Maybe we're too critical. In Italy last week, a World Cup-winning midfielder had a Scotland legend by the throat: and didn't the fans in Milan once hurl a scooter from the highest deck of the San Siro?
Maybe the antics at Celtic Park were just Glasgow high jinks.
Aye. And Jordan - the surgically enhanced one, not Joe, the target of Rino Gattuso's advanced karate technique - is allergic to flash photography.
The scenes of shame that peppered the east end of the city proved beyond doubt that, in their fifth coming together of the season, familiarity does indeed breed contempt. At best, they were chilling: at worst, deeply disturbing.
Celtic will argue that they were guilty of just three yellow card offences, in truth a pathetic contribution to the crime count. And, indeed, some participants were less guilty than others. But there were few haloes on view.
Oh how I frowned when, a day earlier, I heard Les Gray, chairman of the Scottish Police Federation, arguing that the price of football matches between Celtic and Rangers was too high a price to pay. It was the ripple effect of domestic and street violence that concerned him most.
Clearly, that is a distressing state of affairs. How many brain cells do you need to realise that this is actually meant to be a game of football?
The trouble is that religious bigotry is society's cancer, not simply that of our national sport. In fact, Jock Stein used to observe that it was the West of Scotland's release valve and that, without it, Glasgow would have become the Belfast of the '70s.
And, indeed, when players and coaches clash as they did at Parkhead, is it really about hatred across a divide? Is it not, primarily, football passion, because of pressure, out of control?
But what went on at Celtic Park is totally unacceptable.
Police tried to stop Diouf throwing his shirt into the crowd after being sent off
Even the Scottish Football Association - normally guilty of sleepy apathy and intransigence on such occasions - has been swift to react. I congratulate Stewart Regan, their chief executive, on a response that thrust to the heart of the matter.
Launching an investigation, he said: "I was both saddened and deeply embarrassed to witness the scenes that unfolded during what is supposed to be Scottish football's flagship fixture; these images were broadcast around the world and shows our game in a poor light.
"I acknowledge the pressures of expectations on both clubs, but last night's behaviour crossed the boundaries of acceptable behaviour at a football match."
And so say all of us. Flagship? They should be flying the skull and crossbones.
Degrees of innocence and guilt will take some analysis.
What on earth, for example, did Ally McCoist say to Neil Lennon that made him - in a heartbeat - morph from smiling host to growling would-be pugilist?
And, while I am relieved to hear that they later shared a post-madness glass of wine, that was information not shared deep into the night by those who felt more inclined to carry on the fight.
Meanwhile, what business had El Hadji Diouf in the Celtic technical area when the scene of the crime was the sending off of Steven Whittaker some 30 yards away? Should he not have been rubbernecking that with the rest of them.
Diouf was again involved, this time at half-time with Johan Mjalby in the mouth of the tunnel and perhaps most ludicrously of all at full-time in the wake of his sending off when he defied stewards but not a burly senior officer of Strathclyde's finest to attempt to throw his top and body armour to the Rangers fans.
Pele was entitled to throw his shirt to his fans: Diouf would have been better advised to proceed with the utmost haste to the haven of the visitors' dressing-room.
You see, this is when it becomes ridiculous to point the finger at the religious divide alone. What can a Senegalese - and I have no idea nor care not what are his beliefs, whether he is Muslim or not - who has just arrived in Glasgow know of the social breakdown of the city?
His was, I suspect, a red mist of a different strain.
This wasn't a tale of angels with dirty faces. It was a night of shame.
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