Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ COMPTON
"When I'm called off, I got a sawed off
Squeeze the trigger, and bodies are hauled off
You too, bhoy, if ya fuck with me
The police are gonna hafta come and get me
Off yo ass, that's how I'm goin out..."
'Straight Outta Celtic' (You'll Never Get Me...)
by N.L.W.A (Neilz.Lennonz.Wit.Attitudes)
BANE - 6/10
He's badass, but he ain't as badass as the local
Bloods and Crips so kept a low profile. Got a kick
sometime around the 85th minute and a good block
after requisite Alan Ladd goof.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6.5/10
Busy. Always busy. At times over does it and
undercooks it; in contrast to his charcoaled
steak bakes. His final ball or early cross
remains a crazy roll of the dice in a mental-ward
game of Cluedo but his professional approach
is admirable in this most amateurishly
performed of campaigns. Won the game-sealing
penalty with what is becoming his reliable,
habitual endeavour.
AJER - 6.5/10
Enjoyed the freezing conditions, which
prompted ancestral memories and a couple
of viking rampages. He's been a consistent
relief of consistency at the heart of an
inconsistent defence all season and tonight,
again, was... steady. Thank you, Google
synonyms.
RAQUEL - 6/10
Up against Raquel, the St.Mirren dangerman
only lasted 12 minutes before popping out
a shoulder; a historically common injury
where Raquel was involved. Although, 12
minutes is admirable...
But poor Raquel was on her back an hour
later, a veritabler ankle-snapper from a
loose ox charging around in a striped kit.
Referee Robertson exhibitied signs of
arousal as Raquel writhed on the ground.
But as you'd expect from a masonic
goat-fucker they were entirely misplaced
and Raquel's misery went unpunished by
card or even warning. Fingers crossed the
kid's shapely ankle recovers fast.
JONJO O'NEILL - 6/10
Quietly goes about his business. Some
slackness early was shaken off as got
the whip in hand and jumped steadily into
the game. (See what I did there, National
Hunt historians?).
Exceptional intervention on half-time made
sure we went into the break with heads up.
He looks a reliable defender so far; why
the hell's he here?
BROON - 6/10
Never quiet when Broon's in a mood. Thundered
around like a boss, took no prisoners, had
Andy Walker bleating for a card with a rattling
good tackle; always a sign Broon's on his game.
And although we toiled for a time, he was still
the rock required to bounce the opposition's
ambitions.
Poor ball to Raquel which put the kid in trouble,
though; Not 'hospital', but not clever either.
CALMAC - 5.5/10
Going through the Calmac motions, which usually
means a level above others. But this season he's
slipped in and out of anonymity when we've expected
a pivot for dynamism. Gone again tonight, though
more prominent as they tired. Maybe, as my
great-granpappy used to quip, 'The boay jist needs
a right guid ride.'.
ROGIC - 7.5/10 MOTM
What's all the white stuff around the pitch? Only
time Oz ever sees white powder like that is on a
hooker's ass. And he played like there had been
some local lasses bearing 'Paisley aperitifs' bent
over in the showers pre-game.
Vintage Rogic was the first-half difference. And
in stunning defiance of his accepted stamina he
never let up deep into the game, setting up Corpus,
as those cultured feet dragged the opposition
around like Morelos hanging out a baboon's ass.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6.5/10
Covid vaccination doesn't seem to have affected
his fitness. Was wondering if he'd fade similar
to previous games but tonight his quality told in
the latter stages as gaps appeared and he thrived,
bagging a deserved goal.
THE YETI - 4/10
Well, he'll hustle for ya, but there's a distinct
absence of the matchwinning ability required of a
Celtic striker. Angry as ever, and has a tendancy
to fall off opponents like he was back home rolling
down a snowy mountainside.
FRENCH EDDY - 7/10
Mon Dieu, le feckeeng cold... And after the warmth
of half-time Eddy decided he'd had enough of trotting
around freezing le baws off waiting for somebody to
deliver, and put the game to bed with a passage of
tremendous play that shook up Helen Mirren's defences.
Great pen, but we still await the perfect strike
partner. Whom we may never see...
SUBS:
KLIMALA KLIMAX - N/A
No 70s klimax in that bitter chill, hairy muffs or
not.
ALAN LADD - N/A
Phew. Aaand relax, it's over. We won. Clean
sheet.
CORPUS CHRISTIE - 7/10
Came on, stole a free-kick off Ancient Eddie
and smashed it into the wall just to annoy the
fuck out of people like me and you.
Then infuriated us even further by guiding in
a beauty of a finish for the third before also
getting involved in the fourth. You're fucking
at it, Corpus...
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - N/A
Managed to smile through the cold. A tourist in
Paisley. Fancy that.
GRIFF - N/A
Lasted five minutes without flagging; Fitness
improving...
LENNONY - 6.5/10
Consistency of selection strikes again. At least
we have that. Is he convinced about that selection?
No, of course not; why keep his in-form midfielder
on the bench when he could try him in tandem with
Broon and give Calmac a rest?
But that would involve logic, and Lennony's a man
forging through an illogical typhoon of trouble.
He's getting results - 3 wins in a row. But we're
haunted by deja-vu; a manager out of slack as the
gallows beckon, a team gone stale, patterns of play
unidentifiable and conditioning evidently lacking.
Some kudos due for throwing on as many subs as he
could to suck the win bonuses out of Pistol Pete...
The job got done but there's too few battles been
won as the war-that-never-was draws to a close.
18 points behind with just one game in hand and
just eleven to go. Good grief. I suppose all the
mirrors are covered in his house right now.
OVERALL - 7/10
"Ye'll never fuckin' take Paisley," I was once
told across a Newcastle hotel lobby amid a
two-dozen man standoff.
The situation was actually an amusing row between
a travelling band of Paisley gentlemen and
wandering Invernessians upon which myself and two
compadres had stumbled as we checked-in for a
weekend of wine tasting and, well, whoring; two
of 90s Newcastle's reknowned cultural attractions.
Confusion due to teuchter not quite translating
satisfactorily into ghetto gansta-rap made the
pitchforks v semi-automatics contretemps an
invigorating start to a few days I'd still like
to fully recall before I die. Anyway, Paisley,
yeah...
Their spokesman was right, however - especially
if you're playing Shit-Town Top Trumps... Pause
for Feegie triggering... But it appears now Celtic
CAN fuckin' take it.
Yet... Before laser printers, there was photocopy.
Google it, kids. Photocopies were never impressive
- they often tended to be a pastiche of the more
vibrant original and despite multiple copies you
never got that authentic feel; as evidenced by
the school's giant photocopier machine burning
out when trying to handle a Fiesta mag, circa 1985.
Like that entreprenurial attempt at a business
startup, Celtic's season feels as if it too was
left in the hands of a bunch of teenagers standing
around with staple guns, hoping to pin the pages
together into a coherent, exciting product.
It just doesn't resemble the Celtic we've known
for a good time now. Not sweeping and dominant,
not infused with verve and improvisation; we're
feeling our way through games, never looking
more than a collective of individuals trying
to mimic a team.
Thankfully, sometimes like tonight, those
individuals eventually prosper and another 4-0
on the road might echo glorious recent years'
victory parades. But however welcome it is, it
looks too little too late with the pressure off
and many players' eyes on further horizons.
A win, convincing but never scintillating; At
least we managed one of those required adjectives.
Will we keep it up for the last dozen encounters?
Can we manage both against the dastardly Hun, twice?
The end is nigh. Run towards it Celtic. Go out
in a bit of glory.
Go Away now.
Sandman.
"When I'm called off, I got a sawed off
Squeeze the trigger, and bodies are hauled off
You too, bhoy, if ya fuck with me
The police are gonna hafta come and get me
Off yo ass, that's how I'm goin out..."
'Straight Outta Celtic' (You'll Never Get Me...)
by N.L.W.A (Neilz.Lennonz.Wit.Attitudes)
BANE - 6/10
He's badass, but he ain't as badass as the local
Bloods and Crips so kept a low profile. Got a kick
sometime around the 85th minute and a good block
after requisite Alan Ladd goof.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6.5/10
Busy. Always busy. At times over does it and
undercooks it; in contrast to his charcoaled
steak bakes. His final ball or early cross
remains a crazy roll of the dice in a mental-ward
game of Cluedo but his professional approach
is admirable in this most amateurishly
performed of campaigns. Won the game-sealing
penalty with what is becoming his reliable,
habitual endeavour.
AJER - 6.5/10
Enjoyed the freezing conditions, which
prompted ancestral memories and a couple
of viking rampages. He's been a consistent
relief of consistency at the heart of an
inconsistent defence all season and tonight,
again, was... steady. Thank you, Google
synonyms.
RAQUEL - 6/10
Up against Raquel, the St.Mirren dangerman
only lasted 12 minutes before popping out
a shoulder; a historically common injury
where Raquel was involved. Although, 12
minutes is admirable...
But poor Raquel was on her back an hour
later, a veritabler ankle-snapper from a
loose ox charging around in a striped kit.
Referee Robertson exhibitied signs of
arousal as Raquel writhed on the ground.
But as you'd expect from a masonic
goat-fucker they were entirely misplaced
and Raquel's misery went unpunished by
card or even warning. Fingers crossed the
kid's shapely ankle recovers fast.
JONJO O'NEILL - 6/10
Quietly goes about his business. Some
slackness early was shaken off as got
the whip in hand and jumped steadily into
the game. (See what I did there, National
Hunt historians?).
Exceptional intervention on half-time made
sure we went into the break with heads up.
He looks a reliable defender so far; why
the hell's he here?
BROON - 6/10
Never quiet when Broon's in a mood. Thundered
around like a boss, took no prisoners, had
Andy Walker bleating for a card with a rattling
good tackle; always a sign Broon's on his game.
And although we toiled for a time, he was still
the rock required to bounce the opposition's
ambitions.
Poor ball to Raquel which put the kid in trouble,
though; Not 'hospital', but not clever either.
CALMAC - 5.5/10
Going through the Calmac motions, which usually
means a level above others. But this season he's
slipped in and out of anonymity when we've expected
a pivot for dynamism. Gone again tonight, though
more prominent as they tired. Maybe, as my
great-granpappy used to quip, 'The boay jist needs
a right guid ride.'.
ROGIC - 7.5/10 MOTM
What's all the white stuff around the pitch? Only
time Oz ever sees white powder like that is on a
hooker's ass. And he played like there had been
some local lasses bearing 'Paisley aperitifs' bent
over in the showers pre-game.
Vintage Rogic was the first-half difference. And
in stunning defiance of his accepted stamina he
never let up deep into the game, setting up Corpus,
as those cultured feet dragged the opposition
around like Morelos hanging out a baboon's ass.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6.5/10
Covid vaccination doesn't seem to have affected
his fitness. Was wondering if he'd fade similar
to previous games but tonight his quality told in
the latter stages as gaps appeared and he thrived,
bagging a deserved goal.
THE YETI - 4/10
Well, he'll hustle for ya, but there's a distinct
absence of the matchwinning ability required of a
Celtic striker. Angry as ever, and has a tendancy
to fall off opponents like he was back home rolling
down a snowy mountainside.
FRENCH EDDY - 7/10
Mon Dieu, le feckeeng cold... And after the warmth
of half-time Eddy decided he'd had enough of trotting
around freezing le baws off waiting for somebody to
deliver, and put the game to bed with a passage of
tremendous play that shook up Helen Mirren's defences.
Great pen, but we still await the perfect strike
partner. Whom we may never see...
SUBS:
KLIMALA KLIMAX - N/A
No 70s klimax in that bitter chill, hairy muffs or
not.
ALAN LADD - N/A
Phew. Aaand relax, it's over. We won. Clean
sheet.
CORPUS CHRISTIE - 7/10
Came on, stole a free-kick off Ancient Eddie
and smashed it into the wall just to annoy the
fuck out of people like me and you.
Then infuriated us even further by guiding in
a beauty of a finish for the third before also
getting involved in the fourth. You're fucking
at it, Corpus...
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - N/A
Managed to smile through the cold. A tourist in
Paisley. Fancy that.
GRIFF - N/A
Lasted five minutes without flagging; Fitness
improving...
LENNONY - 6.5/10
Consistency of selection strikes again. At least
we have that. Is he convinced about that selection?
No, of course not; why keep his in-form midfielder
on the bench when he could try him in tandem with
Broon and give Calmac a rest?
But that would involve logic, and Lennony's a man
forging through an illogical typhoon of trouble.
He's getting results - 3 wins in a row. But we're
haunted by deja-vu; a manager out of slack as the
gallows beckon, a team gone stale, patterns of play
unidentifiable and conditioning evidently lacking.
Some kudos due for throwing on as many subs as he
could to suck the win bonuses out of Pistol Pete...
The job got done but there's too few battles been
won as the war-that-never-was draws to a close.
18 points behind with just one game in hand and
just eleven to go. Good grief. I suppose all the
mirrors are covered in his house right now.
OVERALL - 7/10
"Ye'll never fuckin' take Paisley," I was once
told across a Newcastle hotel lobby amid a
two-dozen man standoff.
The situation was actually an amusing row between
a travelling band of Paisley gentlemen and
wandering Invernessians upon which myself and two
compadres had stumbled as we checked-in for a
weekend of wine tasting and, well, whoring; two
of 90s Newcastle's reknowned cultural attractions.
Confusion due to teuchter not quite translating
satisfactorily into ghetto gansta-rap made the
pitchforks v semi-automatics contretemps an
invigorating start to a few days I'd still like
to fully recall before I die. Anyway, Paisley,
yeah...
Their spokesman was right, however - especially
if you're playing Shit-Town Top Trumps... Pause
for Feegie triggering... But it appears now Celtic
CAN fuckin' take it.
Yet... Before laser printers, there was photocopy.
Google it, kids. Photocopies were never impressive
- they often tended to be a pastiche of the more
vibrant original and despite multiple copies you
never got that authentic feel; as evidenced by
the school's giant photocopier machine burning
out when trying to handle a Fiesta mag, circa 1985.
Like that entreprenurial attempt at a business
startup, Celtic's season feels as if it too was
left in the hands of a bunch of teenagers standing
around with staple guns, hoping to pin the pages
together into a coherent, exciting product.
It just doesn't resemble the Celtic we've known
for a good time now. Not sweeping and dominant,
not infused with verve and improvisation; we're
feeling our way through games, never looking
more than a collective of individuals trying
to mimic a team.
Thankfully, sometimes like tonight, those
individuals eventually prosper and another 4-0
on the road might echo glorious recent years'
victory parades. But however welcome it is, it
looks too little too late with the pressure off
and many players' eyes on further horizons.
A win, convincing but never scintillating; At
least we managed one of those required adjectives.
Will we keep it up for the last dozen encounters?
Can we manage both against the dastardly Hun, twice?
The end is nigh. Run towards it Celtic. Go out
in a bit of glory.
Go Away now.
Sandman.
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