Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC V FERENEMELDAMARCOS
"So ma Da's Spanish cousin - he changes the holy water in
the Barca chapel. And he's in there the other day, behind
the altar workin' oan the kegs - cos they go through a lot,
like - an' he hears a stramash ootside. There's hollerin'
and someone's shoutin' 'Your tea's oot, ya buck-toothed
Uruguayan prick - Ah'll mollicate ye if ye try tae nibble
my erse in the shower again!' In Spanish, y'know...
An' then he says wee Messi storms in and disnae see him
roon the back and he kneels at the altar and mumbles a
prayer, like, 'Madre Dios, hear me and get me to Paradise,
let me change the stripes for Hoops and be with my people...'
An' Ma Da's cousin's like, "Eh? Naaaa...' An' then he sees
the fuckin' papers the day an' he's like, "Whaaaaaat?!..."
Gen-up gospel, totally legit."
Well-informed guy in the pub who knows stuff...
B.A BARKAS - 6/10
'I remember this - just like the Athens games...' he
mused between losing goals. But he was playing on the
right side those nights.
Still has an air of 'bewildered stoner' about him
when the ball's in his vicinity; can't really blame
him for wondering what he'd been smoking with those
so-called professional defenders in front of him
tributing Jerry Lewis.
HAT ATTACK - 3/10
Grim task for a big hard man to harry and chase
a fleet-footed winger. But his intensity developed
in the Mossad desert training camps - you try
living on scorpions and cactus needles for a week
- won through...
...Or so we thought. Criminal lapse in basic defensive
technique - had the ball, caught in two minds, fluffed
it, lost it, bang-fucking-bang you're dead. Ignored
the sacred defenders mantra, even though it's written
on the Mossad Maniac Academy walls: 'When In Doubt,
Put It Out; Better In The Stands Than In Your Net'
GREGGS THE BAKER - 5.5/10
Has to learn to differentiate between a sausage roll
stock-check and stop-and-check every time he's got the
chance to fire in an early/first-time cross.
Takes the sting out of attacks with his reluctance to
take as chance and zip one into the opposition box
ocassionally. Seems to confuse momentum withy yumyum.
JULIEN CLARY - 5.5/10
Casual as an 80s hooligan. Took him half an hour to
understand these feisty strikers weren't SPL donkeys.
Took him 90 minutes to realise he'd lost the battle with
forwards who should have been smashed into hiding early
on. Instead, paid the price of being lax and giving
encouragment to opponents.
AJER - 7.5/10
Once he started striding forward and cancelling out their
pressers we began to get on top. He barrelled through their
lines a couple of times like a rampaging Norwegian troll and
it unnerved them. He had a great game. He'll be pissed.
He'll probably be off to Italy.
BROON - 7/10
Captain's job is to steady the ship. Had a lot of work to do
in the first half hour as his crew went more Pirates of The
Caribbean than America's Cup. Detractors turn on Broon - our
least-gifted midfielder - when things go wrong but he was
struggling to contain opposing players who were running off
their markers - i.e Calmac, Sam Jackson,Jamesy even,
weren't doing a correct defensive job.
It took others clicking around him to allow Broon to do his
best work - exerting a modicum of control over their tiring
runners and raising the pressure on their backline by driving
us forward.
See the tackle he was scandalously booked for? THAT is the
sort of tackle that WINS games. His overall task was done
well. Ultimately, other departments scuttled SS Celtic.
CALMAC - 6/10
Hmm, edgy and more cautious than usual until the game turned
our way. Then he was busy and tidy but never tellingly
influential; we needed more from him when we were on top;
we needed Calmac the Conqueror, instead of Calmac the Janitor.
CORPUS CHRISTIE - 8/10 MOTM
NOT a centre forward, despite his divine heritage. But, by
his Dad, did he slog it out - a great example for any kid of
how to apply yourself when played out of position. Sadly,
bizarrely - his game is timed runs into the box through
regimented defences like we faced tonight and he failed only
in the respect that we needed him busting through the middle
as well - y'know, the trinity thing: father, son and Holy
Ghoster...
SAM JACKSON - 7.5/10
Had enough muthufuckin' about and decided to get on them like
a muthufucka somewhere aaround the half hour mark. And he laid
down the muthufuckin' law all second half in a game that should
have cemented his position as a daym advanced mid.
But for every dee-ligthful muthufuckin nick, flick and flash
of mu-thu-fu-ckin' guile, there was no spearhead up front to
complete his muthufuckin exploitation.
FORREST - 3/10
Dear oh dear, Jamesy. These are your nights. Where was the
direct and troublesome winger with the laser-focus who's
ripped up the qualifiers of the past?
He was a husk of himself, putting in only one memorable thrust
(very unusual, ladies, don't left-swipe...) against a tiring
defence begging to be run at.
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - 7.5/10
Lively and classy and looked like the fulcrum we'd leverage
a solid win from. Danced about their defensive block with
deft touch, lacking all but a finish.
SUBS -
THE YETI - N/A
Rumoured appearance only; Not a true sighting recorded.
PNGPONG - 7/10
Wee mhan full of energy and committment, excelled, went on
a Maradonna and should have taken it upon himself to show
his seniors how to finish but he laid it off and there went
the last chance.
LENNONY - 5/10
Nnnngh, faced a big test with a biiig gamble. Wisely threw
in Sam Jackson as enforcer. And also stopped playing just
one up front... Went with none...
So the teamsheet dropped like a Crain Levine porn mag and
Lennony's thought process was interrupted by the clicking
echoes of a metaphorical multitude of loading guns rippling
through the metaverse.
Despite the empty stadium he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling
of being watched through rifle sights; Now he'll think he's
living in the soundtrack of a Hitchcock thriller with all the
sounds of sharpening knives he'll keep hearing behind his back.
Nearly one step beyond, maybe a pass due to Covid and the
looming TEN, but he won't get away blowing big bucks three
years in a row.
Almost pulled it out of the fire with decent tactcal adjustments,
BUT... didn't go far enough. And the sucker-punch may have left
permanent scarring.
OVERALL -
Good evening Sir/Madam. Would you like a starter of incomprehensible
slackness, or shall we proceed to the main course of an Athens, or
a Cluj, or even a lowly Copenhagen? - you'll recognise the historical
flavours as they've been cunningly woven through tonights shitshow.
A CL qualifier without yer main man - we've seen this curse before,
and should have known there was withcraft a foot when a number
of farms in areas of staunch debauchery reported missing goats.
But here was another winnable game that we contrived to make
unwinnable. Right on the hour mark I got the Clujies - as we hit
the bar and awaited the inevitable two or three strikes that would
dismiss the Hungarians I flashed back - Saigon acid, if you must
know; Apocalypse Now indeed... - to last August when Corpus fizzed
a shot narrowly wide v Cluj at 2-1 us. Domestically, Celtic on
top with a hlaf hour to go is a 99% certainty. But here we were
again - Cluj. Comfortable? Inevitable? Blew it. Again.
And the cost? Bucks, yes, but will we see French Eddy in the
Hoops again? You know the price of CL failure, and you know how
PL balances the defecit, and you know how fraught the economic
future is at the moment. This one's a dinger.
If it wasn't for Covid I'd be heading down a nursing home tomorrow
to find an old person who remembers Celtic playing in the Champions
League. At least the players will be happy the Scottish Diddy
Government didn't sanction a fans' return; and it'll save the GB
making up a big banner that simply says, 'Scunnered.'
Go Away Now.
Sandman.
"So ma Da's Spanish cousin - he changes the holy water in
the Barca chapel. And he's in there the other day, behind
the altar workin' oan the kegs - cos they go through a lot,
like - an' he hears a stramash ootside. There's hollerin'
and someone's shoutin' 'Your tea's oot, ya buck-toothed
Uruguayan prick - Ah'll mollicate ye if ye try tae nibble
my erse in the shower again!' In Spanish, y'know...
An' then he says wee Messi storms in and disnae see him
roon the back and he kneels at the altar and mumbles a
prayer, like, 'Madre Dios, hear me and get me to Paradise,
let me change the stripes for Hoops and be with my people...'
An' Ma Da's cousin's like, "Eh? Naaaa...' An' then he sees
the fuckin' papers the day an' he's like, "Whaaaaaat?!..."
Gen-up gospel, totally legit."
Well-informed guy in the pub who knows stuff...
B.A BARKAS - 6/10
'I remember this - just like the Athens games...' he
mused between losing goals. But he was playing on the
right side those nights.
Still has an air of 'bewildered stoner' about him
when the ball's in his vicinity; can't really blame
him for wondering what he'd been smoking with those
so-called professional defenders in front of him
tributing Jerry Lewis.
HAT ATTACK - 3/10
Grim task for a big hard man to harry and chase
a fleet-footed winger. But his intensity developed
in the Mossad desert training camps - you try
living on scorpions and cactus needles for a week
- won through...
...Or so we thought. Criminal lapse in basic defensive
technique - had the ball, caught in two minds, fluffed
it, lost it, bang-fucking-bang you're dead. Ignored
the sacred defenders mantra, even though it's written
on the Mossad Maniac Academy walls: 'When In Doubt,
Put It Out; Better In The Stands Than In Your Net'
GREGGS THE BAKER - 5.5/10
Has to learn to differentiate between a sausage roll
stock-check and stop-and-check every time he's got the
chance to fire in an early/first-time cross.
Takes the sting out of attacks with his reluctance to
take as chance and zip one into the opposition box
ocassionally. Seems to confuse momentum withy yumyum.
JULIEN CLARY - 5.5/10
Casual as an 80s hooligan. Took him half an hour to
understand these feisty strikers weren't SPL donkeys.
Took him 90 minutes to realise he'd lost the battle with
forwards who should have been smashed into hiding early
on. Instead, paid the price of being lax and giving
encouragment to opponents.
AJER - 7.5/10
Once he started striding forward and cancelling out their
pressers we began to get on top. He barrelled through their
lines a couple of times like a rampaging Norwegian troll and
it unnerved them. He had a great game. He'll be pissed.
He'll probably be off to Italy.
BROON - 7/10
Captain's job is to steady the ship. Had a lot of work to do
in the first half hour as his crew went more Pirates of The
Caribbean than America's Cup. Detractors turn on Broon - our
least-gifted midfielder - when things go wrong but he was
struggling to contain opposing players who were running off
their markers - i.e Calmac, Sam Jackson,Jamesy even,
weren't doing a correct defensive job.
It took others clicking around him to allow Broon to do his
best work - exerting a modicum of control over their tiring
runners and raising the pressure on their backline by driving
us forward.
See the tackle he was scandalously booked for? THAT is the
sort of tackle that WINS games. His overall task was done
well. Ultimately, other departments scuttled SS Celtic.
CALMAC - 6/10
Hmm, edgy and more cautious than usual until the game turned
our way. Then he was busy and tidy but never tellingly
influential; we needed more from him when we were on top;
we needed Calmac the Conqueror, instead of Calmac the Janitor.
CORPUS CHRISTIE - 8/10 MOTM
NOT a centre forward, despite his divine heritage. But, by
his Dad, did he slog it out - a great example for any kid of
how to apply yourself when played out of position. Sadly,
bizarrely - his game is timed runs into the box through
regimented defences like we faced tonight and he failed only
in the respect that we needed him busting through the middle
as well - y'know, the trinity thing: father, son and Holy
Ghoster...
SAM JACKSON - 7.5/10
Had enough muthufuckin' about and decided to get on them like
a muthufucka somewhere aaround the half hour mark. And he laid
down the muthufuckin' law all second half in a game that should
have cemented his position as a daym advanced mid.
But for every dee-ligthful muthufuckin nick, flick and flash
of mu-thu-fu-ckin' guile, there was no spearhead up front to
complete his muthufuckin exploitation.
FORREST - 3/10
Dear oh dear, Jamesy. These are your nights. Where was the
direct and troublesome winger with the laser-focus who's
ripped up the qualifiers of the past?
He was a husk of himself, putting in only one memorable thrust
(very unusual, ladies, don't left-swipe...) against a tiring
defence begging to be run at.
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - 7.5/10
Lively and classy and looked like the fulcrum we'd leverage
a solid win from. Danced about their defensive block with
deft touch, lacking all but a finish.
SUBS -
THE YETI - N/A
Rumoured appearance only; Not a true sighting recorded.
PNGPONG - 7/10
Wee mhan full of energy and committment, excelled, went on
a Maradonna and should have taken it upon himself to show
his seniors how to finish but he laid it off and there went
the last chance.
LENNONY - 5/10
Nnnngh, faced a big test with a biiig gamble. Wisely threw
in Sam Jackson as enforcer. And also stopped playing just
one up front... Went with none...
So the teamsheet dropped like a Crain Levine porn mag and
Lennony's thought process was interrupted by the clicking
echoes of a metaphorical multitude of loading guns rippling
through the metaverse.
Despite the empty stadium he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling
of being watched through rifle sights; Now he'll think he's
living in the soundtrack of a Hitchcock thriller with all the
sounds of sharpening knives he'll keep hearing behind his back.
Nearly one step beyond, maybe a pass due to Covid and the
looming TEN, but he won't get away blowing big bucks three
years in a row.
Almost pulled it out of the fire with decent tactcal adjustments,
BUT... didn't go far enough. And the sucker-punch may have left
permanent scarring.
OVERALL -
Good evening Sir/Madam. Would you like a starter of incomprehensible
slackness, or shall we proceed to the main course of an Athens, or
a Cluj, or even a lowly Copenhagen? - you'll recognise the historical
flavours as they've been cunningly woven through tonights shitshow.
A CL qualifier without yer main man - we've seen this curse before,
and should have known there was withcraft a foot when a number
of farms in areas of staunch debauchery reported missing goats.
But here was another winnable game that we contrived to make
unwinnable. Right on the hour mark I got the Clujies - as we hit
the bar and awaited the inevitable two or three strikes that would
dismiss the Hungarians I flashed back - Saigon acid, if you must
know; Apocalypse Now indeed... - to last August when Corpus fizzed
a shot narrowly wide v Cluj at 2-1 us. Domestically, Celtic on
top with a hlaf hour to go is a 99% certainty. But here we were
again - Cluj. Comfortable? Inevitable? Blew it. Again.
And the cost? Bucks, yes, but will we see French Eddy in the
Hoops again? You know the price of CL failure, and you know how
PL balances the defecit, and you know how fraught the economic
future is at the moment. This one's a dinger.
If it wasn't for Covid I'd be heading down a nursing home tomorrow
to find an old person who remembers Celtic playing in the Champions
League. At least the players will be happy the Scottish Diddy
Government didn't sanction a fans' return; and it'll save the GB
making up a big banner that simply says, 'Scunnered.'
Go Away Now.
Sandman.
