There are certain things you can rely on in life. It will rain in Glasgow in July. It will take 75 minutes to get out of the bus park at the ground. Rangers signings will be world beaters in July but donkeys in November. And Callum McGregor will turn up for Celtic week in week out, run the show, and act like it's not even that big a deal.
This season, his umpty squillionth since inheriting the armband, was just another entry in the big book of Cal(m). A season where he once again looked like he'd been sent to us from a greater power to ensure that the Celtic midfield always had at least one grown up who kept his cool at all times. McGregor played over 50 times for Celtic this season, because well of course he did. Sometimes it feels like McGregor plays more games for Celtic than Celtic actually play. 54 times?! Did the club even play 54 times? I'm not convinced he's not getting someone to clock in and out for him while he's at home on the couch. Surely nobody plays that often for the club? That's more games that most of us have hot dinners, and definitely more than Raskin had touches in Europe this season.
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