Romeo Erwin Marius Castelen has seen a few things in football. The former Dutch International has taken to the field for clubs such as Feyenoord, Hamburg and the Western Sydney Wanderers amongst others and yesterday he found himself and the beautiful suit he was wearing seated next to an equally stylish Italian ….and my sister.

“Who is the beautiful, stylish and very charismatic man sitting next to me?” my sister asked.

“I’m your fucking brother!” I told the recently retired halfwit sister before catching on that she actually didn’t mean me!

Meanwhile, the beautiful Romeo was oblivious to this idiotic exchange as he was too busy filming the crowd, the stadium and muttering “unbelievable” to himself over and over again!

Despite hanging up his boots a good few years ago, Romeo looks as if he could still play but these days he has to content himself with being an agent and his beautiful grin got even wider when his latest client scored with an overhead kick.

“Unbelievable” Romeo said yet again and not long after he and his beautiful suit were doing the huddle as if it was the most natural thing in the world!

Immediately in front of me an older man and his pony tailed wife were also filming while sporting smiles wider than the Sahara desert. These were the parents of João Pedro Neves Filipe and both wore shirts which simply said “Jota” on the back. They too huddled as if there would be no tomorrow!

I have often said that strange things happen at Celtic Park and that for some it is a place where they find their soul, their sense of being, and that inner thing that takes you through life.

Nir Bitton cried while giving an interview this week, Tom Rogic couldn’t walk from the centre of the pitch to the dug out without crying yesterday and in the stands thousands of us found that we had to inexplicably wipe something from our eyes.

The beautiful Romeo saw this first hand and stood with his mouth open before saying “unbelievable” for about the sixty fifty time.

Yesterday I saw several strange things at Celtic Park. Wee things, on the face of it, casual and unremarkable things, but things which, I believe, are hugely important and significant.

I watched as each and every player and member of the Celtic coaching staff eagerly grasped the outstretched hand of the club CEO and exchanged not only warm words but a significant hug from the man at the top of the club. I had never seen that happen before.

The hug exchanged between Nicholson and the man from Australia lasted only fractionally longer than the lengthy hug exchanged with the club captain and it was very clear that there is a significant relationship between the three.

I never witnessed anything like that during the Lawwell years.

I watched the entire coaching staff gather for a photograph with the trophy and here again it was obvious that this was a group who were a team amongst themselves and who were more than content with whatever it is that Celtic brings to the inner soul. I had never seen that before.

Yet I also saw a forlorn Christopher Julien walk around the pitch – a man alone, divorced from any smiling group – while taking pictures in such a way that you just know he will never experience days like yesterday again.

His demeanour was in stark contrast to all around him and you could sense the sadness which seemed to seep from his every pour. Maybe he has a regret or two to overcome?

As I watched him Mark Crosas came to mind. The Spanish player didn’t stay at Celtic Park for too long, yet recently he stated that his time in the hoops changed his life forever as the club and all it means, on the pitch and off, grabbed his soul and never let go.

Hopefully, Chris Julien, will feel that way too one day.

At full time, a young man to my right pulled out his phone and dialled a number which would make another phone ring some 3,400 miles away. The caller had come from downtown Burbank Los Angeles just to see Celtic lift the trophy. He usually jumps into his car at around 4:00am and drives for 40 minutes to a pub to see home games and is normally joined by another 150 or so Celtic fans.

This time though his call was to London Ontario and when the call was answered he could barely hear his 91 year old grandfather at the end of the line. The old man had been watching the game somehow or other and had taken in the vibe within the stadium where he used to be a ballboy back in the 1940’s!

Imagine that! A grown man from LA calling “Gramps” in Canada on speed dial to celebrate the exploits of an Australian, some Japanese, a Greek and various others in the east end of Glasgow.

It was a call that crossed oceans and generations.

Unbelievable – as Romeo would say!

Most of us have never come close to playing for Celtic or participating on the pitch in any way.

Yet for us too, the club, the ground and all it means has invaded our souls and will never let go. Somewhere above, Fraser points out that Celtic is more than a club, more than a sporting body, or a company, or a group of players or anything like that.

It is something I can’t quite find the words to describe.

But sitting with friend and stranger alike yesterday I came away with the feeling that we all belonged – no matter where we were from or what age you were or whatever your background was.

Several times I wiped away a tear as I watched people exchange hugs, smiles, handshakes and words of affection and appreciation. This is what it means to be Celtic I thought – and I stood there and I believed. I will always believe.

And I think even Romeo now believes!