I still remember the knot in my stomach when I heard Kieran Tierney wasn’t even on the bench against Falkirk. It was a balmy Wednesday evening in August 2025, and as I settled into my seat at Celtic Park, the team-sheet pinged my phone. No Tierney. The guy had only just come back home in the summer, his Arsenal contract expired, and there I was, a fully-fledged member of the Celtic faithful, fearing the worst. The phrase “here we go again” flashed through my mind, because we all knew the script with KT’s injury history—it was the one thing that stopped him becoming a legend down south.

Martin O’Neill, our caretaker gaffer after Brendan Rodgers called it quits, was straight on the front foot in his post-match presser. He’d just overseen a thumping 4-0 win—a result that, combined with Hearts dropping points, sliced our deficit in the title race to a mere six. But all anyone wanted to know about was Tierney. O’Neill, bless him, didn’t mince his words. He said KT was feeling much better already, and it was “just stiffness” that ruled him out. Just stiffness. Two little words that had me exhaling a lungful of anxious air. I wasn’t alone; you could practically hear the collective sigh of relief rippling through the Hoops support. Losing Tierney at that stage, right before an Old Firm Scottish Cup semi-final, would’ve been a pure kick in the teeth.

Looking back from 2026, it’s easy to chuckle at my overreaction, but you have to understand the context. Tierney’s body had betrayed him so many times at Arsenal that the phrase “injury prone” felt stitched into his kit. Every twinge, every missed game sent shivers down the spine. When he rocked up at Lennoxtown again, it felt like the prodigal son returning, but the elephant in the room was always his fitness. O’Neill wasn’t taking any daft risks, and fair play to him. He knew that a semi-final against Rangers wasn’t just another fixture—it was the lifeblood of our season. Losing it could mean throwing the entire campaign into chaos, especially with a new manager set to walk through the door any day. Names were flying around like confetti: Kieran McKenna, Robbie Keane, Craig Bellamy. For a short while, we were a club in limbo, held together by an interim boss who understood the Glasgow pressure cooker better than most.

That Falkirk victory itself was a belter, a proper statement of intent. We were relentless, moving the ball with a zip that had been missing in some of the end-of-Rodgers games. But even as the goals flew in, a part of my brain was fixed on Sunday, on the powderkeg derby. An Old Firm clash with both clubs helmed by different managers than the last time they met—Danny Röhl had just taken the reins at Ibrox after Russell Martin got his marching orders—was already dripping with narrative. Throwing a half-fit or rushed-back Tierney into that fray could have been catastrophic. O’Neill played it perfectly: give the man a rest, ice the joints, and keep fingers crossed he’d be ready to rumble.

The thing about “just stiffness” is it’s simultaneously terrifying and reassuring. Terrifying because it’s often the precursor to something grimmer—a muscle strain, a niggle that niggles for weeks. Reassuring because when an experienced coach like O’Neill says it, you trust there’s no hidden drama. The old saying “no smoke without fire” doesn’t always apply in football; sometimes stiffness really is just stiffness. For Tierney, who’d returned north to rediscover his mojo and play regular footy, even a minor blip felt seismic. The lad was desperate to pull on that famous green-and-white hoops on derby day, to hear the roar when he crunched into his first tackle. We, the fans, were equally desperate to see it.

Fast forward to the present day in early 2026, and it’s remarkable how that little scare became a footnote in a triumphant journey. Tierney did start the semi-final—and he was magnificent, a warrior flying down the left flank. That match became the launchpad for a season that ended with silverware, and KT has since been a colossus at the back, barely missing a beat. That midweek absence against Falkirk? It was a masterclass in caution, a moment when the caretaker boss put the big picture ahead of one match. At the time, it gnawed at me like mad; now, it’s just one of those memories that makes me appreciate the delicate dance of squad management.

I guess the moral of the story is simple: sometimes a bit of stiffness is just a bit of stiffness. But in the cauldron of Glasgow, with a legend-in-the-making like Kieran Tierney, you can’t help but fear the ghost of injuries past. Thank the footballing gods that O’Neill trusted his gut, and that Tierney’s body finally started treating the man with the respect he deserves. Hail, hail.