Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ THE BABYLON CLUB
"The blind cannot see. The MIBs will not see."
- Russian proverb.
ROXIE - 5.5/10
A return to the scene of the crime - his first and only
red card last September - and Joe must have felt the
area was still cordoned off, given the amount of the ball
he saw. Barely a save of note, played more with his feet,
and must have hammered 5 packets of Wrigleys through
the boredom.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 5.5/10
Maybe it was too much sugar from his easter cookies
but the reliable baker was firing off wayward passes
all first 45 like a pished-up Happy Gilmore.
After that greetin' wee face berated the playing conditions
for an hour, he settled his frustration and played his
part in the win. But I suspect he'll be one of the first
celebrating the end of Livingston's top-flight tenure.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 6/10
Hustle, bustle, indeterminable muscle control -
plastic particles played havoc with his final ball
as he continually linked up well but couldn't
deliver the goods.
But persistence beats resistence and the Moose's
example set the scene for the eventual victory.
OF JUSTICE - 5.5/10
Surface, yes. Casuality, no; excuses only run so far.
Liam needs to shake that langour which haunts him at
times of indecision and results in careless distribution.
Something that better sides than Livi will punish;
something that's crept into his games since establishing
his spot.
A little tuning and a little sharpening is required
before lapses become habitual and damaging.
GET CARTER - 6.5/10
Nonsense not tolerated, as their rangy agile striker
found out after briefly attmepting to duke it out with
The Enforcer early on.
Mostly untroubled, and a relief to see him emerge
unscathed too.
TONIO IWATAO - 6.5/10
Quietly and villainously effective. Any brief
flurry of Livi adventure or resurgence was snuffed
out like a stolen orphan at a P Diddy party.
In tandmen with his Japanese cohorts, our enforcer
admirably galvanised the centre mid and let the
players play.
HAKUNA HATATE - 7/10
Reo for the culture. There was an air of craft
and guile about the midfeld as the long-lost
Honourable Hunskelper returned to
the fold.
Whatever journey of self-discovery he's been
on, trekking the Himalayas for months with
nothing but a flask of Bovril, rosary beads
and the Tibetan Book Of The Dead *, then it's
one from which we've regained some rejuvanated
quality to enhance the midfeld bang on time
for the final push.
*actually, he was injured.
THE BUILDER - 6/10
A pitch not made for the suave. Yet, he
persevered and may have believed his talent
would be rewarded; that it was, with the third
and a relieved smile knowing the worst would
soon be over and he could get back to playing
football on a pitch that less resembles
Chairman Mao's old table tennis bat collection.
TAKINTE - 7.5/10 MOTM
Inverse, Brah - the heavier he gets, the niftier
he gets. Are you listening, Lizzo?
His influence here was gradual - like your eyebrows
creeping up your forehead every time he got the
ball and deceived, not flattered.
But then suddenly we had a difference-maker, an
antidote to their poisonous surface, and he turned
the tricky task on its head by robbing a dipshit
defender and causing the ensuing chaos that led to
the breakthrough.
Once blood was drawn he looked most likely to kill
the game dead, drawing a solid save from more flighty
footwork. A proper player is emerging, bang on cue.
KILLER MUSHROOM - 6/10
You're allowed to be kicked, wee mhan - it's the
rules of the Raj. And despite the penalty-non-penalty
stonewaller, he furnished a chance or two with sheer
endeavour despite more appalling lack of service.
For once, his killer instinct didn't have to dig us
out of a hole and he can rest and prepare for the
journey into the heart of darkness; Or Joseph Conrad
Sunday as it's known in literary circles.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 6.5/10
That heid - It's now Daizeminem.
As his rap career takes off he doesn't let it affect
his football; sadly, sometimes that's not a good thing
as he tends to lose himself in the moment, and crosses
fly away when he tries to please stand one up for the
real Slim Shady.
After causing much confusion running around the outside
calling everybody Stan, looking for Kim, there was no
doubting Daizeminem when he pointed out 'it's so empty
without me.'
And as he'll tell you: 'It's just the way I am'. And
where would we be without the 100% effort from our
Role Model? As long as you remember what his name is.
His name is. His name is...
SUBS -
SAINT BERNARDO - 6.5/10
The evil O'Reilly twin appears from the ether and
plays a metaphysical one-two with his purer self
before killing the game off sweetly. Wicked.
DUNCAN IDAHO - 5.5/10
A speculative long-ranger from somewhere near the
Dr.Livingston memorial tuned his touch in nicely
for him to lay on the third with tidy footwork in
a tight spot.
YING - N/A
Welcome back. No kicky heids of pricks.
JAMESY - N/A
"No, Jamesy, it's RESurrection Sunday. Always remember
the 'Rez' syllable first; it'll save a whole lot of legal
fees. Now, on you go for a few minutes."
Jamesy loves Easter - the chicks and particularly the
bunnies, for whom he likes to set aside an hour of prayer
and offer thanks in memory of their creator, Hugh Heffner.
NED KELLY - N/A
Disgraceful - dragged the kid away from his egg hunt
and made him go play on the plasticine for a wee while.
THE SHNAKE - 6.5/10
Away from the touchline, but not far enough was the
sentiment around half-time. Mercifully for him and us,
the tide turned with the interval and a few off-pitch
bangs woke him up enough to tweak personnel and see
out an expected win.
Four Japanese, he started with. After thirty games trying
to eradicate their influence. Is this a surrender to the Rising
Sun? Is it in time? Has he been binging on Shogun through
the break? Are we now going to suffer him on the touchline
wearing a kimono and referring to himself in interviews as
'Brennan Rajas'?
MIBBERY - 6/10
What kind of blindfolded gimp looks at a slo-mo replay
of Kyogo getting creamed from behind (steady Jamesy)
and dismisses it within seconds?
Rhetorical question, obviously. Answer is cheating Hun
bastard. Their sheer hubris. God knows what skullduggery
awaits us next week.
OVERALL - 7/10
Eventually, we'll take that.
Jee-sus, I cannot be arsed with non-competitive International
breaks. It was last night, after my fourth cinema visit to
see Dune Part 2 (2 big screen, 1 Imax, 1 small, intimate
theatre) - yes, kids, nothing better to combat the blues
than the blockbuster of the century; multiple times... - deep
in the turning seasons, that it dawned on me the proper football
was back imminently, and that I'd be occupied more with writing
this pish than metaphysically tearing about Araakis blowing up
the Huns. Sorry, 'Harkonnens'...
An appetiser then, at the dreaded Livi playground put together
with cursed melted lego from the Neverland Ranch. This was set
up as Narco Davey's Sellic swansong; last chance to strike a blow
for his dark masters. would we see an Easter uprising or depressing?
The toil of the opening half suggested the latter and my
creeping headache from darkened cinema stalls struggled to
cope with the sunny spring lunchtime pints of Guiness health
tonic prescribed to me that very morning by Dr. Inner Voice.
Eventually, whatever Jesus juice the bhoys took at half-time
worked like the magic blackstuff and we both had a second-half
to dispell the demons.
Of course we were expected to win, and of course we did.
But pleasingly, it was in an eventual no-fuss manner at
a former graveyard of optimism. Players came through fit,
healthy and confident - some appearing ready to bewilder
the conceited, arrogant Huns with unfamiliar boxes of tricks
next Schadenfreude Sunday.
So the season's a single-figure countdown of matches, with
two death-or-glory contests that will decide all. The ending
of this movie will be epic and dramatic. I can't dare to
call it, as we've been on our knees so many times. But we're
soon going to find out if this falls the way of original
fantastical lore as from the pen of Frank Herbert, or pretendy
repackaged artifice that's fooling nobody from the thieving
lens of George lucas (See what i did there, Dune and pissed-off
Star Wars fans?).
Here comes the final battle, so jump on for the ride.
Fear is the mind-killer. Long live the fighters.
Go Away Now
Sandman
"The blind cannot see. The MIBs will not see."
- Russian proverb.
ROXIE - 5.5/10
A return to the scene of the crime - his first and only
red card last September - and Joe must have felt the
area was still cordoned off, given the amount of the ball
he saw. Barely a save of note, played more with his feet,
and must have hammered 5 packets of Wrigleys through
the boredom.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 5.5/10
Maybe it was too much sugar from his easter cookies
but the reliable baker was firing off wayward passes
all first 45 like a pished-up Happy Gilmore.
After that greetin' wee face berated the playing conditions
for an hour, he settled his frustration and played his
part in the win. But I suspect he'll be one of the first
celebrating the end of Livingston's top-flight tenure.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 6/10
Hustle, bustle, indeterminable muscle control -
plastic particles played havoc with his final ball
as he continually linked up well but couldn't
deliver the goods.
But persistence beats resistence and the Moose's
example set the scene for the eventual victory.
OF JUSTICE - 5.5/10
Surface, yes. Casuality, no; excuses only run so far.
Liam needs to shake that langour which haunts him at
times of indecision and results in careless distribution.
Something that better sides than Livi will punish;
something that's crept into his games since establishing
his spot.
A little tuning and a little sharpening is required
before lapses become habitual and damaging.
GET CARTER - 6.5/10
Nonsense not tolerated, as their rangy agile striker
found out after briefly attmepting to duke it out with
The Enforcer early on.
Mostly untroubled, and a relief to see him emerge
unscathed too.
TONIO IWATAO - 6.5/10
Quietly and villainously effective. Any brief
flurry of Livi adventure or resurgence was snuffed
out like a stolen orphan at a P Diddy party.
In tandmen with his Japanese cohorts, our enforcer
admirably galvanised the centre mid and let the
players play.
HAKUNA HATATE - 7/10
Reo for the culture. There was an air of craft
and guile about the midfeld as the long-lost
Honourable Hunskelper returned to
the fold.
Whatever journey of self-discovery he's been
on, trekking the Himalayas for months with
nothing but a flask of Bovril, rosary beads
and the Tibetan Book Of The Dead *, then it's
one from which we've regained some rejuvanated
quality to enhance the midfeld bang on time
for the final push.
*actually, he was injured.
THE BUILDER - 6/10
A pitch not made for the suave. Yet, he
persevered and may have believed his talent
would be rewarded; that it was, with the third
and a relieved smile knowing the worst would
soon be over and he could get back to playing
football on a pitch that less resembles
Chairman Mao's old table tennis bat collection.
TAKINTE - 7.5/10 MOTM
Inverse, Brah - the heavier he gets, the niftier
he gets. Are you listening, Lizzo?
His influence here was gradual - like your eyebrows
creeping up your forehead every time he got the
ball and deceived, not flattered.
But then suddenly we had a difference-maker, an
antidote to their poisonous surface, and he turned
the tricky task on its head by robbing a dipshit
defender and causing the ensuing chaos that led to
the breakthrough.
Once blood was drawn he looked most likely to kill
the game dead, drawing a solid save from more flighty
footwork. A proper player is emerging, bang on cue.
KILLER MUSHROOM - 6/10
You're allowed to be kicked, wee mhan - it's the
rules of the Raj. And despite the penalty-non-penalty
stonewaller, he furnished a chance or two with sheer
endeavour despite more appalling lack of service.
For once, his killer instinct didn't have to dig us
out of a hole and he can rest and prepare for the
journey into the heart of darkness; Or Joseph Conrad
Sunday as it's known in literary circles.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 6.5/10
That heid - It's now Daizeminem.
As his rap career takes off he doesn't let it affect
his football; sadly, sometimes that's not a good thing
as he tends to lose himself in the moment, and crosses
fly away when he tries to please stand one up for the
real Slim Shady.
After causing much confusion running around the outside
calling everybody Stan, looking for Kim, there was no
doubting Daizeminem when he pointed out 'it's so empty
without me.'
And as he'll tell you: 'It's just the way I am'. And
where would we be without the 100% effort from our
Role Model? As long as you remember what his name is.
His name is. His name is...
SUBS -
SAINT BERNARDO - 6.5/10
The evil O'Reilly twin appears from the ether and
plays a metaphysical one-two with his purer self
before killing the game off sweetly. Wicked.
DUNCAN IDAHO - 5.5/10
A speculative long-ranger from somewhere near the
Dr.Livingston memorial tuned his touch in nicely
for him to lay on the third with tidy footwork in
a tight spot.
YING - N/A
Welcome back. No kicky heids of pricks.
JAMESY - N/A
"No, Jamesy, it's RESurrection Sunday. Always remember
the 'Rez' syllable first; it'll save a whole lot of legal
fees. Now, on you go for a few minutes."
Jamesy loves Easter - the chicks and particularly the
bunnies, for whom he likes to set aside an hour of prayer
and offer thanks in memory of their creator, Hugh Heffner.
NED KELLY - N/A
Disgraceful - dragged the kid away from his egg hunt
and made him go play on the plasticine for a wee while.
THE SHNAKE - 6.5/10
Away from the touchline, but not far enough was the
sentiment around half-time. Mercifully for him and us,
the tide turned with the interval and a few off-pitch
bangs woke him up enough to tweak personnel and see
out an expected win.
Four Japanese, he started with. After thirty games trying
to eradicate their influence. Is this a surrender to the Rising
Sun? Is it in time? Has he been binging on Shogun through
the break? Are we now going to suffer him on the touchline
wearing a kimono and referring to himself in interviews as
'Brennan Rajas'?
MIBBERY - 6/10
What kind of blindfolded gimp looks at a slo-mo replay
of Kyogo getting creamed from behind (steady Jamesy)
and dismisses it within seconds?
Rhetorical question, obviously. Answer is cheating Hun
bastard. Their sheer hubris. God knows what skullduggery
awaits us next week.
OVERALL - 7/10
Eventually, we'll take that.
Jee-sus, I cannot be arsed with non-competitive International
breaks. It was last night, after my fourth cinema visit to
see Dune Part 2 (2 big screen, 1 Imax, 1 small, intimate
theatre) - yes, kids, nothing better to combat the blues
than the blockbuster of the century; multiple times... - deep
in the turning seasons, that it dawned on me the proper football
was back imminently, and that I'd be occupied more with writing
this pish than metaphysically tearing about Araakis blowing up
the Huns. Sorry, 'Harkonnens'...
An appetiser then, at the dreaded Livi playground put together
with cursed melted lego from the Neverland Ranch. This was set
up as Narco Davey's Sellic swansong; last chance to strike a blow
for his dark masters. would we see an Easter uprising or depressing?
The toil of the opening half suggested the latter and my
creeping headache from darkened cinema stalls struggled to
cope with the sunny spring lunchtime pints of Guiness health
tonic prescribed to me that very morning by Dr. Inner Voice.
Eventually, whatever Jesus juice the bhoys took at half-time
worked like the magic blackstuff and we both had a second-half
to dispell the demons.
Of course we were expected to win, and of course we did.
But pleasingly, it was in an eventual no-fuss manner at
a former graveyard of optimism. Players came through fit,
healthy and confident - some appearing ready to bewilder
the conceited, arrogant Huns with unfamiliar boxes of tricks
next Schadenfreude Sunday.
So the season's a single-figure countdown of matches, with
two death-or-glory contests that will decide all. The ending
of this movie will be epic and dramatic. I can't dare to
call it, as we've been on our knees so many times. But we're
soon going to find out if this falls the way of original
fantastical lore as from the pen of Frank Herbert, or pretendy
repackaged artifice that's fooling nobody from the thieving
lens of George lucas (See what i did there, Dune and pissed-off
Star Wars fans?).
Here comes the final battle, so jump on for the ride.
Fear is the mind-killer. Long live the fighters.
Go Away Now
Sandman
