SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v HAMILTON REMEDIALS

Sandman

Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v HAMILTON REMEDIALS


In the greenest part of the Great Beyond there's a pub
called 'Heaven's Hoops'. It's quiet for an afternoon
in eternity.

Amid the burnished oak and chrome finery, Jimmy Johnstone
sits at the bar, sipping a wee hauf and watching the telly
above the gantry; there's a compilation playing on loop -
'Great Celtic Moments'.

Then, the peace is interrupted; the door opens. The barman
looks up from polishing glasses, squints at the inpouring
of celestial light. 'Hello there, newcomer, who might you
be and what can I get you?'

Jimmy turns from the screen as a hand lays on his shoulder.

Behind him, a cheeky face cracks a wry smile and says,
"After the shite Ah've hud tae endure this season, the
drinks are on Jinky! The name's Michael Duffy, and mine's
a Stella."




"24-0. Back that every week. Ye'll be rich, man. Rich, ah
tell ye!"

The immortal Michael Duffy.





BANE - 6/10

The find-a-goalie-that-makes-a-save quest continues. And
the rotation falls back to the supervillain, 'Of course!'.
Amused himself second-half by smartly changing direction
to make a save from Hamilton's most dangerous striker.
Duffy.


AJER - 6/10

Trying to outdo Eddy for stepovers. And shots. Pity most
of them were meant to be crosses. Like Pingpong left an
inheritance of piss-poor final balls before he took the
popular route of many Bangkok backstreet table-tennis-
without-the-ball champions and ended up selling his ass
in a German brothel.

Big Kristiano didn't quite have his eye in tonight,
although his effective rampaging caused the usual
distress.

BITTON - 6.5/10

"WTF? Babysitting again!?" was the curse in Hebrew as
big Nir saw the teamsheet. But he fulfilled his task
without calamity striking, one fleeting abberation
aside.


ALAN LADD - 5.5/10

Pick an end - he'll not header the ball at either of them.
Excellent Superman impression under a cross to leave the
goal gaping for the rangy ginger Hamilton striker Davy Moyes
to poke it wide. Then invoked Pirlo to pop a pinpoint 50-yard
pass over their defence which so surprised Griff, he fluffed
the chance. You get what you buy with Shane: bemusing football
madness.



GREGGS THE BAKER - 6.5/10

Competent and solid. Bit like his Steak Bakes. Under no
real pressure but more disciplined in his forays. Also
appeared more keen to risk a cross or two; a welcome
difference.



MAN OF - 7.5/10

Plays like a supercharged Broon. Definitely a commanding
aspect to his game which provides Calmac support from which
to boost forward with enhanced conviction; a busy bee; a
very good thing.



CALMAC - 7/10

Kapitan Permenante, they call him in Venezuela. Growing into
the idea of leadership and the diamond formation releasing
him to impose his cultured game upon SPL fodder. About time.
Consistency of concentrated Calmac is what we need to the
bitter end.



ELSHAGYONLASSIE - 5.5/10

Kind of spectral presence that appears like Banquo's ghost
to remind you he's a player in the drama (see what I did
there, Shakespeare fans?). Not often enough, though, but
tonight his intermittent involvement was adequate.



EDDIE TURNBULL - 6/10

Picking the wrong choices most of the game; like, why not
smash the bloody thing into the net ocassionally with those
old fashioned pit-boots instead of an extra touch.

He's a fine floating threat at the peak of our diamond, with
deft flourishes; just needs to have more of an impact at
crucial times.


FRENCH EDDY - 7.5/10

Everywhere. It was a matter of time. After dink and dummy
and shot and sclaff, a little bit of luck came along and
he swiped home a sweet finish.

Seems to enjoy having a strike partner to take the load and
let him wander to lethal effect. Surprise sur-fucking-prise;
if only somebody in the coaching staff had thought about
implementing that permanently earlier in the season...



GRIFF - 7/10

Snap! At the centre of recent controversy and criticism,
he hits back with... Well, a great hit. Followed by a prepared
message to all detractors, printed on a shirt held up to
camera - 'Everything is self-evident'; a quote from Sparky's
favourite philosopher, Renes Descartes, and implied with subtle
irony towards the likes of me and other anonymous critics.

Then he missed a fucking sitter. Which, ironically x2, was
self-evident as well...

Could have a had a hat-trick around laying one on for Eddy.




MICHAEL DUFFY - 10/10 MOTM

The 12th man tonight. His tactical masterplan. A personality
many only knew within the confines of cyberspace but someone
whose gregarious, big spirit transcended the impersonal nature
of the digital age.

There are many people in life you wished you'd never met and
very few you wished you had. File Mick Duffy in the latter.
Whatever his adventures in his expansive decades beyond this
pocket of Celtic minutae, to me he was a guy who knew the value
of goodness and geniality, who exemplified the jollity of his
inebriated Father Jack avatar; he was Faither Mick to us all.

There'll be an empty post below this on the Celtic Noise tonight,
and in every thread now, a space between moments waiting to be
filled by some raucous witticism or educated observation.

In my mind, he was the main character from Iain Bank's 'Espedair
Street' - a novel about an old rocker come back to his Paisley
roots. With Michael, he'd found a base on the Noise from which
to communicate and revel, in spite of being plagued by ill-health.

The measure of his popularity was evident as news broke and a
forlorn sorrow gripped the boards. He'll be spoken of still,
though, and remembered with a genuine warm smile. And every
Stella Artois commercial...

Farewell and Salut, MD. A Celtic fan and a true Celtic man
to the end, Sir. RIP, and God Bless.






SUBS:

THE YETI - N/A

A bit of growling. Nothing else to highlight.


CORPUS - N/A

Showboated a bit to impress any scouts watching on the
hesgoal.com pirate stream. His Dad gave them the link.


ROGIC - N/A

Bit of a lark, mayte, and home fer a tinny.



LENNONY - 7/10

Picked the team we wanted, defence aside, and set them
up the way we hoped. Managed to impress the importance of
90 minutes upon them for the first time this season. Or,
that's what it felt like.

Still, it remains a time in which he seems more to be
treading water in defiance of drowning than swimming
towards new horizons.

Now the guillotine is passed to Helen Mirren on Saturday
and Killamity next Tuesday. Only 100% will do. Will he
get through with maximum yield? This window may shut without
new faces. If so, he'll know it's been slammed in his face.



OVERALL - 7/10

A healthy lead? How disconcerting that second goal was
just as we were imagining the nature of the inevitable collapse.
In a grim week as a trio of Celtic legends pass away, manager,
player and fan, the team finally notches up a victory after a
tortuous January.

THIS was the sort of performance we expected, Griff. No fans
believed Celtic just needed to turn up to win the TEN. What we
did believe was that YOU and the rest of the highly-paid squad
with the privilege of wearing the jersey might turn up FIT and
READY to win the TEN. Not express remorse halfway through a
season when the Huns - who DID turn up fit and ready - are so
far over the horizon that even Pat Garrett probably wouldn't
bother to saddle up Shane Duffy and raise a posse to chase them.

We need more nights like this. Another sixteen of them. So get
to it.


Go away Now, January.


Sandman.
 
Last edited:
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v HAMILTON REMEDIALS


In the greenest part of the Great Beyond there's a pub
called 'Heaven's Hoops'. It's quiet for an afternoon
in eternity.

Amid the burnished oak and chrome finery, Jimmy Johnstone
sits at the bar, sipping a wee hauf and watching the telly
above the gantry; there's a compilation playing on loop -
'Great Celtic Moments'.

Then, the peace is interrupted; the door opens. The barman
looks up from polishing glasses, squints at the inpouring
of celestial light. 'Hello there, newcomer, who might you
be and what can I get you?'

Jimmy turns from the screen as a hand lays on his shoulder.

Behind him, a cheeky face cracks a wry smile and says,
"After the shite Ah've hud tae endure this season, the
drinks are on Jinky! The name's Michael Duffy, and mine's
a Stella."




"24-0. Back that every week. Ye'll be rich, man. Rich, ah
tell ye!"

The immortal Michael Duffy.
MICHAEL DUFFY - 10/10 MOTM

The 12th man tonight. His tactical masterplan. A personality
many only knew within the confines of cyberspace but someone
whose gregarious, big spirit transcended the impersonal nature
of the digital age.

There are many people in life you wished you'd never met and
very few you wished you had. File Mick Duffy in the latter.
Whatever his adventures in his expansive decades beyond this
pocket of Celtic minutae, to me he was a guy who knew the value
of goodness and geniality, who exemplified the jollity of his
inebriated Father Jack avatar; he was Faither Mick to us all.

There'll be an empty post below this on the Celtic Noise tonight,
and in every thread now, a space between moments waiting to be
filled by some raucous witticism or educated observation.

In my mind, he was the main character from Iain Bank's 'Espedair
Street' - a novel about an old rocker come back to his Paisley
roots. With Michael, he'd found a base on the Noise from which
to communicate and revel, in spite of being plagued by ill-health.

The measure of his popularity was evident as news broke and a
forlorn sorrow gripped the boards. He'll be spoken of still,
though, and remembered with a genuine warm smile. And every
Stella Artois commercial...

Farewell and Salut, MD. A Celtic fan and a true Celtic man
to the end, Sir. RIP, and God Bless.
Go away Now, January.




In the greenest part of the Great Beyond there's a pub
called 'Heaven's Hoops'. It's quiet for an afternoon
in eternity.

Amid the burnished oak and chrome finery, Jimmy Johnstone
sits at the bar, sipping a wee hauf and watching the telly
above the gantry; there's a compilation playing on loop -
'Great Celtic Moments'.

Then, the peace is interrupted; the door opens. The barman
looks up from polishing glasses, squints at the inpouring
of celestial light. 'Hello there, newcomer, who might you
be and what can I get you?'

Jimmy turns from the screen as a hand lays on his shoulder.

Behind him, a cheeky face cracks a wry smile and says,
"After the shite Ah've hud tae endure this season, the
drinks are on Jinky! The name's Michael Duffy, and mine's
a Stella."




"24-0. Back that every week. Ye'll be rich, man. Rich, ah
tell ye!"

The immortal Michael Duffy.
MICHAEL DUFFY - 10/10 MOTM

The 12th man tonight. His tactical masterplan. A personality
many only knew within the confines of cyberspace but someone
whose gregarious, big spirit transcended the impersonal nature
of the digital age.

There are many people in life you wished you'd never met and
very few you wished you had. File Mick Duffy in the latter.
Whatever his adventures in his expansive decades beyond this
pocket of Celtic minutae, to me he was a guy who knew the value
of goodness and geniality, who exemplified the jollity of his
inebriated Father Jack avatar; he was Faither Mick to us all.

There'll be an empty post below this on the Celtic Noise tonight,
and in every thread now, a space between moments waiting to be
filled by some raucous witticism or educated observation.

In my mind, he was the main character from Iain Bank's 'Espedair
Street' - a novel about an old rocker come back to his Paisley
roots. With Michael, he'd found a base on the Noise from which
to communicate and revel, in spite of being plagued by ill-health.

The measure of his popularity was evident as news broke and a
forlorn sorrow gripped the boards. He'll be spoken of still,
though, and remembered with a genuine warm smile. And every
Stella Artois commercial...

Farewell and Salut, MD. A Celtic fan and a true Celtic man
to the end, Sir. RIP, and God Bless






Great post as per Sandman Beautiful Tribute given to Beautiful Person in Life he brought Fun and Laughter to the Noise.
great Stories of a life well Lived. A man I never met but a man I called a friend.
Thank you The Angel MD Mixing with the Lions Stein T Burns. Gone But never Forgotten. Cheers Slainte.

HH 🙏
 

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