Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS - CELTIC LITE v SPUD'S STROLLERS
“The greatest mystery of existence is existence itself.”
Deepak Chopra, paraphrasing L.Griffiths.
DUKE OF HAZARD - 6/10
Fine save 1 on 1 looked to have turned the tide for us.
Good shot-stopping was tarnished by his part in the chaotic
chucking of the lead at the death as he failed to clear-out
or get a hand on the ball.
WELSH - 6.5/10
Solid enough outing from young Raquel, despite obviously
feeling the cold in her fur bikini. Can't argue with his
disciplined play, competently fulfilling his remit.
ALAN LADD - 6/10
Dear God, the last defender standing. Reminded me of the
grand National of 1967 when Foinavon emerged from the
pile-up to leap the 23rd fence and win. They named that
fence after the unlikely outsider. Tonight, they put one in
the Celtic defence and we shut our eyes.
After a stoic performance - a mix of great defensive blocks
and headers, and also stupid passes giving away possession -
positivity was tainted by yet another failure at a vital set-piece.
We needed a commanding presence. He's here for that.
We got overwhelmed. And undone.
DREXL - 4/10
Always competitive, regardless of form. As the left channel
got clogged and he roved inside we looked more dangerous.
BUT, with the game in the bag, fucking idiocy - a lazy foul
and they scramble the equaliser. That crucial flaw is why he's
here and not at the San Siro.
PINGPONG - 5/10
Not advanced enough. Whether that was a ploy, wary of
Hibs breaking or just that he was stifled, his attacking
effectiveness was blunted and he was sometimes caught
in no-man's land as long diagonals searching out Hibs'
widemen swooped over his head.
MAN OF - 7/10 MOTM
Booked, by brother of Hun striker. Taken down by a
worse offence moments later; no card - a microcosm
of what we're up against.
Then, as we imposed, he unleashed a screamer that
brought out the save of the game. It was also a signal
of Celtic asserting some dominance. He continued to
be the only consistent, reliable midfield performer. All
the more admirable given the Sword of Damocles
hanging over him for an hour.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6.5/10
Surprisingly ineffective against his beloved former team,
after starting with his custom floating threat.
Though when we required some quality input to win the
game, up he stepped with a peach of a free-kick and it
looked like he was going to be the hero. Not so.
CALMAC - 4/10
Cautious and majorly disappointing. Weight of responsibility?
How unlike Calmac to exert so litlte influence on a game
set up for him to dominate and dictate the passage of play.
His anonymity was baffling as he popped up from the fringes
like a bit-player when so often he's the lead role.
ROGIC - 5/10
Flashes of guile promised much. But we needed a matchwinning
Oz and by the time the game was stretched, he'd stretched too
much and was heavy-legged and heavy-touched.
JOE HARPER - 4/10
Well, he's lost a ton of weight since last time I watched
him in an Aberdeen shirt. We got movement and sharpness
from a bhoy keen to make an impression, but who left none.
His confidence seemed to evaporate after squandering a
chance when a cut-back option was a tap-in for Oz.
MIKEY J - 4/10
Started slack and sand-dancerish. Echoing the 80s in more
ways than hairstyle - he's beginning to replicate the lightwieght
contributions of Owen Archdeacon when we need a Tommy
Coyne.
SUBS:
FLEX ARMSTRONG - N/A
The big moment he'd waitied/tweeted for. Someone give
him a kick of the ball next time.
HENDERSON T-9000 - N/A
The latest Henderson replicant appreared with hope of
some flashy matchwinning touches. Didn't get one.
KARAOKE - N/A
Another enlightening appearance form the gifted kid?
No time or service to light up anything.
STRACHAN JR - 6/10
Tried to sign Scott McDonald this afternoon. Demanded
we maintained velocity from the start - an old Strachan
family gag. Must have thought he's take his 100% record
home but disaster spoiled his night.
Could he have done more? Shored it up better? - we looked
so fucking open at 1-0 The Omen soundtrack should have
been played over the PA system.
Ah, well. He'll not want to hear anything too negative from
anyone with a devil dug and a can of Kestrel so best ignore
the phone-ins then, Gav.
OVERALL - 5/10
So, what did we learn? Well, we know who big Jullien Clary's
been shagging in Dubai. Griff was the cert, obviously, but
it was dismaying to see our entire forward guns obliterated.
And wouldn't you just know from this apparently cursed season
of the 10 that we wouldn't hang around for the huns to win it;
we'd throw it at them too for good measure...
Our midfield was strong enough to call the shots and
compensate for the lightweight frontline. Or so we believed.
Properly functioning, the engine room should have seen us
clear. Yet even at a struggle, we'd done enough...
After surviving Hibs' 50 corners it came down to...
...Just basically defending a cross for a terrific psychological
victory.
And they just basically fucked it.
This is Unknown Celtic to many. This bizarre season casts me
right back to the inexplicable fuck-ups of the 90s as the Huns
cheated their way to glory and we played everybody off the
park before tributing Kurt Cobain and turning the shotgun under
our chins.
Back then we were a similar collective of talents you expected
to blend into a dynamic title-winning machine. And yet it was
bewildering X-Files material every week then, too, mostly; Such
parallels we are experiencing now, right before our eyes.
They say history doesn't repeat, but it rhymes. Well, it's shit
at poetry this season.
Go Away Now. 20/21
Sandman
“The greatest mystery of existence is existence itself.”
Deepak Chopra, paraphrasing L.Griffiths.
DUKE OF HAZARD - 6/10
Fine save 1 on 1 looked to have turned the tide for us.
Good shot-stopping was tarnished by his part in the chaotic
chucking of the lead at the death as he failed to clear-out
or get a hand on the ball.
WELSH - 6.5/10
Solid enough outing from young Raquel, despite obviously
feeling the cold in her fur bikini. Can't argue with his
disciplined play, competently fulfilling his remit.
ALAN LADD - 6/10
Dear God, the last defender standing. Reminded me of the
grand National of 1967 when Foinavon emerged from the
pile-up to leap the 23rd fence and win. They named that
fence after the unlikely outsider. Tonight, they put one in
the Celtic defence and we shut our eyes.
After a stoic performance - a mix of great defensive blocks
and headers, and also stupid passes giving away possession -
positivity was tainted by yet another failure at a vital set-piece.
We needed a commanding presence. He's here for that.
We got overwhelmed. And undone.
DREXL - 4/10
Always competitive, regardless of form. As the left channel
got clogged and he roved inside we looked more dangerous.
BUT, with the game in the bag, fucking idiocy - a lazy foul
and they scramble the equaliser. That crucial flaw is why he's
here and not at the San Siro.
PINGPONG - 5/10
Not advanced enough. Whether that was a ploy, wary of
Hibs breaking or just that he was stifled, his attacking
effectiveness was blunted and he was sometimes caught
in no-man's land as long diagonals searching out Hibs'
widemen swooped over his head.
MAN OF - 7/10 MOTM
Booked, by brother of Hun striker. Taken down by a
worse offence moments later; no card - a microcosm
of what we're up against.
Then, as we imposed, he unleashed a screamer that
brought out the save of the game. It was also a signal
of Celtic asserting some dominance. He continued to
be the only consistent, reliable midfield performer. All
the more admirable given the Sword of Damocles
hanging over him for an hour.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6.5/10
Surprisingly ineffective against his beloved former team,
after starting with his custom floating threat.
Though when we required some quality input to win the
game, up he stepped with a peach of a free-kick and it
looked like he was going to be the hero. Not so.
CALMAC - 4/10
Cautious and majorly disappointing. Weight of responsibility?
How unlike Calmac to exert so litlte influence on a game
set up for him to dominate and dictate the passage of play.
His anonymity was baffling as he popped up from the fringes
like a bit-player when so often he's the lead role.
ROGIC - 5/10
Flashes of guile promised much. But we needed a matchwinning
Oz and by the time the game was stretched, he'd stretched too
much and was heavy-legged and heavy-touched.
JOE HARPER - 4/10
Well, he's lost a ton of weight since last time I watched
him in an Aberdeen shirt. We got movement and sharpness
from a bhoy keen to make an impression, but who left none.
His confidence seemed to evaporate after squandering a
chance when a cut-back option was a tap-in for Oz.
MIKEY J - 4/10
Started slack and sand-dancerish. Echoing the 80s in more
ways than hairstyle - he's beginning to replicate the lightwieght
contributions of Owen Archdeacon when we need a Tommy
Coyne.
SUBS:
FLEX ARMSTRONG - N/A
The big moment he'd waitied/tweeted for. Someone give
him a kick of the ball next time.
HENDERSON T-9000 - N/A
The latest Henderson replicant appreared with hope of
some flashy matchwinning touches. Didn't get one.
KARAOKE - N/A
Another enlightening appearance form the gifted kid?
No time or service to light up anything.
STRACHAN JR - 6/10
Tried to sign Scott McDonald this afternoon. Demanded
we maintained velocity from the start - an old Strachan
family gag. Must have thought he's take his 100% record
home but disaster spoiled his night.
Could he have done more? Shored it up better? - we looked
so fucking open at 1-0 The Omen soundtrack should have
been played over the PA system.
Ah, well. He'll not want to hear anything too negative from
anyone with a devil dug and a can of Kestrel so best ignore
the phone-ins then, Gav.
OVERALL - 5/10
So, what did we learn? Well, we know who big Jullien Clary's
been shagging in Dubai. Griff was the cert, obviously, but
it was dismaying to see our entire forward guns obliterated.
And wouldn't you just know from this apparently cursed season
of the 10 that we wouldn't hang around for the huns to win it;
we'd throw it at them too for good measure...
Our midfield was strong enough to call the shots and
compensate for the lightweight frontline. Or so we believed.
Properly functioning, the engine room should have seen us
clear. Yet even at a struggle, we'd done enough...
After surviving Hibs' 50 corners it came down to...
...Just basically defending a cross for a terrific psychological
victory.
And they just basically fucked it.
This is Unknown Celtic to many. This bizarre season casts me
right back to the inexplicable fuck-ups of the 90s as the Huns
cheated their way to glory and we played everybody off the
park before tributing Kurt Cobain and turning the shotgun under
our chins.
Back then we were a similar collective of talents you expected
to blend into a dynamic title-winning machine. And yet it was
bewildering X-Files material every week then, too, mostly; Such
parallels we are experiencing now, right before our eyes.
They say history doesn't repeat, but it rhymes. Well, it's shit
at poetry this season.
Go Away Now. 20/21
Sandman
