. Eventually, it becomes a binary story: good supporters versus bad owner.

But the truth is more complex. And when the truth is simplified, the ability to solve the real problem narrows. Because if you believe the problem is an individual, you will believe the solution is removing that individual. But if the problem is structure, then removing an individual solves nothing.

This is a trap both supporters and the board easily fall into. Supporters want an enemy to blame. The board wants someone to take responsibility. Both seek individuals, while the problem lies in the system.

From my experience analysing transfer and governance stories, I have learned that storytelling often matters as much as truth. A well-told story can shape opinion. A badly told story can destroy credibility. And in Celtic's case, both sides are trying to control the story.

Signals to watch

When analysing a governance crisis, it is important to identify the signals that will indicate its direction. I have identified four key signals to watch in Celtic's case.

The first signal is the board's response. If they offer concrete reforms — for example, changing the board structure, appointing a new sporting director with clear authority, or publishing a long-term investment plan — that shows they are genuinely listening. If they only issue general statements about "dialogue", that shows they are seeking to soothe without changing.

The second signal is the trajectory of the Green Brigade. This group was banned after a recent incident. If the ban is maintained, it could radicalise the organised opposition. If the ban is lifted, it could be read as a concession. How the board handles this group will indicate its willingness to engage.

The third signal is the situation on the pitch. Success on the pitch can ease tension, while failure can aggravate it. If Celtic has a successful domestic season and progresses in Europe, pressure on the board may ease. If they continue to fail in Europe, pressure will rise.

The fourth signal is the succession question. If there are clear signs of succession preparation — for example, Ross Desmond taking on a larger official role — that could signal a transition period. How the transition is managed will determine the future of the relationship between the board and supporters.

Financial analysis: what we know and what we do not know

I want to spend this section clarifying the limits of financial analysis in this case.

The truth is we lack specific financial data. We do not know Celtic's revenue structure, wage spending, net debt, or compliance with financial fair play rules. We only know the club is criticised for "underwhelming transfer business" — a qualitative, not quantitative, judgement.

This is an important limitation. Without data, we cannot determine whether the problem is underinvestment, poor recruitment, wage constraints, or a deliberate sustainability strategy. Each possibility leads to a different solution, and confusing them can lead to wrong decisions.

I always emphasise this in my work: data is a weapon, and without data, you are fighting in the dark. Celtic fans criticising the transfer business without specific data to compare is understandable emotionally, but insufficient to create a reform agenda.

However, the lack of data does not mean there is no problem. It only means the problem has not been fully quantified. And in many cases, the lack of transparency is itself part of the problem. If supporters do not have access to financial data, they cannot objectively assess the board's performance. This is an argument for greater transparency in club governance.

Comparison with other governance models

To better understand Celtic's situation, let us compare it with other governance models in European football.

The first model is the wealthy individual owner, as at Manchester City or Newcastle United. In this model, a single owner has supreme decision-making authority and near-unlimited resources. The advantage is decision-making speed and investment capacity. The disadvantage is dependence on one individual and a lack of sustainability if the owner withdraws.

The second model is supporter ownership, as at Barcelona or Real Madrid. In this model, members (socios) elect the leadership. The advantage is democracy and community cohesion. The disadvantage is internal political instability and difficulty in making long-term decisions.

The third model is dispersed ownership with a large shareholder, as at Celtic. In this model, there is no single owner, but there are large shareholders with significant influence. The advantage is a balance between sustainability and professionalism. The disadvantage is ambiguity about responsibility and difficulty in identifying who really makes decisions.

Celtic is struggling with the disadvantages of the third model. When it is unclear who is responsible, supporters tend to target the most influential person — in this case, Dermot Desmond. But targeting an individual within a dispersed structure does not solve the core problem: the ambiguity of responsibility.

An open conclusion: the next domino

So what will the next domino be?

If I had to make a weighted prediction, I would say this crisis will not end quickly. It will continue to simmer, flaring up in waves, depending on results on the pitch and the board's response. If Celtic succeeds in Europe, pressure will ease. If they continue to fail, pressure will rise.

But one thing I am fairly certain of: the protest at the golf course will not be the last. It is a moment in a longer process. And that process will only end when there is a real change in governance structure — or when supporters tire and withdraw.

The question I want to leave with readers is: when a football club is run by an ambiguous power structure, who is really responsible when everything falls apart? And do supporters, as the people who pay to watch the team, have the right to demand more than statements about "dialogue"?

That is a question not just for Celtic. It is a question for all of modern football, where the boundary between the club as a business and the club as a community is increasingly blurred. And while we await the answer, the tennis balls will keep rolling across distant greens, as a reminder that supporters will always find a way to make their voices heard — whether at Parkhead, or on the 15th green.

Modern football is not won on the pitch, but bought in advance at the negotiating table. But sometimes, it is shaped by those sitting in the stands, and by those who dare to throw a tennis ball onto a green to force the whole world to look their way.