KEITH JACKSON

SCOTLAND'S MOST INFLUENTIAL SPORTS COLUMNIST

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THERE will be some Celtic supporters out there who will simply be struggling to get their heads around this current, breathless scenario.

They may even be mildly affronted by the very idea of it as well as with the knot it has tied in the pit of their stomachs.

But, for those who may be too young to remember, this is what a genuine title fight looks, feels and smells like.

And boy oh boy, Scottish football is all the better off for it.

What went on yesterday afternoon in the capital was the red bloodied, eye popping manifestation of this three-way tussle for the ages.

Yes, it might have been more of a rolling skirmish than a football match for long spells and, true, there wasn't much room left for quality amidst all the anxiety, testosterone and pumping adrenaline.

But it was impossible to take the eyes off it nonetheless.

Ironically, the one moment of technical excellence was the only difference between the two sides for most of the first half of it. Benjamin Nygren's stunning free-kick was, in fact, a thing of such sheer beauty that it hardly belonged out there among the sweaty huffing and puffing.

And yet it was enough to give Celtic a lead to cling on to even if it was one which was ill deserved.

Without functioning anywhere near as smoothly as they have done throughout this astonishing campaign, Hearts were still managing to play Celtic off the pitch and in every conceivable area of it.

The more they pressed, harried and harassed, the less Celtic appeared to know what to do about it.

Through sheer force of will Hearts pinned the champions back, deep into their own territory and attempted to bludgeon them into submission.

As a result, the increasingly rattled visitors took it in turns to lose their composure until each of them was giving the ball the hot potato treatment. They simply could not keep it among themselves for any sustained length of time.