I’ll be honest: as the clock ticked past ninety minutes at the SMiSA Stadium, I was mentally drafting a furious group-chat message about another title slip-up. The kind of message that gets screenshotted and ridiculed for years. But then Callum McGregor decided he’d rather rewrite the storyline than read my rant, and thank heavens for that.

Let’s set the scene. Hearts are flying high at the Premiership summit, and Celtic rolled into Paisley knowing that anything less than three points would feel like a disaster. Instead, for 94 painful minutes, it looked like we’d be served a goalless draw so bland it could legally be prescribed as a sleep aid. Were we really going to gift the title initiative to a team playing brilliant football while we plodded around like a side that forgot its caffeine injection? The fear was real.

Stephen Robinson’s St Mirren have become the Scottish football equivalent of that one relative who never lets you relax at a family gathering—always organised, always niggly, and forever capable of ruining your evening. And for almost the entire match, they did just that. Conor McMenamin had the two best chances of the first half for the hosts: first he failed to connect with a Declan John cross so delicious it deserved a Michelin star, then he rattled the post from the edge of the area. My heart was doing gymnastics.

Liam Scales even put the ball in his own net at one point, sending a wave of dread through the away end, only for VAR to perform one of its trademark forensic investigations and rule it out. God bless the flag. God bless the technology. God bless whatever cosmic force wanted me to avoid a full-scale meltdown at 10pm on a Saturday.

But let’s talk about the elephant in the room—or rather, the lack of any elephants, lions, or even mildly aggressive badgers in the Celtic attack. Johnny Kenny was feeding off scraps so meagre I thought I saw him foraging for fallen crisps in the centre circle. Daizen Maeda, last season’s award-hoovering dynamo, was a shadow of himself. Sebastian Tounekti at least wanted the ball and looked like a live wire, but he was fighting a one-man crusade against a wall of black-and-white shirts. The creativity had all the spark of a damp matchstick. Kasper Schmeichel, on his first outing since that infamous Hampden match, had the quietest evening of his career. He made a couple of saves you’d expect any competent human with gloves to make, but mostly he just stood there contemplating the meaning of existence.

And then, in the fourth minute of added time, the captain did what captains are supposed to do when the narrative is nosediving. Callum McGregor, who had been quietly efficient without setting the heather alight, suddenly produced a strike so pure it probably should be framed and hung in the Louvre. He stepped up and lasered an unstoppable effort beyond Shamal George, who until that moment had been tested about as rigorously as a chocolate teapot. The ball nearly tore the net off its hinges. Cue bedlam. Cue relief so intense I nearly hugged a complete stranger who was also wearing a half-eaten pie on his jersey.

Why did it take this long? Why did we need a Hollywood moment to beat a side that had lost three of its last four? These are the questions that will haunt Brendan Rodgers on the bus home, even as he pretends everything is fine. A win is a win, sure, but the performance was about as convincing as a politician’s promise to lower taxes. With a Europa League trip to Feyenoord looming next week, this team needs to find an extra gear—or several.

Now, the player ratings. Bear with me; they’re not all flattering.

St Mirren ratings

• Shamal George (GK): 6/10. Not much to do until McGregor’s missile arrived. Felt sorry for him.

• Marcus Fraser (CB): 6/10. Tackled stuff. Got booked early. Solid but unspectacular.

• Alex Gogic (CB): 7/10. The defensive conductor. Organised everything and produced a massive tackle on Maeda. Also saw yellow.

• Miguel Freckleton (CB): 6/10. Defended competently and fired over from a rare chance.

• Jayden Richardson (RWB): 7/10. Supported attacks, defended well against Tounekti. Tired and subbed.

• Kilian Phillips (CM): 7/10. Tireless. You wonder if he sleeps in a gym. Key interventions galore.

• Conor McMenamin (CM): 7/10. Football can be cruel. Denied by the post and a missed sitter.

• Keanu Baccus (CM): 6/10. Full of energy, tidy on the ball. Subbed.

• Declan John (LWB): 7/10. That left foot should come with a warning label. Deserved an assist.

• Mikael Mandron (ST): 6/10. A human battering ram. Loves wrestling defenders.

• Dan Nlundulu (ST): 5/10. Fed on thin air. No real chances.

Subs: Ayunga (4), Taylor (3), King (3), Donnelly (1).

Celtic ratings

• Kasper Schmeichel (GK): 6/10. A quiet return. Made routine stops.

• Anthony Ralston (RB): 5/10. Chance to stake a claim, but looked shaky. Hooked.

• Auston Trusty (CB): 6/10. Steady, unremarkable. Did a job.

• Liam Scales (CB): 6/10. A typical Scales evening—solid until his own-goal scare.

• Kieran Tierney (LB): 6/10. Put in a shift after international heroics. Subbed.

• Callum McGregor (CM): 8/10. Quiet, then wrote his own headline. What a moment.

• Reo Hatate (CM): 6/10. Not his most influential night.

• Arne Engels (CM): 6/10. Energetic but needs to justify that £11m price tag more consistently.

• Daizen Maeda (RW): 6/10. Glimmers when moved centrally. Still miles off last season’s level.

• Sebastian Tounekti (LW): 7/10. The only attacker consistently threatening. Booked.

• Johnny Kenny (ST): 4/10. A thankless task. Hooked at half-time.

Subs: McCowan (5), Yang (4), Nygren (4), Murray (4), Donovan (2).

So, where does this leave us? The champions are four points behind Hearts as they travel to Aberdeen, and the gap isn’t comfortable. The Europa League adventure will demand a seismic improvement, because you can’t rely on last-gasp thunderbolts against Feyenoord—or any Dutch side with functioning eyes. For now, I’m just grateful that McGregor’s right foot saved my weekend and my voice. Can we please have more football like that last minute, and less of the preceding ninety-four? Please?