Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN DEFINITIVE RANTINGS: PANTOMIME CELTIC v TRAINSPOTTING
"It's Christmas time, and there's plenty need to be afraid..."
Band aid.
"We are the very definition of Christmas - giving Shite hope at this time of year..."
The Celtic Give Shite Hope Charity Drive.
"Big Franc Sauzee wid be fuckin' proud. Ooft, ya c#nt, git in there."
F.Begbie.
GORDON: 7/10
Bound by the Celtic Distribution Law - a sub-category of particle physics that states any Celtic keeper at any given time in the game, no matter if trailing, must play the ball to the wings and provide the axle for a series of side-to-side passing moves across the back line wasting half a minute before finally launching it to the opposition.
Big ghuy was dropped last season after failing to abide by this maxim, now seems a rigid adherent. Unfortunately. must be tempted sometimes to go quick with a direct long throw or kick. I know everybody reading this has occasionally urged him to in the most colourful manner...
Made some decent stops to keep the score down as his defence disintegrated and reminded me to watch John Wayne in 'The Alamo' over Christmas.
AJER - 4/10
Hardly noticed the big Praetorian giant; which is saying it all. Got chased and turned all game like Prince Edward at an after-theatre soiree and his physical presence was non-existent. Uncomfortable day.
JOZO - 5/10
Still lingering at less than 100% focus; hasn't looked in control of his own game so unable to command a defence. That partnership with his 'little brother' isn't looking as tight as it sounds; maybe they should try speaking the same lingo to each other...
BENKOVIC - 4/10
I've noticed he sometime starts over-confident; gets caught napping like today and is suddenly playing catch-up against sharper forwards. like Thursday. Like today.
Spent the match dragging himself up to standard; never made it. This SPL hiatus isn't the stroll in the Parkheid (see what I did there 'Celtic Park' pedants?) he might have envisaged.
IZZY - 4/10
Wore the permanently confused look of someone trying to decode a shopping list written in a mirror. Didn't seem to grasp the basics of overlap, cross, get back, block, failed to cover adequately or cause any danger so just roved around the left wing like a lost dug waiting for a whistle.
BROON - 5/10
Battle-hardened Captain Marvel never seems to like his matchdays in Edinburgh despite owning and living in the Castle. As Lord of the Manor he seems reticent to agitate his subjects too much by destroying their hopes on the field of play - presumably especially at this time of year when his Christmas banquets are traditionally stocked through the gratitude of peasants delivering offerings of bread, vegetables, birds (not 'burds', Leigh) in baskets to the Castle gates.
Managed to escape a straight red with an over-exuberant tackle in the first-half, the dodgy ref subsequently demoted to goat-fluffer from goat-pumper. Still there as a presence but lacking outlets of flair and invention all around him; he was the panto stage without the backdrops, props or competent performers.
SAM JACKSON - 5/10
Like Broon, was at least there. Trundling around like a muthufucka, on the ball a lot, but wore that unsettled expression all game; 'Muthufucka, what?'
Failed to get to grips with their midfield or play around the press. Had the air of a Muthufucka not muthufuckin' happy with his lot or the system.
Could be off like a Muthafucka in January; if BR wants to keep him he must play him as he needs to find that muthufuckin rhythm.
As a bit player, muthufucka ain't interested.
CALMAC - 4/10
Anonymous, the fifth Mousketeer. Wandered lonely as a jakey minstrel between the line, looking for space that wasn't there, harassed off his game by an energetic Hibs, couldn't muster his own passing game or find the half-turn movement that opens opponents up. Played with his back to goal too often, joining
in the pit-a-pat keep-ball in our own half. Brief flurry in second-half which is when we looked dangerous.
But ten minutes was all we got.
SINCY - 2/10
I met a guy who fought on the Somme who remembers when Sincy was all lightning feet and screaming danger. And that was at a seance. All the promise of a real-life Sonic The Hedgehog but is delivering with the venom of a shagged-out rattlesnake after a rattlesnake orgy under a searing 100 degree Texan sun.
As I feared for some months, he is being haunted by the ghost of one-season genius/every other season gormless, Bobby Petta. Had one great piece of play today, finished with a whipped low cross across the goal-face begging to be tapped in. Then... nada. (see what I did there, fourth-year pupils studying for yer Spanish prelims? away and study instead of reading this shite...)
FORREST - 5/10
Looked likely. Then suffered from the same malaise as the rest. Wonderful movement and positioning on a couple of occasions led to him being open to deliver a killer ball for a tap in. Failed miserably and on those moments the game turned. Nothing worth celebrating this week for the frustrated Prestwick Flying Flasher.
Thus an entire Christmas weekend passes of cockless merry-making - as Charles Dickens would have said in A Christmas Carol - for the blushing fair maidens of Prestwick town
EDDY - 4/10
PENALTY! PEN-Al-TY you sleekit, Hun wi' a whistle. Replays from behind the goal show the contact that caused the stumble and fall; shame on the Tims who cried wolf.
Nothing ran for our French wonderkid (yes, just a boy) and that is just not his role. We need a frontman to bring our the best in him. Asking an inside-forward (see what I did there traditionalists/confused nouveau soccerites?) to play up there and be used like a lone-striker/targetman is fruitless.
SUBS:
MIKEY J - 6/10
Energy, good son, keep knocking at the door.
MORGAN - 6/10
Energy, good son, keep knocking at the door.
HAYES - 2/10
Ran up and down a lot, resembling a shell-shocked Tommy tearing around no-man's land. Sometimes he took the ball with him, mostly he forgot. Took a few corners in the modern Celtic tradition - with less danger than a three-year-old careering around brandishing a plastic sword.
After eight pints, I turned to the giant sweary turkey sat next to me at the bar and asked it if it would survive Christmas.
It raised a turkey eyebrow and shot back, "Will that hopless fecker Hayes survive January?"
I conceded the point with a nod.
He shrugged, supped, and asked, "Are you an assassin?"
I glanced away. 'I'm a soldier'.
He shook his big turkey heid. Sucked air in through his beack, sighed, "You're an errand boy. Sent by grocery clerks. To collect a bill."
He'll taste great next week.
RONNY DEILA - 3/10
Sorry, BR... Shuffled the pack, fumbled the aces, spilled the kings, creased the one-eye jakes and dealt a duff hand. Tactics got experimental. Lenny called his bluff, played a Hibs team fired-up from the off at high tempo, JUST like his Celtic teams used to perform in Europe against better opposition. Brendan didn't read it, got mugged early, never recovered and ended up throwing on multpile wingers in a vague re-enactment of Mowbray's last stand at Love Street. Clever? Noooo. astute? Noooo. We-could-have-told-you-so-and-we're-muppets-with-an-opinion-not-paid-to-get-it-right-but-could-still-see-right-through-it? Aye...
Like a Xmas party drunk who comes home and shoves a thumb up his sleeping wife's erse, it all seemed like a great idea until he tried it.
Could have gone two up to give Eddy support, force big Efe into defensive pressure. Instead, tried a Martin O'Neill three-at-the-back formation (without the superstars to implement it) and let Hibs run all over us and made the big ebony gentleman resemble Beckenbauer. T'was pish the week before Xmas, Brendan...
OVERALL - Bollocks/10
Shambolic, heartless, guileless and loads of other 'less'. We gave Shite hope and now the momentum builds again to topple the Hoops. Every time we're in a position to slam the door this season, we contrive to bemuse a nation of green and white acolytes with distinctly un-Celtic like performances. Four games to the break - four wins could all but bag up the title. Can these players motivate themselves to sort it and blow away the pretenders?
Some days - like today - you wonder.
'Mon Tae, the Hoops.
"It's Christmas time, and there's plenty need to be afraid..."
Band aid.
"We are the very definition of Christmas - giving Shite hope at this time of year..."
The Celtic Give Shite Hope Charity Drive.
"Big Franc Sauzee wid be fuckin' proud. Ooft, ya c#nt, git in there."
F.Begbie.
GORDON: 7/10
Bound by the Celtic Distribution Law - a sub-category of particle physics that states any Celtic keeper at any given time in the game, no matter if trailing, must play the ball to the wings and provide the axle for a series of side-to-side passing moves across the back line wasting half a minute before finally launching it to the opposition.
Big ghuy was dropped last season after failing to abide by this maxim, now seems a rigid adherent. Unfortunately. must be tempted sometimes to go quick with a direct long throw or kick. I know everybody reading this has occasionally urged him to in the most colourful manner...
Made some decent stops to keep the score down as his defence disintegrated and reminded me to watch John Wayne in 'The Alamo' over Christmas.
AJER - 4/10
Hardly noticed the big Praetorian giant; which is saying it all. Got chased and turned all game like Prince Edward at an after-theatre soiree and his physical presence was non-existent. Uncomfortable day.
JOZO - 5/10
Still lingering at less than 100% focus; hasn't looked in control of his own game so unable to command a defence. That partnership with his 'little brother' isn't looking as tight as it sounds; maybe they should try speaking the same lingo to each other...
BENKOVIC - 4/10
I've noticed he sometime starts over-confident; gets caught napping like today and is suddenly playing catch-up against sharper forwards. like Thursday. Like today.
Spent the match dragging himself up to standard; never made it. This SPL hiatus isn't the stroll in the Parkheid (see what I did there 'Celtic Park' pedants?) he might have envisaged.
IZZY - 4/10
Wore the permanently confused look of someone trying to decode a shopping list written in a mirror. Didn't seem to grasp the basics of overlap, cross, get back, block, failed to cover adequately or cause any danger so just roved around the left wing like a lost dug waiting for a whistle.
BROON - 5/10
Battle-hardened Captain Marvel never seems to like his matchdays in Edinburgh despite owning and living in the Castle. As Lord of the Manor he seems reticent to agitate his subjects too much by destroying their hopes on the field of play - presumably especially at this time of year when his Christmas banquets are traditionally stocked through the gratitude of peasants delivering offerings of bread, vegetables, birds (not 'burds', Leigh) in baskets to the Castle gates.
Managed to escape a straight red with an over-exuberant tackle in the first-half, the dodgy ref subsequently demoted to goat-fluffer from goat-pumper. Still there as a presence but lacking outlets of flair and invention all around him; he was the panto stage without the backdrops, props or competent performers.
SAM JACKSON - 5/10
Like Broon, was at least there. Trundling around like a muthufucka, on the ball a lot, but wore that unsettled expression all game; 'Muthufucka, what?'
Failed to get to grips with their midfield or play around the press. Had the air of a Muthufucka not muthufuckin' happy with his lot or the system.
Could be off like a Muthafucka in January; if BR wants to keep him he must play him as he needs to find that muthufuckin rhythm.
As a bit player, muthufucka ain't interested.
CALMAC - 4/10
Anonymous, the fifth Mousketeer. Wandered lonely as a jakey minstrel between the line, looking for space that wasn't there, harassed off his game by an energetic Hibs, couldn't muster his own passing game or find the half-turn movement that opens opponents up. Played with his back to goal too often, joining
in the pit-a-pat keep-ball in our own half. Brief flurry in second-half which is when we looked dangerous.
But ten minutes was all we got.
SINCY - 2/10
I met a guy who fought on the Somme who remembers when Sincy was all lightning feet and screaming danger. And that was at a seance. All the promise of a real-life Sonic The Hedgehog but is delivering with the venom of a shagged-out rattlesnake after a rattlesnake orgy under a searing 100 degree Texan sun.
As I feared for some months, he is being haunted by the ghost of one-season genius/every other season gormless, Bobby Petta. Had one great piece of play today, finished with a whipped low cross across the goal-face begging to be tapped in. Then... nada. (see what I did there, fourth-year pupils studying for yer Spanish prelims? away and study instead of reading this shite...)
FORREST - 5/10
Looked likely. Then suffered from the same malaise as the rest. Wonderful movement and positioning on a couple of occasions led to him being open to deliver a killer ball for a tap in. Failed miserably and on those moments the game turned. Nothing worth celebrating this week for the frustrated Prestwick Flying Flasher.
Thus an entire Christmas weekend passes of cockless merry-making - as Charles Dickens would have said in A Christmas Carol - for the blushing fair maidens of Prestwick town
EDDY - 4/10
PENALTY! PEN-Al-TY you sleekit, Hun wi' a whistle. Replays from behind the goal show the contact that caused the stumble and fall; shame on the Tims who cried wolf.
Nothing ran for our French wonderkid (yes, just a boy) and that is just not his role. We need a frontman to bring our the best in him. Asking an inside-forward (see what I did there traditionalists/confused nouveau soccerites?) to play up there and be used like a lone-striker/targetman is fruitless.
SUBS:
MIKEY J - 6/10
Energy, good son, keep knocking at the door.
MORGAN - 6/10
Energy, good son, keep knocking at the door.
HAYES - 2/10
Ran up and down a lot, resembling a shell-shocked Tommy tearing around no-man's land. Sometimes he took the ball with him, mostly he forgot. Took a few corners in the modern Celtic tradition - with less danger than a three-year-old careering around brandishing a plastic sword.
After eight pints, I turned to the giant sweary turkey sat next to me at the bar and asked it if it would survive Christmas.
It raised a turkey eyebrow and shot back, "Will that hopless fecker Hayes survive January?"
I conceded the point with a nod.
He shrugged, supped, and asked, "Are you an assassin?"
I glanced away. 'I'm a soldier'.
He shook his big turkey heid. Sucked air in through his beack, sighed, "You're an errand boy. Sent by grocery clerks. To collect a bill."
He'll taste great next week.
RONNY DEILA - 3/10
Sorry, BR... Shuffled the pack, fumbled the aces, spilled the kings, creased the one-eye jakes and dealt a duff hand. Tactics got experimental. Lenny called his bluff, played a Hibs team fired-up from the off at high tempo, JUST like his Celtic teams used to perform in Europe against better opposition. Brendan didn't read it, got mugged early, never recovered and ended up throwing on multpile wingers in a vague re-enactment of Mowbray's last stand at Love Street. Clever? Noooo. astute? Noooo. We-could-have-told-you-so-and-we're-muppets-with-an-opinion-not-paid-to-get-it-right-but-could-still-see-right-through-it? Aye...
Like a Xmas party drunk who comes home and shoves a thumb up his sleeping wife's erse, it all seemed like a great idea until he tried it.
Could have gone two up to give Eddy support, force big Efe into defensive pressure. Instead, tried a Martin O'Neill three-at-the-back formation (without the superstars to implement it) and let Hibs run all over us and made the big ebony gentleman resemble Beckenbauer. T'was pish the week before Xmas, Brendan...
OVERALL - Bollocks/10
Shambolic, heartless, guileless and loads of other 'less'. We gave Shite hope and now the momentum builds again to topple the Hoops. Every time we're in a position to slam the door this season, we contrive to bemuse a nation of green and white acolytes with distinctly un-Celtic like performances. Four games to the break - four wins could all but bag up the title. Can these players motivate themselves to sort it and blow away the pretenders?
Some days - like today - you wonder.
'Mon Tae, the Hoops.
