Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v ...FLOCK'S SAKE
"Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition!
Or The Sheep winning."
- Monty Python.
THE FRIENDLY GHOST - 3/10
Sooo close... to not touching the ball at all with his
hands for the entire first half then fields one in injury
time.
Thought that might be the most notable incident
of his game, then those safe hands of the Lego
Jesus turned traitorous with just 7 regulation
minutes of the season remaining.
If he was a traffic cop he'd be Ricky Fulton's
supercop taking off his goggles - diverting the
ball calamitously into our net as the Dons
threw their last dice rolls.
Down he went, slow, doomed, like the Hindeburg,
and so too the treble, in flames. As for the pens,
not a hope.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6.5/10 MOTM
Probably our biggest hope as the grind wore
on - certainly the brightest to an opportunity,
fizzing in spectacular strikes from distance in
both halves. Stayed busy as usual and as inventive
as he could muster, but was frustrated by the
absence of verve around him.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 4/10
Someone hobbled The Moose. Couldn't get around their
double-deep cover as regularly as we're used to seeing.
When he did, hampered by hesitation or wrong pick of
cross. Surprised Tony wasn't given the task; AJ's day
summed up by the climactic tame penalty.
Question, though - why the fuck was he, the right-back,
a first-five taker? Who was hiding?
OF JUSTICE - 5.5/10
He appeared hesitant for the opening spell, but soon
within the first half hour Liam was one of our most
involved - something that bothered me at the time because
it seemed an indication of the lack of tempo.
Anyway, the Ginger Baresi settled well and picked off
everything they attempted to pop in-behind us, maintaining
a consistency of sharpness through the 120 min.
GET CARTER - 5/10
Wore a concerned look for the entirety, even after
'scoring' the opener. Rattled Presbyterian ratcatcher
Shindig well, but had bother containing the big Gayee
when he came on, conceding a lot of ground and
possession to him.
CALMAC - 5/10
Well, finally, a final to end his run of finals.
Anyone can miss a penalty, fitting that Calmac's
crestfallen moment came in the one he lost after
all these years; small consolation that he was at
the centre of it and didn't have to spectate. Did
the captain's bit and led the way.
He'd run the show for the duration, so must have
sensed the lack of cohesion and tempo; though he
tried to muster it, the cutting edge never appeared
and the Sheep got away unsheared.
SAINT BERNARDO - 2/10
He's a player, big Paulo, just not a player today.
Out for 90% of the season yet expected to hustle
through an intense cup final? He was cooked after
60 minutes, and that's being generous.
Why can I see that and the men who make the
decisions clap on happy, and have him running
around on empty when we needed vigor and energy
in there?
THE TERMINATOR - 5.5/10
We required some boots with class as the game wore
on. That looked likely when Arne cracked a post as
the Red wall in front of him began to wobble, chinks
of light appearing, openings MADE for one of his
positive movement and guile. Would it be his time
to kill them off and crown the season?
Nope. Rodger's hooked him immediately. And there
went a bit of hope. And legs for Extra time.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 5/10
After such a season; After such an assassination
of all who stood before the Samurai...
It had to be Daizen. The glorious chance to win
the treble at the death. Who else would we want
clean through? Who else was it written for?
Goddamn.
DUNCAN IDAHO - 3.5/10
Absent. But not without a sympathy note. Hulked
around among a trio of central defenders, trying
to find space, create some impact. But service
was nil and his presence rendered pointless.
TAKINTE - 2.5/10
What's become of The Kuhn? Once a more destructive
force than his Fatherland's blitzkrieg, he's
been mainly Kuhn-light since January.
Nothing of artistry came of those dancing boots
today, promising moves dissipating, clipped crosses
short, ineffectual backtracking...
If, as I suspect, he's 'conserving' himself so
as not to jeopardise a summer move, then the
management needs shooting for playing him as
part of the starting XI
SUBS -
YING - 3.5/10
Buzzing when he came on, in about them, an angry
wasp just out the jar it's been trapped in.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the line he got
swatted and finished the day blundering about
like a drunken bluebottle.
HIGHLAND TOFFEE - 4.5/10
Look, Luke, you looked likely but bizarrely, a bit
leggy. Though he might be the one for the big finish
but despite once or twice, his classy feet never
quite found the perfect synch.
SCHLUPP THE 'RA - 5.5/10
What a finale to his Celtic time that crossbar denied
him. But no slouch when required to make a fine sliding
tackle on their flying sub. No complaints about the big
fella's committment to the cause.
KENNY JOHNNY - 4.5/10
Put the heid on it, Johnny! Could he have buried that
with a bit more bravery? Who knows, but his zippy
presence was a bit of an improvement on a previously
lethargic frontline.
JAMESY - 5/10
On he came and up we lifted. When you need penetration,
send for the Prestwick Pele. Or maybe play him from the
start...
But, incredibly, just as we were lubricated, Jamesy
wilted and couldn't get it* up again. Tripped on a
bursting run, down he went and not in a good way
(Ladies...).
"Looks like he's pulled something," the physios
radioed to the sideline.
'Who?' enquired the management. 'From the pitch?
That's outstanding... Is she ho...Ah, right, see whit
you mean.'
Alas, nothing could save the mhan of the moment -
even the on-field viagra injections weren't enough
- and his season ended in mild ignominy as he
failed to reach a treble climax.
*typo. Please tippex out.
THE NOTAPRODDYGAL - 3/10
Meritocracy it's not. And I'm not sure The Brodge
knows exactly if he wants to run his autocracy
as a monarch or dictator.
He's no king of Hampden any more, that's certified.
And Brendanball took a blunt-force trauma to the
face from a cadre of Sheep in wellies who refused
to budge to any of his tyrannical wiles as his most
faithful henchmen failed to carry out his masterplan.
And he wasn't slow in pointing fingers. Maybe that's
the crux of it - that some players have sussed his
disingenuous nature by the treatment of others;
players are always thicker than thieves when there's
unease or unrest between management and squad.
Engels subbed and Paulo left on was the pivotal
point for me - they were lagging and the bhoy was
brightening - ask the post - and Paulo wasn't long
out of A&E.
Why? Don't know.
What was he expecting from leggy Paulo who hadn't
completed 90 minutes since Bealeball ruled the
universe? Don't know.
At any rate, this was a kick in the shiny gnashers
he didn't expect, and even though there's been
warning signs, neither did many of us.
Today was the worst of the Rodger's system - too
laboured, too cautious and lacking the imagination
to counter the opposition's nullifying methods.
Haranguing the players won't fix it; they'll shrug
and look for a move. He needs to fix it. And he'd
better.
MIBBERY - 5.5/10
Bit of glory at the end of a bitterly long season.
The Don did his niggling best, a linesman forgot
he wasn't part of the red army in the Hun end and
VAR crossed their figners and eyes and saw no evil.
Yet there influence was mild, compared to the glaring
deficiencies of Celtic in a lethargic fug.
OVERALL - 3/10
A Treble 'Meh'.
The yell came from 20,000 sheep-shagging
teuchters in complete disbelief.
A fortnight after Celtic reserves dismantled them in
the Pen, the journey to Glasgow was more pilgrimage
than hope, praying history could at least rhyme if
not repeat after 35 years of ovine misery.
Well, don't you just know it... Football, bloody hell.
As with St.mirren, the unchanged team - Brendan's
season-long honed first choice XI, minus only Reo -
produced... A nothingburger of a performance. Maybe
Reo was the difference, maybe not.
The glamorous showcase day of the calendar ended in
frustrated disbelief as the streamlined Celtic sports
model got mangled crashing into the Low Block.
Concerning? Yup. Speed of passing like a Hun trying
to count beyond his webbed fingers, displaying footballing
wits equivalent to Barry Ferguson naming 'Rambo' as his
favourite French surrealist poet; we took and fluffed a
SHORT corner two minutes into injury time in a cup final
to win a treble, when the opposition were hanging on for
dear life, for FUCK'S SAKE.
All the credit and glory goes North, to the bestiality-riddled
wastelands. Strategic genius Jimmy From Brookside employed
a gallus tactical change for the ocassion - bore us to death
and batter Maeda...
And it worked. Shamefully. The only reply Rodgers had was
to throw on twin shagger-wingers late and hope his knackered
workhorses had enough left to see us through.
So the Treble gets blown versus a side whom we've scored
so many times against this season Jamesy thought it was
composed of his burds kinked-out in red lingerie.
What a fucking shambles it turned into at the end as they
went toe-to-toe and we didn't have the verve to take them
apart for their cheek.
Now we know what it feels like to be a Hun. Let's not go
there again, Celtic. Find a fix.
Go Away Now
Sandman
"Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition!
Or The Sheep winning."
- Monty Python.
THE FRIENDLY GHOST - 3/10
Sooo close... to not touching the ball at all with his
hands for the entire first half then fields one in injury
time.
Thought that might be the most notable incident
of his game, then those safe hands of the Lego
Jesus turned traitorous with just 7 regulation
minutes of the season remaining.
If he was a traffic cop he'd be Ricky Fulton's
supercop taking off his goggles - diverting the
ball calamitously into our net as the Dons
threw their last dice rolls.
Down he went, slow, doomed, like the Hindeburg,
and so too the treble, in flames. As for the pens,
not a hope.
GREGGS THE BAKER - 6.5/10 MOTM
Probably our biggest hope as the grind wore
on - certainly the brightest to an opportunity,
fizzing in spectacular strikes from distance in
both halves. Stayed busy as usual and as inventive
as he could muster, but was frustrated by the
absence of verve around him.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 4/10
Someone hobbled The Moose. Couldn't get around their
double-deep cover as regularly as we're used to seeing.
When he did, hampered by hesitation or wrong pick of
cross. Surprised Tony wasn't given the task; AJ's day
summed up by the climactic tame penalty.
Question, though - why the fuck was he, the right-back,
a first-five taker? Who was hiding?
OF JUSTICE - 5.5/10
He appeared hesitant for the opening spell, but soon
within the first half hour Liam was one of our most
involved - something that bothered me at the time because
it seemed an indication of the lack of tempo.
Anyway, the Ginger Baresi settled well and picked off
everything they attempted to pop in-behind us, maintaining
a consistency of sharpness through the 120 min.
GET CARTER - 5/10
Wore a concerned look for the entirety, even after
'scoring' the opener. Rattled Presbyterian ratcatcher
Shindig well, but had bother containing the big Gayee
when he came on, conceding a lot of ground and
possession to him.
CALMAC - 5/10
Well, finally, a final to end his run of finals.
Anyone can miss a penalty, fitting that Calmac's
crestfallen moment came in the one he lost after
all these years; small consolation that he was at
the centre of it and didn't have to spectate. Did
the captain's bit and led the way.
He'd run the show for the duration, so must have
sensed the lack of cohesion and tempo; though he
tried to muster it, the cutting edge never appeared
and the Sheep got away unsheared.
SAINT BERNARDO - 2/10
He's a player, big Paulo, just not a player today.
Out for 90% of the season yet expected to hustle
through an intense cup final? He was cooked after
60 minutes, and that's being generous.
Why can I see that and the men who make the
decisions clap on happy, and have him running
around on empty when we needed vigor and energy
in there?
THE TERMINATOR - 5.5/10
We required some boots with class as the game wore
on. That looked likely when Arne cracked a post as
the Red wall in front of him began to wobble, chinks
of light appearing, openings MADE for one of his
positive movement and guile. Would it be his time
to kill them off and crown the season?
Nope. Rodger's hooked him immediately. And there
went a bit of hope. And legs for Extra time.
LORD KATSUMOTO - 5/10
After such a season; After such an assassination
of all who stood before the Samurai...
It had to be Daizen. The glorious chance to win
the treble at the death. Who else would we want
clean through? Who else was it written for?
Goddamn.
DUNCAN IDAHO - 3.5/10
Absent. But not without a sympathy note. Hulked
around among a trio of central defenders, trying
to find space, create some impact. But service
was nil and his presence rendered pointless.
TAKINTE - 2.5/10
What's become of The Kuhn? Once a more destructive
force than his Fatherland's blitzkrieg, he's
been mainly Kuhn-light since January.
Nothing of artistry came of those dancing boots
today, promising moves dissipating, clipped crosses
short, ineffectual backtracking...
If, as I suspect, he's 'conserving' himself so
as not to jeopardise a summer move, then the
management needs shooting for playing him as
part of the starting XI
SUBS -
YING - 3.5/10
Buzzing when he came on, in about them, an angry
wasp just out the jar it's been trapped in.
Unfortunately, somewhere along the line he got
swatted and finished the day blundering about
like a drunken bluebottle.
HIGHLAND TOFFEE - 4.5/10
Look, Luke, you looked likely but bizarrely, a bit
leggy. Though he might be the one for the big finish
but despite once or twice, his classy feet never
quite found the perfect synch.
SCHLUPP THE 'RA - 5.5/10
What a finale to his Celtic time that crossbar denied
him. But no slouch when required to make a fine sliding
tackle on their flying sub. No complaints about the big
fella's committment to the cause.
KENNY JOHNNY - 4.5/10
Put the heid on it, Johnny! Could he have buried that
with a bit more bravery? Who knows, but his zippy
presence was a bit of an improvement on a previously
lethargic frontline.
JAMESY - 5/10
On he came and up we lifted. When you need penetration,
send for the Prestwick Pele. Or maybe play him from the
start...
But, incredibly, just as we were lubricated, Jamesy
wilted and couldn't get it* up again. Tripped on a
bursting run, down he went and not in a good way
(Ladies...).
"Looks like he's pulled something," the physios
radioed to the sideline.
'Who?' enquired the management. 'From the pitch?
That's outstanding... Is she ho...Ah, right, see whit
you mean.'
Alas, nothing could save the mhan of the moment -
even the on-field viagra injections weren't enough
- and his season ended in mild ignominy as he
failed to reach a treble climax.
*typo. Please tippex out.
THE NOTAPRODDYGAL - 3/10
Meritocracy it's not. And I'm not sure The Brodge
knows exactly if he wants to run his autocracy
as a monarch or dictator.
He's no king of Hampden any more, that's certified.
And Brendanball took a blunt-force trauma to the
face from a cadre of Sheep in wellies who refused
to budge to any of his tyrannical wiles as his most
faithful henchmen failed to carry out his masterplan.
And he wasn't slow in pointing fingers. Maybe that's
the crux of it - that some players have sussed his
disingenuous nature by the treatment of others;
players are always thicker than thieves when there's
unease or unrest between management and squad.
Engels subbed and Paulo left on was the pivotal
point for me - they were lagging and the bhoy was
brightening - ask the post - and Paulo wasn't long
out of A&E.
Why? Don't know.
What was he expecting from leggy Paulo who hadn't
completed 90 minutes since Bealeball ruled the
universe? Don't know.
At any rate, this was a kick in the shiny gnashers
he didn't expect, and even though there's been
warning signs, neither did many of us.
Today was the worst of the Rodger's system - too
laboured, too cautious and lacking the imagination
to counter the opposition's nullifying methods.
Haranguing the players won't fix it; they'll shrug
and look for a move. He needs to fix it. And he'd
better.
MIBBERY - 5.5/10
Bit of glory at the end of a bitterly long season.
The Don did his niggling best, a linesman forgot
he wasn't part of the red army in the Hun end and
VAR crossed their figners and eyes and saw no evil.
Yet there influence was mild, compared to the glaring
deficiencies of Celtic in a lethargic fug.
OVERALL - 3/10
A Treble 'Meh'.
The yell came from 20,000 sheep-shagging
teuchters in complete disbelief.
A fortnight after Celtic reserves dismantled them in
the Pen, the journey to Glasgow was more pilgrimage
than hope, praying history could at least rhyme if
not repeat after 35 years of ovine misery.
Well, don't you just know it... Football, bloody hell.
As with St.mirren, the unchanged team - Brendan's
season-long honed first choice XI, minus only Reo -
produced... A nothingburger of a performance. Maybe
Reo was the difference, maybe not.
The glamorous showcase day of the calendar ended in
frustrated disbelief as the streamlined Celtic sports
model got mangled crashing into the Low Block.
Concerning? Yup. Speed of passing like a Hun trying
to count beyond his webbed fingers, displaying footballing
wits equivalent to Barry Ferguson naming 'Rambo' as his
favourite French surrealist poet; we took and fluffed a
SHORT corner two minutes into injury time in a cup final
to win a treble, when the opposition were hanging on for
dear life, for FUCK'S SAKE.
All the credit and glory goes North, to the bestiality-riddled
wastelands. Strategic genius Jimmy From Brookside employed
a gallus tactical change for the ocassion - bore us to death
and batter Maeda...
And it worked. Shamefully. The only reply Rodgers had was
to throw on twin shagger-wingers late and hope his knackered
workhorses had enough left to see us through.
So the Treble gets blown versus a side whom we've scored
so many times against this season Jamesy thought it was
composed of his burds kinked-out in red lingerie.
What a fucking shambles it turned into at the end as they
went toe-to-toe and we didn't have the verve to take them
apart for their cheek.
Now we know what it feels like to be a Hun. Let's not go
there again, Celtic. Find a fix.
Go Away Now
Sandman
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