Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v MOTHERSRUIN
'Your diving charge: That's a dead parrot.'
Albian Ajeti.
'No it's not. It's sleeping.'
The Disciplinary Review Panel's 3 'wise' Hun
Monkeys.
BANE - 6.5/10
Buy the dip! They say if you're after some
Bitcoin. Save the dip! We screamed at the
supervillain, but he remained rooted like
Batman had appeared on the crossbar.
Yet, I'm not putting it on him - the
deflection was a keeper's nightmare and
the story of our season.
He made a great save with his foot prior
to it and looked alert to the late pressure,
even if all he could do was chuck Celtic
players out of his way as we folded like
a red-hot Mars bar and crammed the goalmouth.
GREGGS THE BAKER- 7/10
His deliveries are definitely improving,
maybe now that he's utilising Uber Eats
we'll see more crosses like his sausage
rolls - on time and hot to the touch.
Probably his best game in a Celtic shirt -
consistent and confident in majority of his
involvement.
JONO O'NEILL - 6.5/10
Very competitive in the blocked-cross and
mislaid pass crystal decanter competition
with Greggs early on, but the the vast
percentage of his game was lively and
enterprising.
So far he's had two games and showed no
eccentricities or quirks that might cause
anxious pearl-clutching. Moreover, some
smart play had us head-scratching at this
unfamiliar competence.
I expect his mum and dad - ex-Celts Gary
Hooper and Adam Matthews - will be very
proud.
AJER - 6.5/10
Currently wearing the relief of an inmate
from 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' who's
just jumped out the window with Chief.
That's what a spell in defence with Shane
Duffy does to you. Now his rehabilitation
involves navigating a youngster through
the tribulations of a Celtic defence in a
novelty down-season.
Today he performed as fine an escorting job
as Charlie Sheen ever shelled out for.
RAQUEL - 8.5/10 WOTM
Outstanding chestwork to guide in the first.
There's no questioning her form - always
incredible - and now she's beginning to get
used to the dinosaurs in front of her.
Looks solid (cough...) and exudes a quiet
calm with her impressive development (cough,
cough...)
We might have a new star on our hands, which
would be a diamond in the dung of this cursed
campaign.
BROON - 7/10
Calm doon, Broon. Essential in the first-half
to the urgency of our forward movement -
unusual, because that's Calmac's remit. But
there was Broon zipping the ball first-touch,
prompting our domination.
CALMAC - 5.5/10
Wherefore art thou Calmaceo? Too quiet for a
man of his ability; been a long season as he
stutters to find his groove. Still a smashing
soccer player but we're used to more telling
involvement than the fleeting glimpses we're
getting.
ROGIC - 7/10
Almost showboating in certain moments, flicks
and backheels lifting the crowd... Off their
couches.
We were still, tho, awaiting the killer Oz to
turn up and finish off the game in a whirling
dust-devil of skill. And oh so close, denied
by a wonder save. Fine match.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6/10
We're getting used to his fluid danger, much
like the necessity for any young woman on a
night out with Griff.
For a near-centurian, Eddie has all the guile
of a youthful Rogic, without yet the lethal
payoff. Highlight was a marvellous playground
'Heiders And Volleys' selfie tee-up that nearly
produced a wonderful half-volley 'reaker' - as
the vernacular had it. But, worryingly, later
he faded like Bob Ross' last picture.
THE YETI - 5/10
Mountain Devil, or Tasmanian Devil? Ran
about like the latter searching their
backline for Bugs Bunny. However,
ultimately his impact was negligible and
finally got the bullet from Elmer Fudd in
the dugout.
FRENCH EDDY - 8/10
Still handling the strange sensation of
having other hooped jerseys around him amid
the opposition thicket. Movement and feet
are a delight. One of those days it looked
inevtiable he'd bulge the net. And he did.
'Cless.'
SUBS:
GRIFF - N/A
New questions raised over his fitness. Again.
It's up and down with Griff, and also in and
out; which harks to the simple two-word advice
of the expert physio brought in to condition
him: "Stop shaggin'".
DREXL - 6.5/10
'Now, I know I'm pretty, but I ain't as pretty
as a couple of titties' Yes you are, Drexl,
and that clearance was redemption for the Hibs
lapse; terrific awareness and action. Thank
Ghod.
MAN OF - 6.5/10
Duetting with Dusty Springfield's ghost on a
reboot of 'What Have I Done To Deserve This?'.
Survived a solar plexus assualt from Chuck
Norris disguised as Andy Cole, which incredibly
DIDN'T see a red card. As a Scottish referee
favoured an opponent. Against Celtic.
Fancy that...
His energy was instrumental in holding the
lead. Mainly because he was the only midfielder
still standing.
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - 6/10
A better defender than Duffy. Terrific
pirouette in his own six yard box to get a
foot on a perilous ball and whip it clear
in injury time.
LENNONY - 6/10
Last photo I saw of The Celtic Way was at night
on Thursday. It was deserted, and dimly lit by
only one lamp-post. A shaft of light from an
upper window in the stadium highlighted the only
soul standing there - a silhouetted priest in a
hat, carrying a briefcase.
Well, I did warn Lennony that if he continued
to hang around it wouldn't be long before
someone called in an exorcist.
Presumably, Lennony vomited on him and screamed
at him to "Lick me! Lick me!" because there he
was in the dugout again, bold as brass.
Maybe if he'd crab-walked around the dressing
room like fucked-up man-spider earlier in the
season the team might have shown more urgency.
As it was, it appreared he'd managed to spook
them into early action today by pinning up a teamsheet
with 'Captain Howdy' the only player name scrawled
across it in blood red.
When some of the Bhoys stopped crying - not you,
Ryan - and thought only happy thoughts, it allowed
them to carve out another win and prolong Lennony's
contentious possession of the Glorious Fenian Throne.
This was in spite of more peculiar second-period
game-management as he reprised the 'testimonial
reshuffle', with the match not dead.
So on he, and we, go once more, together into a
twilight era none of us imagined we'd ever see
again - where the truly demonic need only SIX
wins to take our title, to despoil the Decade of
Domination; a total low enough for the Huns to
count on just one of their mutant appendages.
Now, that's real horror.
OVERALL - 6.5/10
How to turn a comfortable 5 or 6 nil into
a scrambled, screeching trauma of a finish
that would make a xenomorph weep.
An entire mindfuck of a season in one swashbuckling,
bewildering, admirable, and perplexing game of
juxtaposition and incomprehensible contrasts.
What I'm trying to reach for there is, basically,
"Fuck's sake."
Anyway, a win's a win. If only we'd stuck to that
simple mantra some months ago...
As an aside, it's become known that top celebrity
Celt, Dominik Diamond occasionally reads this whimsy.
Acolyte of the "GAMESMASTUR!", one of the 90s greatest
TV experiments; that's 'TeleVision', not the Bruce Jenner
thing.
I thank him for his interest. As you may know, or
not, referencing Dominik around Huns of a certain
age provokes pretty violently invective responses -
I've greatly amused myself in the pub a couple of
times watching Huns break from civil conversation
into growling apoplexy by slipping his name into any
mention of celebrity Celts, usually if Rod stewart pops
up on screen. Try it. You've got to hand it to a guy with
such a lasting effect.
Dominik, as far as I know, departed these shores in
a valiant attempt to escape the unsophisticated horrors
in XXXLarge slaver-empire blue. He's ensconsed in the
wilds of Canada now, somewhere deep in the Grizzly Maze,
his only companion the skeletal remains of Timothy
Treadwell.
His legacy is an entertaining Celtic book which I'd
encourage you to buy and try - even if only for the
reason that it's spring soon and Dominik needs the
cash to buy ammo...
Go Away Now
Sandman.
'Your diving charge: That's a dead parrot.'
Albian Ajeti.
'No it's not. It's sleeping.'
The Disciplinary Review Panel's 3 'wise' Hun
Monkeys.
BANE - 6.5/10
Buy the dip! They say if you're after some
Bitcoin. Save the dip! We screamed at the
supervillain, but he remained rooted like
Batman had appeared on the crossbar.
Yet, I'm not putting it on him - the
deflection was a keeper's nightmare and
the story of our season.
He made a great save with his foot prior
to it and looked alert to the late pressure,
even if all he could do was chuck Celtic
players out of his way as we folded like
a red-hot Mars bar and crammed the goalmouth.
GREGGS THE BAKER- 7/10
His deliveries are definitely improving,
maybe now that he's utilising Uber Eats
we'll see more crosses like his sausage
rolls - on time and hot to the touch.
Probably his best game in a Celtic shirt -
consistent and confident in majority of his
involvement.
JONO O'NEILL - 6.5/10
Very competitive in the blocked-cross and
mislaid pass crystal decanter competition
with Greggs early on, but the the vast
percentage of his game was lively and
enterprising.
So far he's had two games and showed no
eccentricities or quirks that might cause
anxious pearl-clutching. Moreover, some
smart play had us head-scratching at this
unfamiliar competence.
I expect his mum and dad - ex-Celts Gary
Hooper and Adam Matthews - will be very
proud.
AJER - 6.5/10
Currently wearing the relief of an inmate
from 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' who's
just jumped out the window with Chief.
That's what a spell in defence with Shane
Duffy does to you. Now his rehabilitation
involves navigating a youngster through
the tribulations of a Celtic defence in a
novelty down-season.
Today he performed as fine an escorting job
as Charlie Sheen ever shelled out for.
RAQUEL - 8.5/10 WOTM
Outstanding chestwork to guide in the first.
There's no questioning her form - always
incredible - and now she's beginning to get
used to the dinosaurs in front of her.
Looks solid (cough...) and exudes a quiet
calm with her impressive development (cough,
cough...)
We might have a new star on our hands, which
would be a diamond in the dung of this cursed
campaign.
BROON - 7/10
Calm doon, Broon. Essential in the first-half
to the urgency of our forward movement -
unusual, because that's Calmac's remit. But
there was Broon zipping the ball first-touch,
prompting our domination.
CALMAC - 5.5/10
Wherefore art thou Calmaceo? Too quiet for a
man of his ability; been a long season as he
stutters to find his groove. Still a smashing
soccer player but we're used to more telling
involvement than the fleeting glimpses we're
getting.
ROGIC - 7/10
Almost showboating in certain moments, flicks
and backheels lifting the crowd... Off their
couches.
We were still, tho, awaiting the killer Oz to
turn up and finish off the game in a whirling
dust-devil of skill. And oh so close, denied
by a wonder save. Fine match.
EDDIE TURNBULL - 6/10
We're getting used to his fluid danger, much
like the necessity for any young woman on a
night out with Griff.
For a near-centurian, Eddie has all the guile
of a youthful Rogic, without yet the lethal
payoff. Highlight was a marvellous playground
'Heiders And Volleys' selfie tee-up that nearly
produced a wonderful half-volley 'reaker' - as
the vernacular had it. But, worryingly, later
he faded like Bob Ross' last picture.
THE YETI - 5/10
Mountain Devil, or Tasmanian Devil? Ran
about like the latter searching their
backline for Bugs Bunny. However,
ultimately his impact was negligible and
finally got the bullet from Elmer Fudd in
the dugout.
FRENCH EDDY - 8/10
Still handling the strange sensation of
having other hooped jerseys around him amid
the opposition thicket. Movement and feet
are a delight. One of those days it looked
inevtiable he'd bulge the net. And he did.
'Cless.'
SUBS:
GRIFF - N/A
New questions raised over his fitness. Again.
It's up and down with Griff, and also in and
out; which harks to the simple two-word advice
of the expert physio brought in to condition
him: "Stop shaggin'".
DREXL - 6.5/10
'Now, I know I'm pretty, but I ain't as pretty
as a couple of titties' Yes you are, Drexl,
and that clearance was redemption for the Hibs
lapse; terrific awareness and action. Thank
Ghod.
MAN OF - 6.5/10
Duetting with Dusty Springfield's ghost on a
reboot of 'What Have I Done To Deserve This?'.
Survived a solar plexus assualt from Chuck
Norris disguised as Andy Cole, which incredibly
DIDN'T see a red card. As a Scottish referee
favoured an opponent. Against Celtic.
Fancy that...
His energy was instrumental in holding the
lead. Mainly because he was the only midfielder
still standing.
ELSHAGYONLASSIE - 6/10
A better defender than Duffy. Terrific
pirouette in his own six yard box to get a
foot on a perilous ball and whip it clear
in injury time.
LENNONY - 6/10
Last photo I saw of The Celtic Way was at night
on Thursday. It was deserted, and dimly lit by
only one lamp-post. A shaft of light from an
upper window in the stadium highlighted the only
soul standing there - a silhouetted priest in a
hat, carrying a briefcase.
Well, I did warn Lennony that if he continued
to hang around it wouldn't be long before
someone called in an exorcist.
Presumably, Lennony vomited on him and screamed
at him to "Lick me! Lick me!" because there he
was in the dugout again, bold as brass.
Maybe if he'd crab-walked around the dressing
room like fucked-up man-spider earlier in the
season the team might have shown more urgency.
As it was, it appreared he'd managed to spook
them into early action today by pinning up a teamsheet
with 'Captain Howdy' the only player name scrawled
across it in blood red.
When some of the Bhoys stopped crying - not you,
Ryan - and thought only happy thoughts, it allowed
them to carve out another win and prolong Lennony's
contentious possession of the Glorious Fenian Throne.
This was in spite of more peculiar second-period
game-management as he reprised the 'testimonial
reshuffle', with the match not dead.
So on he, and we, go once more, together into a
twilight era none of us imagined we'd ever see
again - where the truly demonic need only SIX
wins to take our title, to despoil the Decade of
Domination; a total low enough for the Huns to
count on just one of their mutant appendages.
Now, that's real horror.
OVERALL - 6.5/10
How to turn a comfortable 5 or 6 nil into
a scrambled, screeching trauma of a finish
that would make a xenomorph weep.
An entire mindfuck of a season in one swashbuckling,
bewildering, admirable, and perplexing game of
juxtaposition and incomprehensible contrasts.
What I'm trying to reach for there is, basically,
"Fuck's sake."
Anyway, a win's a win. If only we'd stuck to that
simple mantra some months ago...
As an aside, it's become known that top celebrity
Celt, Dominik Diamond occasionally reads this whimsy.
Acolyte of the "GAMESMASTUR!", one of the 90s greatest
TV experiments; that's 'TeleVision', not the Bruce Jenner
thing.
I thank him for his interest. As you may know, or
not, referencing Dominik around Huns of a certain
age provokes pretty violently invective responses -
I've greatly amused myself in the pub a couple of
times watching Huns break from civil conversation
into growling apoplexy by slipping his name into any
mention of celebrity Celts, usually if Rod stewart pops
up on screen. Try it. You've got to hand it to a guy with
such a lasting effect.
Dominik, as far as I know, departed these shores in
a valiant attempt to escape the unsophisticated horrors
in XXXLarge slaver-empire blue. He's ensconsed in the
wilds of Canada now, somewhere deep in the Grizzly Maze,
his only companion the skeletal remains of Timothy
Treadwell.
His legacy is an entertaining Celtic book which I'd
encourage you to buy and try - even if only for the
reason that it's spring soon and Dominik needs the
cash to buy ammo...
Go Away Now
Sandman.
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