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"Well, Ah live oan the South Queensferry beach in a shack made fae bones,
inside the enormous desiccated rib cage ay some long-ago washed-up
leviathan of the sea, where Ah drink moonshine, listen tae homemade
dance music an' write poetry aboot fallin' in love wi' a Hentai girl brought
tae life by Angel Magic. How?"

- Robbie 'Denis' Neilsen, Heart Of Midlothian manager interviewed on
'Life Outside Football' podcast.

ROXIE - 8.5/10

Soccer expert Tam McManus thinks Celtic need to replace Joe Hart...

It's showtime and the showgal is a stopper and a half! Quite
brilliant save and heroic block from big Joe who's currently
living out some kind of Roy Of The Rovers twilight to his
phenomenal career. Tam? Just... Hush.


He'll take a battering and incomprehensible abuse from the frothing
goonies along the stand and still give as good as he gets. Scrapped
it out all game, winning the tussles that mattered; rises like his bread
rolls to the ocassion here.

STAR LORD - 6/10

What happened? There, putting in a steady, focussed shift, then gone -
a mystery of the universe beyond Carl Sagan as our Carl failed a
half-time sanity test and a talking racoon was glimpsed grumbling
around the dingy corridors of Swinecastle.


"Open the pod bay doors, Cal..."

No. And our 2001 Space Odyssey monolith at the heart of defence
won't open anything for the opposition, either. A tank with the heart
of a lion and a fearsome desire to engage in combat and win.

Nightmare for expectant opposition as he rebukes about everything you
can throw at him, then throws in the killing heider and throws back a
Sunday League Special to cripple the cheekist maroon cloon within range;
Would have been a 10/10 if Wanky Halliday had been on the end of it...


Another rocky mountain man to work off CCV in a combination of steel
and granite. Luckily they both speak the same language - North Americanski -
so that right side of defence was a sealed unit.

Faith in his backup allowed AJ to roam to matchwinning effect - terrific
run to set up the Half-time entertainment right in the yapping gubs of
the 'home support'*.

The Bhoy's a deceptive animal of a player who digs the physical
challenges but utilises the professional game intelligence at the core
of his ability extremely well as a control mechanism; otherwise he'd be
tempted to just run around smashing up wee pricks like Halliday; ah,
wouldn't we all...

Quite a find.

*Fucking Huns with nothing to watch until tomorrow.

CALMAC - 7/10

Where's the Calmac brand of kitchen roll that's the most obvious
endorsement ever seen: "CALMAC - absorbency like no other; tidy
your (big...) hoose today"

The footballer's footballer cruised through, sitting deep most
second period after bursting into life intermittently first half
to show the world what naturally gifted footballing feet can cultivate.

Allied his positional instinct terrifically to stifle their final
balls as they pressed to get back in the game; a captain who leads
by example and admiration. Get that treble for him.

MOOEY - 7.5/10

Starts quite slowly, they say... What fucking clown writes pish like
that? Tam McManus levels of bollocks...

So Mooey stayed up all night to prove a point and guided in a
spanking ripping yarn of a finish before they'd even taken the
protective sash off the VAR monitor, to spill lunchtime Guiness
all over the place. But it flavoured the chips (breakfast) perfectly.

He potted around after that like an octagenarian gardner trying to
germinate runner beans but remained alert enough to pick out his
runner - AJ storming to the byline - to kill off the filthy degenerates
as hope for a second-half reprisal bloomed in their black hearts.

Icing on the cake from a Mooey top performance are his post-game
interviews - so zoned-out I expect to smell hash from the telly and
see him exit on a skateboard mid-sentence.


Reo, Reo - all about the endeavour today and no golden finishes to
slay the Edinburger Klan. But even not at his deadliest, for every
blocked shot or save there's a lift in your adrenalin levels when he
gets on the ball or turns an opponent; the sheer footballing potential
is worth the ticket alone. Or dodgy hacked firestick pub stream.


Ach, the only mild disappointment of the day. Still gave us a shift
but after Wednesday's worldy the promise of more Hacky wizardry
was in the air, only to be overwhelmed by the stench from the
stands as his threat fizzled out.


'Aye the wee mhan canny shake off those bas...YAAAAASS!"

He's here, he's there, he's everyfuckinwhere, and BANG! -
the workrate and the run-rate pay off with a sumptuous finish
after he squeezes his tiny form into a gap hardly the size
of Andy Halliday's winkie - micro according to Jamesy - and
the word 'TREBLE' begins to flash in yer heids.

He's irrepresible, and looks unstoppable.


Some jiving lessons for their fullback and lessons in grace for
the embittered hordes venting their Hunnic bile at him; usually
at the back of his jersey as he tore at their goalmouth, causing
carnage and goals with those mesmerising feet. Looks back at
it with intent, like a thoroughbred ready for Cheltenham.



'Wow, who the fuck's that?' I questioned at around the 56th
minute when he plucked a high ball out of the sky with a deft
touch, which he also displayed later as I wondered why Star
Lord had become very cool and unflustered second half.
And also Japanese...


On, smash about, have fun in a racous atmosphere.


Little time for craft like the viking shipbuilders, but our
builder nearly notched one for himself and delivered a
few quality balls.


Zippy, though after being clattered kept his head down and
his shins safe.


Your Japanese security service, please apply late-on for added
Yakuza steel.


Got yer Spurs on Ange? Hello Daily Rangers hacks, how's that workin'
out for ya? Illiterate deleewwded caants; Wrote that in a Michael Beale

No prizes for guessing the starting XI, and no surprises in how
Angeball took shape - most pleasing to the big mhan will be the
veracity with which we went at them from the whistle and the quicker
release of cutting passes seeking Kyogo runs, as he'd commented
upon after Wednesday.

Cup fun over until we get to pump the big Huns again, Ange will focus
on the Edinburgh sequel next weekend - Trainspotting 3 - and the
beginning of the final countdown as the games left tick down from 10.

Nobody sleepes on the job under Ange's watch. Golden times ahead.

MIBBERY - 3/10

Meh, not even Gollum on the VAR could conjure any feint of sorcery
to defy the hooped machine. Nancy Drew pulled a card on CCV to
put him firmly in the driving seat for the Season's Bravest MIB award
at the annual Goatfuckers Ball next month. But this Celtic side ultimately
left them grasping air with a comprehensive, controlled bludgeoning.

OVERALL - 8/10

A comfortable cup win in the frenzied cauldron of Gargoyle Road,
vilified by a festering rabble on three sides of their prototype unionist
Death Star; like rogue DNA from Jim Henson's workshop got into the
local water supply.

Given the event and the high stakes, the Bhoys turned in a champions
performance, eviscerating them with rapier pace and blunting their
rebuke with stoicism.

This was the cup game at Hearts you fantasised about - no panic, no
lamentable collapse, no surrendering (see what I did there, unhealthily
excited Hun interlopers?) the treble dream. A competent, determined
Celtic team out to share our vision of scooping the lot.

So... Cup semi ahead, a title maybe tied up before it to go with the
Mickey Mouse Cup we wouldn't even let the Huns win just for a laugh.

These are the magic days, Celtic being proper Celtic, upholding a
legacy, forging new history; heroes for a new age, and a relish
for more and more of it shared by us all. Treble Yell Ahoy...
Ahoy! Land, sea and sky!

Go Away Now


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