THROUGH all the celebration of Celtic's triumph in winning the Scottish Premier League - and the subsequent shambles in which their football supremo, Wim Jansen of Holland, walked away from his moment of glory - I found myself thinking more and more about that greatest of names in the history of the club.

Jock Stein was, of course, not only Celtic's man of destiny but the most significant figure in the entire history of Scottish football. His achievements were quite incomparable: nine league championships in a row and a string of cup victories which included the only European Cup ever to come to Scotland.

Unlike the present-day football scene, which tends to summon up words like ''mercenary'', as shoals

of overpriced prima donnas come flocking from foreign parts to

pick up their pot of gold and disappear with little thought of love

or loyalty, Jock Stein produced a team of world-beaters from within

a short distance of the East End

of Glasgow.

Having coached them as boys in the 1950s, he reaped the benefit of their manhood from 1965 onwards and augmented his squad only with a couple of additions which cost him little more than the weekly wage of some so-called stars of today.

Big Jock had come out of the pits in the manner of Matt Busby and Bill Shankly, a character hewn from the coalface and appreciative of the fresh air which football could offer. Not that Jock was a great player for Celtic. As he once told me, he was the one around whom all the good players performed better. In other words, he could direct them to victory because of a rare vision.

It was that same vision which he transferred to the role of team manager, moulding that bunch of local lads into the best in Europe and giving Scottish football a fairy tale without comparison.

Stein was a man of measured wisdom, a kind of sage from those pre-war days when working men stood about street corners discussing the affairs of the world. He did, however, have a weakness for the horses - and he enjoyed a good gossip.

And just to prove he was not completely infallible even in matters of football, he was generally blamed for the fact that Celtic did not bring home the European Cup on a second occasion.

It was this particular matter which occupied my thoughts as I watched the television picture of Wim Jansen celebrating with his team at Celtic Park last week.

The year was 1970 and Celtic had, incredibly, reached the European Cup final for the second time in four years. Whereas they had gained a famous victory against Inter Milan in 1967, the opponents this time would be the lowly-rated Feyenoord of Rotterdam, whose presence raised only the question

of whether they had reached this rarefied height by means of some magic carpet.

In the build-up to the final, which would take place in the San Siro stadium in Milan, I went to Rotterdam to paint a picture of the city and its mounting excitement. That visit was timed to end that Sunday when the Rotterdam team would play their arch-rivals, Ajax of Amsterdam, the equivalent of the Old Firm match in Holland.

Jock Stein turned up on the usual spying mission and the two of us shared a taxi back to Amsterdam to catch the plane home. On their performance that day, Feyenoord did not seem to me in the same class as Celtic. But maybe Stein saw more? Apparently not. The received wisdom is that, while warning his players against complacency, he failed to take seriously the threat of the Dutch team.

That final went to extra time and Feyenoord scored the winning goal. In that Celtic Park which they call Paradise, the godly figure was never again treated with such reverence, though his domestic success continued beyond all human expectation.

Jock Stein was then the victim of a high-speed car crash on the Glasgow-Carlisle road and was never quite himself again.

But life is full of little quirks and, on that day he and I were in Rotterdam, there was a 23-year-old defender playing for Feyenoord by the name of Jansen. Wim Jansen.

Yes, he who went on to play his part in the destruction of Celtic in the European final of 1970 was the same man who led them back to

that European scene in Glasgow last week. It is the dream of every

manager to reach that point, yet Wim Jansen will not be there to

follow through and to savour his precious moment.

Because of internal squabbling, he has walked away for good.

Jock Stein would be turning in his grave at what is happening. Given a day-pass from Eternity, I doubt if he would believe the changes on the football scene.

He would have been the last person to try stemming the tide of human affairs. But I suspect he would be questioning the claims of progress.