History of Celtic dates back to 1888, when the club was set up by brother Walfrid from the Marist Order. The club was intended as an opportunity to raise some money for Brother Walfrid's charity. The name "Celtic" refers to Scottish and Irish origin. The Bhoys won their first League Chamionship in 1893, and claimed 18 more titles till the Second World War. After the war, there were several weak seasons for the club, the only title was claimed in 1954. Things began to turn out for the better in the 60s. In 1965 Celtic reached semifinals in the European Cup Winners' Cup, and after Jock Stein was appointed as a manager, they achieved perhaps their greatest success ever: European Cup in 1967, beating AC Milan 2-1 in Lisbon.
After this huge success Celtic dominated Scottish league for almost a decade. In the second half of the 70s the club came through a serious crisis. The team stars started leaving for other clubs, in search for better pay, and Stein stepped down in 1978. Celtic won 4 titles in the 80s, but then there was a 10-year gap. The club began moving in the right direction once again in the middle of the 90s, when Fergus McCann assumed full control of the club. In 1995, fans were offered shares of the club. Celtic returned to winning ways in 1998, when the Bhoys claimed their 36th League Chamionship title, first in 10 years. In 2003 Celtic reached UEFA Cup final, losing the game to FC Porto.
fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
The glory from his gray hairs gone Forevermore! Revile him not, the Tempter hath
A snare for all; And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath, Befit his fall!
Oh, dumb be passion's stormy rage,
When he who might Have lighted up and led his age,
Falls back in night. Scorn! would the angels laugh, to mark A bright soul driven,
Fiend-goaded, down the endless dark, From hope and heaven!
Danze Faucets
NineWest Shoes
Frye Harness Boots
Let not the land once proud of him
Insult him now, Nor brand with deeper shame his dim,
Dishonored brow. But let its humbled sons, instead,
From sea to lake, A long lament, as for the dead,
In sadness make. Of all we loved and honored, naught
Save power remains; A fallen angel's pride of thought,
Still strong in chains. All else is gone; from those great eyes
The soul has fled: When faith is lost, when honor dies, The man is dead!
Then, pay the reverence of old days
To his dead fame; Walk backward, with