Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ PIE-EATING HUNTOWN
"2017/18 - Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
2018/19 - Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
Statistically, and historically, speaking, the Huns are still shite."
Stephen Hawking's Virtual Ghost.
"Whodda thunk it - a LEGO pitch! Those whacky Danish funsters will make anything with those crazy
bricks.Including Mordor! Gonna have some (everything is...) awesome fun today! But nobody will be
building from the back!"
Emmet from the Lego Movie.
"'Sake, man. Boaby's wan o' ra peepul. Like me. Fucks he daein cannin' me fur choppin' that Fenian cunt,
Broon? Dis he ken he'll never again be able to set fit in Ma hame toon, Drungan? How can any man live wi'
no bein' able tae experience thon paradise utopia of erudite, free-thinkin' pape-hatin' cattle-humpin',
gurning bigots?"
(Free) Kirk Broadfoot.
BANE - 8/10
After the bats of Valencia, comes the trauma of the pies of Killie. In particular one rotund pie-eating Hun,
Monster Munch, whose presence on the subs' bench still managed to obscure Bane's view of the pitch beyond.
Sneaky Stevie Clarke (next Celtic manger, kiddos) tactic of having Monster Munch warm up beside Bane's goal
second-half to block out daylight failed as our keeper proved implaccable. Smart handling and footwork.
TOEJAM - 7.5 /10
Phew. Valencia swamping over, back to SPL business and a chance to exhibit his all-round ability. Busy
and keen in all departments, we have this quiet, industrious alternative to the madness of Micka. I like
him but, at SPL level, still think Lustig gives us an extra attacking threat from set-pieces when struggling.
Like today...
HAYES - 6.5/10
Did he prefer the churned battlefields of WW1 to the Killie concrete-painted-green? Our time-travelling
Tommy from the Great War filled the erratic Izzy's left-back role and played it very well. The irony of
the piece is that he FAILED in his natural position - wing-back; very poor final balls from dangerous
positions. That was no day for juxtaposed irony, Johhny, you cheeky Jerry-baiting, cannon-fodder scallywag...
AJER - 7/10
Big Kris knows the place. And still didn't enjoy his return to Legoland after a year trying to escape
the joint. Today was all about minimising mistakes and trying to be efficient with distribution. He did
well, right touches at right times.
BOYATA - 9/10
Bastard. It's tough to begrudgingly praise a mercenary, shiftless drifter with his eye on the summer prize
of a lucrative move south, pocketing all the cash and screwing Celtic for CL qualification last year, and this
coming July, and 9 million spondulicks of transfer dosh. Bastard.
But he was near-perfection today, winning everything, positionally spot-on and alert and aware enough in the
final seconds to win the knock-down perfectly to set-up the Broony screwball winner. Consummately professional, might be the apt summary. Thank-you, Dedryck. Bastard.
BROON - 9.5/10 MOTM
HA! A spike in the heart of the Broon-loathing sophisticats and a silver bullet to the Hun hopes of adequacy.
Deservedly booked in the first-half for a late flip, he walked a tightrope; A tightrope as diaphanous as
Kyle Lafferty's marital bliss.
But, he does not shirk. Every time the ball bobbled around on Lord Business's rejected playing surface I feared
for his tenure. One wrong tap, a loose foot, a dangling leg, and Baldy Boaby The Madyin was going to burst his
boolin'-club breeks to flash the red.
And then, with frustration building akin to being suddeenly locked in a room with a lustful naked Angelina
Jolie right after you've woken from a wet dream to find Theresa May on top, big Dedryck The Undesireable
placed the perfect header back into the skipper's path from a corner.
And the skipper skyed it...
...Against the outthrust forearm of some Killie chump and it bloopered into the very perfect corner of the
unbreachable goal.
And then we and every mentalist pitch invader and worldwide Sky viewers - and Huns just before they thrust
their welly bits through their tellies - got the Broony in our faces.
And Broony got his second yellow and walked the walk as Bobby Madyin balanced his Hun books after sending off unspeakable microwave-weilding egg-terrorist ned Broaderse fifteen minutes previously.
NO booking for EVERY other Celtic player celebrating with the crowd overspill?
Noooo... course not , Boaby.
NO booking for any Huns celebrating with their pitch-invading army of zoomers when they win the World Chumpions League Supercup Skittle Series Title at Livingston and wee hovels beyond?
Nooo, Boaby.
Just nail the Tim captain for doing what every other football player/fan with a soul would do in the given moment, and blame it on 'the rules'.
Look Boaby, all things being unequal, let's blame my following statement on 'the rules' of grammar, poor or other wise:
You're. A. Servile. Hun. Cunt.
And on that poetic sentiment we end Part 1...
"2017/18 - Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
2018/19 - Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
Statistically, and historically, speaking, the Huns are still shite."
Stephen Hawking's Virtual Ghost.
"Whodda thunk it - a LEGO pitch! Those whacky Danish funsters will make anything with those crazy
bricks.Including Mordor! Gonna have some (everything is...) awesome fun today! But nobody will be
building from the back!"
Emmet from the Lego Movie.
"'Sake, man. Boaby's wan o' ra peepul. Like me. Fucks he daein cannin' me fur choppin' that Fenian cunt,
Broon? Dis he ken he'll never again be able to set fit in Ma hame toon, Drungan? How can any man live wi'
no bein' able tae experience thon paradise utopia of erudite, free-thinkin' pape-hatin' cattle-humpin',
gurning bigots?"
(Free) Kirk Broadfoot.
BANE - 8/10
After the bats of Valencia, comes the trauma of the pies of Killie. In particular one rotund pie-eating Hun,
Monster Munch, whose presence on the subs' bench still managed to obscure Bane's view of the pitch beyond.
Sneaky Stevie Clarke (next Celtic manger, kiddos) tactic of having Monster Munch warm up beside Bane's goal
second-half to block out daylight failed as our keeper proved implaccable. Smart handling and footwork.
TOEJAM - 7.5 /10
Phew. Valencia swamping over, back to SPL business and a chance to exhibit his all-round ability. Busy
and keen in all departments, we have this quiet, industrious alternative to the madness of Micka. I like
him but, at SPL level, still think Lustig gives us an extra attacking threat from set-pieces when struggling.
Like today...
HAYES - 6.5/10
Did he prefer the churned battlefields of WW1 to the Killie concrete-painted-green? Our time-travelling
Tommy from the Great War filled the erratic Izzy's left-back role and played it very well. The irony of
the piece is that he FAILED in his natural position - wing-back; very poor final balls from dangerous
positions. That was no day for juxtaposed irony, Johhny, you cheeky Jerry-baiting, cannon-fodder scallywag...
AJER - 7/10
Big Kris knows the place. And still didn't enjoy his return to Legoland after a year trying to escape
the joint. Today was all about minimising mistakes and trying to be efficient with distribution. He did
well, right touches at right times.
BOYATA - 9/10
Bastard. It's tough to begrudgingly praise a mercenary, shiftless drifter with his eye on the summer prize
of a lucrative move south, pocketing all the cash and screwing Celtic for CL qualification last year, and this
coming July, and 9 million spondulicks of transfer dosh. Bastard.
But he was near-perfection today, winning everything, positionally spot-on and alert and aware enough in the
final seconds to win the knock-down perfectly to set-up the Broony screwball winner. Consummately professional, might be the apt summary. Thank-you, Dedryck. Bastard.
BROON - 9.5/10 MOTM
HA! A spike in the heart of the Broon-loathing sophisticats and a silver bullet to the Hun hopes of adequacy.
Deservedly booked in the first-half for a late flip, he walked a tightrope; A tightrope as diaphanous as
Kyle Lafferty's marital bliss.
But, he does not shirk. Every time the ball bobbled around on Lord Business's rejected playing surface I feared
for his tenure. One wrong tap, a loose foot, a dangling leg, and Baldy Boaby The Madyin was going to burst his
boolin'-club breeks to flash the red.
And then, with frustration building akin to being suddeenly locked in a room with a lustful naked Angelina
Jolie right after you've woken from a wet dream to find Theresa May on top, big Dedryck The Undesireable
placed the perfect header back into the skipper's path from a corner.
And the skipper skyed it...
...Against the outthrust forearm of some Killie chump and it bloopered into the very perfect corner of the
unbreachable goal.
And then we and every mentalist pitch invader and worldwide Sky viewers - and Huns just before they thrust
their welly bits through their tellies - got the Broony in our faces.
And Broony got his second yellow and walked the walk as Bobby Madyin balanced his Hun books after sending off unspeakable microwave-weilding egg-terrorist ned Broaderse fifteen minutes previously.
NO booking for EVERY other Celtic player celebrating with the crowd overspill?
Noooo... course not , Boaby.
NO booking for any Huns celebrating with their pitch-invading army of zoomers when they win the World Chumpions League Supercup Skittle Series Title at Livingston and wee hovels beyond?
Nooo, Boaby.
Just nail the Tim captain for doing what every other football player/fan with a soul would do in the given moment, and blame it on 'the rules'.
Look Boaby, all things being unequal, let's blame my following statement on 'the rules' of grammar, poor or other wise:
You're. A. Servile. Hun. Cunt.
And on that poetic sentiment we end Part 1...
