Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE CUP FINAL RATINGS: CHAMPIONS v MONSTER-HIDERS
"We never stop, either. Greetin'..."
- The Huns. (From Disney's 'Mulan')
ROXIE - 6/10
"Whit.The.FUCK. Wis.That?"
It was about their only shot - heider - on target,
Joe and it was a belter. So no guilt. Particularly
seeing as the only other heider of note in the game
belonged to Joe in the first half, tidying up with
casual aplomb.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6/10
It might be hot in the bakery, but it was equalled
on that Hampden pitch. And so was Greggsy's fruitless
toil to break down their stoical resistance; like
trying to get the scones right when the oven's
overheating.
STAR LORD - 6.5/10
Not a lot required other than focus and sharpness;
he carried his good form into this one, managing to
impose his dominance early and foil their physicality.
TONIO IWATAO - 6.5/10
Bhoy's got guns, and they saw him through. Might
have been lost for their goal but there's no arguing
the quality of the ball and finish. Otherwise, he
found his feet and presence well, filling in to
midfield when required, to enhance the press.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 6/10
Blocked by the...Block. Stubborn opponents choked
his opportunities and forced him into monotonous
check-backs; even inverting became pointless due
to traffic congestion that would have elicited
multiple tickets in Gaylordville (Edinburgh, for
clarity).
CALMAC - 7/10
Calmac The Great. His number is five. The same
number your average hun dreams of one day matching
to the digits of each hand and foot; But they're
still a few off as I type.
But the skipper has his Enid Blyton Trebles now,
and this one is his own special achievement.
A captain's place at the captain's table awaits;
folklore and historical eminence are his.
No, not 'Eminem' - 'eminence'...
Although there's no doubting Calmac is The Real
Slim Shady and a bit of a Superman; known for
taking on the tough tasks and Losing Yourself
in the moment with a cry of, "This looks like
a job for me..."
And today it most certainly was; stifled and
courted like a prison yard conquest by an intrusive
big number 20, designated his grinder matchup.
It took about an hour for Calmac to properly dictate
the tempo to the Heelan' mob, finally sweating out
their whisky reserves and had them choking up their
Cullen Skink.
Ultimtely his superior footballing ability defied
the would-be assassins and he claimed back 'our
trophies' with a soundbite to seeth the Huns some
more.
THE BUILDER - 7.5/10 MOTM
He might frustrate with that gangling style and
the cute balls (steady ladies...) might not always
come off, but today as Hampden perspired and the
players dehydrated like John Mills in the desert,
one sweaty heid kept popping up in dangerous areas,
crashing through their spartanesque defensive lines
and, ultimatley, made the difference - lovely run
and precise cutback to set up Kyogo.
He didn't stop, did Matty, forceing the issue, forcing
his tired limbs at them; it was a proper sizzling cup
final effort from a player who's blown hot and cold all
season.
HAKUNA HATATE - 3/10
Reo no-go. Our biggest absence on a big day. So
many expectations around him; so many reliant on
his ability to open up resolute defences. And he
flopped, barely registering a threat.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 3/10
Daizen fit? Well, apprently not for long. Was it a
dead leg or a strain - it stunted his movement and
potency and left him in beside the limes at half-time.
We don't have tangerines or oranges...
KILLER MUSHROOM - 7/10
"They have a Kaiju? It hides in a vast lake? I will
save us! Daizen! Reo! Tomoki, Soze! - Awake GOJIRAAA!"
Then the transaltor stepped in and we got him calmed
down enough to leave the dressing room without getting
his call to Godzooky through.
Where is he when you really need him? Where he's always
been - in the tightest of spaces with deadly intent.
Just scintillating movement and finishing; the quality
moment to lift us out of the street fight and back into
the champions ring.
Didn't last too much longer as his knock took its toll,
but the job required had been done.
NOTEBOOK - 7/10
Wherefore art thou Romeo? After a bright start the sheer
intransigence of the heelan' sheild wall had flummoxed
his sense of artistry, and frustration slowly faded him
out of proceedings.
Then, in the final third of the final, came Trainspotting
2 and Brazen Heid Begbie surging back to terrorize and
decapitate, exploding into life to do the telling damage
and crown the season; the king of Celtic pop-culture.
SUBS -
OH BHOY - 5.5/10
Sweatily enthusiastic and ready to tank about. How we
longed for his now customary goal. But was thwarted by
a few unlucky breaks.
ABADASS - 7/10
Brilliant contribution from a most unlikely source given
the harsh pysicality of opponent and the paucity of space
on offer.
But the kid grew up in the desert and the heat was but a
taste of home. As for the distasteful blue in front of him
- memories of Hunskelpings drove him on, sealed the glory
with a trademark swooping finish then embellished his
contribution with the delivery for Jota.
EDDIE TURNBULL - N/A
A few nice moments and touches as the old fella recreated
his summer jollies down Portobello beach with flapper girls.
JAMESY - N/A
'I am still here!' announced a smiling Jamesy to the
enthralled Hampden crowd with a brief flashing appearance.
Then Ange gave him a couple of minutes on the park late on,
too.
HACKY SACK - N/A
Slinky and involved, but we've yet to witness the full effect
of a properly fit Hacky as he blazed over from good positions.
ANITA DOBSON - 6.5/10
A full-on Angeball assault on the Heelan' Huns and the coveted
8th Treble was in the tucker bag by... injury time.
There it was in full disclosure - the tactic he's charmed us
with, and which reinvigorated the Celtic style. Commited,
fast-moving, agressive, inventive attacking football. For all
the caveats, Inverness never really stood a chance against this
hungry, motivated Postecoglu side. But they strung us out in
the heat and tested more than Angeball's niceties - also its
resolve.
And like the man himself - a sole operator with the balls to
pitch himself into seemingly impossible situations and trust
in his method - his team came through. A treble is his. A
little piece of Celtic lore is his. But will legend be his too?
So the all-conquering Ange now has his golden path to choose:
Another couple of seasons cementing his legacy at a world-renowned
club with a glorious history and one of the most passionate and
(extermely, ahem...) knowledgeable fanbases ever seen. Whose
ambitions lie in punching above our weight and testing ourselves
against the best in the planet's premier club competition,
regularly.
Alternatively, suckle at the bloated teat of an EPL tourist club,
all soulless artifice and gaudy bling, whose fickle clown circus
support play too much PC Football Manager and think success is
winning a club raffle to get fingered by Chas 'n' Dave.
Ange's job here is half done. Europe awaits. Club football's pinnacle.
The CL is Celtic's siren; and she's as beautiful and alluring as
any burd Starlord's tying to his headboard. Although nobody's saying
anything about that because it's completely unrelated...
Make yer choice, Ange. Aussie-Greek Ghod, or Goober.
MIBBERY - 2/10
Mibbery = misery. Perhaps Johnny 'Jimmy (He's in hell) Bellshill
Tavern' Beaton didn't satisfy some Masterblaster Warlock's pet
goat at the last ludge meeting because throwing him into the eye
of the Celtic celebratory
maelstrom to witness it up-close was, basically, cruelty to animals.
Still, he's been practicing all week to make his crying face grimace
into a happy face or at least a maudlin smile of a face; the kind you
see on widows at funerals.
And he had 'V For SteVen Of The VAR' in his ear all game talking him
through it like the world's snidest samaritan. And Johnny stuck it
back at his alien overlords with the best bit of reffing he's ever
administered involving us - double advantages leading to Abadass's
killer second.
Yer tab's been scratched, Johnny...
OVERALL - 7/10
Oh Hampden in the sun. Marvellous. And sticky.
That's EIGHT, dear embittered, bleating Huns (Hello, SMSM hacks...) -
EIGHT trebles and counting. And 115 trophies in total across 135
unbroken years of fenian splendour.
The team may have toiled to kick into gear, synch into full-Celtic,
and dismantle the clan with a plan, the teuchters with a tactic; wee
Doddsy's delusion. But credit must be given to those opponents who
did their utmost to counter our play, to stifle and frustrate and
who matched any premiership oppostition we've faced this season.
Yet the Bhoys did what they've done ultimately in every tight contest
domestially - triumphed. Again. A potent habit.
The game is over, the rebels have won. Everything. And will keep winning.
It's what we do best. Soon to be the 'Wuruld's best... Uncontested.
Tick-tock, two shiny-shinies to go...
Go Away N...
Not yet.
Season Review incoming. Expect us.
One last time. Soon.
Sandman
"We never stop, either. Greetin'..."
- The Huns. (From Disney's 'Mulan')
ROXIE - 6/10
"Whit.The.FUCK. Wis.That?"
It was about their only shot - heider - on target,
Joe and it was a belter. So no guilt. Particularly
seeing as the only other heider of note in the game
belonged to Joe in the first half, tidying up with
casual aplomb.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6/10
It might be hot in the bakery, but it was equalled
on that Hampden pitch. And so was Greggsy's fruitless
toil to break down their stoical resistance; like
trying to get the scones right when the oven's
overheating.
STAR LORD - 6.5/10
Not a lot required other than focus and sharpness;
he carried his good form into this one, managing to
impose his dominance early and foil their physicality.
TONIO IWATAO - 6.5/10
Bhoy's got guns, and they saw him through. Might
have been lost for their goal but there's no arguing
the quality of the ball and finish. Otherwise, he
found his feet and presence well, filling in to
midfield when required, to enhance the press.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 6/10
Blocked by the...Block. Stubborn opponents choked
his opportunities and forced him into monotonous
check-backs; even inverting became pointless due
to traffic congestion that would have elicited
multiple tickets in Gaylordville (Edinburgh, for
clarity).
CALMAC - 7/10
Calmac The Great. His number is five. The same
number your average hun dreams of one day matching
to the digits of each hand and foot; But they're
still a few off as I type.
But the skipper has his Enid Blyton Trebles now,
and this one is his own special achievement.
A captain's place at the captain's table awaits;
folklore and historical eminence are his.
No, not 'Eminem' - 'eminence'...
Although there's no doubting Calmac is The Real
Slim Shady and a bit of a Superman; known for
taking on the tough tasks and Losing Yourself
in the moment with a cry of, "This looks like
a job for me..."
And today it most certainly was; stifled and
courted like a prison yard conquest by an intrusive
big number 20, designated his grinder matchup.
It took about an hour for Calmac to properly dictate
the tempo to the Heelan' mob, finally sweating out
their whisky reserves and had them choking up their
Cullen Skink.
Ultimtely his superior footballing ability defied
the would-be assassins and he claimed back 'our
trophies' with a soundbite to seeth the Huns some
more.
THE BUILDER - 7.5/10 MOTM
He might frustrate with that gangling style and
the cute balls (steady ladies...) might not always
come off, but today as Hampden perspired and the
players dehydrated like John Mills in the desert,
one sweaty heid kept popping up in dangerous areas,
crashing through their spartanesque defensive lines
and, ultimatley, made the difference - lovely run
and precise cutback to set up Kyogo.
He didn't stop, did Matty, forceing the issue, forcing
his tired limbs at them; it was a proper sizzling cup
final effort from a player who's blown hot and cold all
season.
HAKUNA HATATE - 3/10
Reo no-go. Our biggest absence on a big day. So
many expectations around him; so many reliant on
his ability to open up resolute defences. And he
flopped, barely registering a threat.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 3/10
Daizen fit? Well, apprently not for long. Was it a
dead leg or a strain - it stunted his movement and
potency and left him in beside the limes at half-time.
We don't have tangerines or oranges...
KILLER MUSHROOM - 7/10
"They have a Kaiju? It hides in a vast lake? I will
save us! Daizen! Reo! Tomoki, Soze! - Awake GOJIRAAA!"
Then the transaltor stepped in and we got him calmed
down enough to leave the dressing room without getting
his call to Godzooky through.
Where is he when you really need him? Where he's always
been - in the tightest of spaces with deadly intent.
Just scintillating movement and finishing; the quality
moment to lift us out of the street fight and back into
the champions ring.
Didn't last too much longer as his knock took its toll,
but the job required had been done.
NOTEBOOK - 7/10
Wherefore art thou Romeo? After a bright start the sheer
intransigence of the heelan' sheild wall had flummoxed
his sense of artistry, and frustration slowly faded him
out of proceedings.
Then, in the final third of the final, came Trainspotting
2 and Brazen Heid Begbie surging back to terrorize and
decapitate, exploding into life to do the telling damage
and crown the season; the king of Celtic pop-culture.
SUBS -
OH BHOY - 5.5/10
Sweatily enthusiastic and ready to tank about. How we
longed for his now customary goal. But was thwarted by
a few unlucky breaks.
ABADASS - 7/10
Brilliant contribution from a most unlikely source given
the harsh pysicality of opponent and the paucity of space
on offer.
But the kid grew up in the desert and the heat was but a
taste of home. As for the distasteful blue in front of him
- memories of Hunskelpings drove him on, sealed the glory
with a trademark swooping finish then embellished his
contribution with the delivery for Jota.
EDDIE TURNBULL - N/A
A few nice moments and touches as the old fella recreated
his summer jollies down Portobello beach with flapper girls.
JAMESY - N/A
'I am still here!' announced a smiling Jamesy to the
enthralled Hampden crowd with a brief flashing appearance.
Then Ange gave him a couple of minutes on the park late on,
too.
HACKY SACK - N/A
Slinky and involved, but we've yet to witness the full effect
of a properly fit Hacky as he blazed over from good positions.
ANITA DOBSON - 6.5/10
A full-on Angeball assault on the Heelan' Huns and the coveted
8th Treble was in the tucker bag by... injury time.
There it was in full disclosure - the tactic he's charmed us
with, and which reinvigorated the Celtic style. Commited,
fast-moving, agressive, inventive attacking football. For all
the caveats, Inverness never really stood a chance against this
hungry, motivated Postecoglu side. But they strung us out in
the heat and tested more than Angeball's niceties - also its
resolve.
And like the man himself - a sole operator with the balls to
pitch himself into seemingly impossible situations and trust
in his method - his team came through. A treble is his. A
little piece of Celtic lore is his. But will legend be his too?
So the all-conquering Ange now has his golden path to choose:
Another couple of seasons cementing his legacy at a world-renowned
club with a glorious history and one of the most passionate and
(extermely, ahem...) knowledgeable fanbases ever seen. Whose
ambitions lie in punching above our weight and testing ourselves
against the best in the planet's premier club competition,
regularly.
Alternatively, suckle at the bloated teat of an EPL tourist club,
all soulless artifice and gaudy bling, whose fickle clown circus
support play too much PC Football Manager and think success is
winning a club raffle to get fingered by Chas 'n' Dave.
Ange's job here is half done. Europe awaits. Club football's pinnacle.
The CL is Celtic's siren; and she's as beautiful and alluring as
any burd Starlord's tying to his headboard. Although nobody's saying
anything about that because it's completely unrelated...
Make yer choice, Ange. Aussie-Greek Ghod, or Goober.
MIBBERY - 2/10
Mibbery = misery. Perhaps Johnny 'Jimmy (He's in hell) Bellshill
Tavern' Beaton didn't satisfy some Masterblaster Warlock's pet
goat at the last ludge meeting because throwing him into the eye
of the Celtic celebratory
maelstrom to witness it up-close was, basically, cruelty to animals.
Still, he's been practicing all week to make his crying face grimace
into a happy face or at least a maudlin smile of a face; the kind you
see on widows at funerals.
And he had 'V For SteVen Of The VAR' in his ear all game talking him
through it like the world's snidest samaritan. And Johnny stuck it
back at his alien overlords with the best bit of reffing he's ever
administered involving us - double advantages leading to Abadass's
killer second.
Yer tab's been scratched, Johnny...
OVERALL - 7/10
Oh Hampden in the sun. Marvellous. And sticky.
That's EIGHT, dear embittered, bleating Huns (Hello, SMSM hacks...) -
EIGHT trebles and counting. And 115 trophies in total across 135
unbroken years of fenian splendour.
The team may have toiled to kick into gear, synch into full-Celtic,
and dismantle the clan with a plan, the teuchters with a tactic; wee
Doddsy's delusion. But credit must be given to those opponents who
did their utmost to counter our play, to stifle and frustrate and
who matched any premiership oppostition we've faced this season.
Yet the Bhoys did what they've done ultimately in every tight contest
domestially - triumphed. Again. A potent habit.
The game is over, the rebels have won. Everything. And will keep winning.
It's what we do best. Soon to be the 'Wuruld's best... Uncontested.
Tick-tock, two shiny-shinies to go...
Go Away N...
Not yet.
Season Review incoming. Expect us.
One last time. Soon.
Sandman
glad to hear we have one last post from you to look forward to 
.
