Pound-for-pound, Maeda has been an extraordinary bit of business, a nuisance that goes after defenders like a bullet train heading out of Tokyo, a player of energy and relentlessness that must have kept opponents awake, both before a game and after.
He had 13 goal involvements in his first half-season; 18 in 49 in his second; 14 in 36 in his third; 45 in 54 in his fourth, and 28 this season. He’s a natural wide player but he’s dug Celtic’s slapstick recruitment out of a hole since Kyogo Furuhashi departed and the club was so unimpressive in trying to replace him.
Maeda did the job instead. He stepped into the void, then expected to be allowed to leave last summer.
By all accounts he was given the assurance that he could go. Germany was the suggestion, Wolfsburg the club involved, or so O’Neill inadvertently revealed at the start of the year.
“I had an offer and had consistently communicated to my club that I wanted to take the next step in my career,” he said, after Celtic informed him that their efforts to find new blood had failed and that he could go nowhere.
“Celtic ultimately couldn’t secure the necessary reinforcements and told me they couldn’t let me go. Personally, I had come to an understanding with the club. I’d been in constant talks.”
A player could sulk in those circumstances. A promise broken, family plans put on hold. And maybe – maybe – he did sulk, but if he did it was only for a little while.
When the chips were down he was a colossus for Celtic, driven, focused, as hungry as anybody to get his team over the line and more influential than most in ensuring it happened.
If he goes, they will miss him. They’ll miss his goals, yes, but also his energy, his honesty, his work-rate, his capacity to run and run and run. He never stopped.
At one point in the aftermath he took the Scottish Cup in his hands and waved it at the Celtic fans, a scarf around his neck, a smile across his face. If this was his goodbye, he couldn’t have imagined a fonder one.
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