I admit that ChatGPT could possibly make a better fist of assessing the Scottish Cup final than this writer who is burdened by historical prejudices and conventional wisdom which indicate that Inverness Caley Thistle are travelling to Glasgow merely to be sacrificial lambs in the middle of a colourful green and white pageant.
However, could this super-intelligent machine massively improve insight and point to something we are all overlooking in the make-up of this game? Is there an element there that is beyond human comprehension. Could ChatGPT really have predictive powers anyway? After all Professor Stuart Russell of the University of California, the principal critic of the increasing power of these machines admits: “AIs have already changed society in ways that were not anticipated.”
Of course, the computer revolution is as alien to me as ancient Sanskrit but my grandson, armed with a doctorate in physics from Cambridge University, is adamant in warning me, that if we are not careful, humanity could be side-lined in a big way by these machines.
However, he is also an avid Hibs fan and could not tolerate any intervention by any machine in pre-empting the mysteries which regularly unfold to the naturally incredulous at Easter Road. But he also warns that nothing could be immune from the profound analysis of which these machines are capable – not even what we have always assumed to be the blessedly sacrosanct role of the football pundit. Human redundancy in that area might be welcomed by the public. But I suspect they would eventually pine for the days of punditry catastrophe.
For let me offer to the Invernessians travelling to Hampden my own experience of self-immolation which ought to lend them encouragement and myself a cautionary brake. In 1971, when the world’s first personal computer was produced and ranked in the public mind as a recreational device alongside the hula-hoop, I had the Scottish League Cup final to contend with. Easy. Celtic against Partick Thistle. On the 23 October, the Celtic players trotted out to my pre-match prediction that they were “racing certainties”. When Jimmy Bone scored Thistle’s fourth goal in 36 minutes without reply from Celtic I felt like I had committed some mortal sin that would brand me for life. Thistle’s ultimate 4-1 victory ought to have instilled caution in further pre-match observations but then came a lapse that went global.
For in 1978, the year Microsoft released its first computer programme, during the World Cup in Argentina I took the trouble to make an arduous journey to watch the Iranians in training. I returned to the cameras and dismissed these lumbering figures in my Grandstand report with words I can scarcely forget: “They only look fit for shepherding in the hills.” They also turned out to be of a charitable mind as they provided the own goal that earned us the ignominious 1-1 draw that was the nadir of all my Scotland international experiences.
So, shortly, a team from a lower division, that has failed yet again to be promoted, is to take on a Celtic side aiming to win a treble and break the seven times world record they share in that regard with Rangers. So, it’ll be like taking toffee off a child?
Ah! Despite the gargantuan odds in favour of Celtic I cannot shrug off easily that nagging reminder of past follies. I do agree it takes me into the possible David and Goliath analogy for this final. However, I buried that one forever in Seville in 1982 after David Narey scored the opening goal against Brazil in the World Cup, only for the angered Goliath to take out the mallet and clobber us eventually in their 4-1 response.
Caley Thistle face a Celtic side, however, which has not only dominated the season but has done so with style and panache. Indeed their recent mishap at Ibrox, where they were clearly second best, and the occasional lapses since, will inevitably move them to Hampden in merciless mode. This was personified by the puzzled and almost traumatised figure of Ange Postecoglou in his post-match interview at Ibrox, which suggested the treble will be the practical apology to an expectant support.
But I doubt though, even if events went strongly Postecoglou’s way, he or his players would go nakedly seeking a humiliation. For throughout the season except for one or two significant blemishes, Celtic have known exactly how to cut the cloth to suit the occasion. The crucial relationship between captain and manager – that Postecoglou/McGregor blend – has been the closest in terms of mutual influence that I have witnessed since the Stein/McNeill era and lent the impression of an on and off-field maturity that developed the consistency which was the main feature of their season.
As the odds against Caley seem so insurmountable at this stage, will Billy Dodds be having nightmares about what he is leading his players into?
I very much doubt it. Of course in his day I am sure he has sometimes trilled “Super Caley Go Ballistic Celtic Are Atrocious” of his club’s sensational Scottish Cup 3-1 victory at Celtic Park on February 8 2000.
And he might think providence will still be on his side after losing 2-0 in the fourth round to Queen's Park who were disqualified for fielding an ineligible player.
On the other hand the man I know seems a down-to-earth realist. His ethic of “have-boots-will-travel” which saw him grace the fields of no fewer than seven clubs has lent him grit and common-sense.
That experience will be valuable at Hampden where pressures of that special environment will suddenly assail them – like standing in the tunnel where the rising volume of Celtic choruses can make players wobble at the knees. I recall Billy McNeill, when he was the Aberdeen manager, in a Scottish Cup final against Rangers in 1978 telling me, at the mouth of that tunnel before kick-off, how much the Old Firm support could intimidate opponents. With the Rangers voices in full song, he told me: ‘Even the experienced Bobby Clark is in the dressing-room shittin’ himself.” And went on to lose 2-1.
In truth, to contemplate the cup being carried back in triumph up the A9 is like trying to envisage Rishi Sunak on a beach offering champagne to the arriving boat people. That improbability seems brutal to air. But I doubt if ChatGPT would be any kinder.
