Sandman
Well-known member
SANDMAN'S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v NASTIO
"The Rangers International Intersectional Internazi
football Club can announce the departure of first-team
coach, Ian Beale, who has left to focus on his independent
trader's marketplace enterprise in East London.
Contrary to dispicable fenian rumours, Mr.Mole has
been paid off in full and will not require an extended
European run 'just to keep him in broon brogues' as
quoted extensively across social media.
In what we insist are unrelated matters, the club are
on the search to replace some missing items from the
trophy room - a rather spiffing racing bike and a
selection of ceramics from around the globe..."
- Sauron Of Mordor's statment on the Klub's sacking
of The Shire; and Ian Beale.
ROXIE - 7.5/10
Terrific all game, feet or hands. No chance with the
goals, stood in as much disbelief as anyone else as
they snatched it. 10 Million. 10 Million...
GREGGS THE BAKER - 7.5/10
Epitomised the cliche, 'came onto a game' as he'd
started pretty sketchy. But once he realised where
he was and the occasion, his second-half was as good
as any he's posted in Europe; never missed or misplaced
a pass, nothing got by him, and he got everywhere.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 7/10
Rugged as the Rockies, startled the Nazio left side
with his sheer intransigence. Kept them at minimum
penetration - take note, Jamesy - and might even have
scored himself, but fluffed his lines.
THE NATIONALIST - 6/10
Solid, it has to be noted, given his lack of gametime.
Sharp enough too, that he wasn't mugged by some top-class
strikers around him. Unlike his replacement...
OF JUSTICE - 8.5/10 MOTM
Well, if we don't know who Liam's Da' is by now, then
I'm nominating the fella who swept the roads in Banrdarrig
in the late 90s, because this was a sweeper performance
to echo the great Baresi.
Read the game to perfection, distributed precisely and
timed every tackle and interception like a ginger, athletic
Raymond the Rainman counting cards in Caesar's Palace.
Yet here, the bhoy dismissed out of turn for the past two
seasons was in Caesar's Position, and doing that glorious
European memory proud.
CALMAC - 7.5/10
The Skip was on his knees at the death. After a half of
turning the screw, poised to finish them off, he had to
watch the points be thrown away.
Not a lot else he could have done bar put the ball in
their net himself - his positional play dominated a
quality midfield and begged for someone to finish what
he kept starting.
THE BUILDER - 7.5/10
Builders build walls - sometimes even walls that stay up -
and that cushioned pass to Kyogo to score surely came off
a wall constructed in gold bullion.
More matchwinning magic from the silky shambler; well,
not quite. His deft touch and drifting eloquence had them
standing off and opening late space we didn't capitalise
on. Mainly due to a missing cog in The Hoops' midfield
apparatus...
HAKUNA HATATE - 5/10
THE major disappointment of the night, and probably the
difference between winning comfortably and that shitshow
we suffered.
Only for a brief spell did Reo get to his levels; the rest
of his game was a series of poor touches, wayward passes
and mistimed runs; the New Contract Blues...
LORD KATSUMOTO - 8/10
He's brilliant in these games, is Daizen; Incredibly alarming
to casual swarthy Euro-defenders who like a bit of swaggering
time on the ball.
He was in their faces, up their arses, terrifying their loved
ones... An absolute demon just over your shoulder. And if only
he hadn't been so ubiquitous, he'd never have gotten the faintest
flick on a sclaffed overhead attempt to play Palma offside and
we'd have justly won. Sigh.
KILLER MUSHROOM - 7.5/10
What we've been waiting for - a CL strike, and it came swiftly
and clinically and still looks like he black magick-ed it
right through the keeper like a deadly Japanese David Blaine.
Appeared in the mood for a double but we didn't find the right
service at crucial times and he departed after running himself
into the ground for the cause like a wee champion.
YING - 6/10
The bhoy's feet looked comfortable at this level - lot of
promising movement with guileful trickery, but the finishing
gild evaded him.
SUBS -
GET CARTER - 3/10
Aw Ghod. The big strong man returns to a hero's welcome then
contrives to chuck the game with his last touch. 'Kick it to fuck,
for fucks sake'; that's what it says in the coaching manual....
A disaster he could and should have averted - don't trust your
own senses too much after a lengthy lay-off and operation; there's
fitter and match-sharper villains around waiting for that complacent
lapse. They were on him like wasps and the curtain crashed down
like a Hun on the express elevator to hell.
OH BHOY - N/A
Oh, damn.
BRIAN DE - 7/10
He did it again! No... No, he didn't; The most spectacular
moment of his career ruined by a baldy Japanese samurai
warrior.
After that surge of glory, the De Palma school of film-making
threw up a gut-wrenching climax that sickened audiences around
the world.
And the ecstatic lhad himself ended up booked for something -
according to the enforced rules - that never actually happened.
Life is stranger than fiction right enough...
SAINT BERNARDO - N/A
"There's two Matt O'Reillys on the park!"
And both seem to share decent balling ability.
Steady, ladies.
THE SHNAKE - 8/10
Not a lot he could do, either progressively influencing
proceedings or setting up any other way.
The side looked to be performing to instruction - focussed
ball-retention and calculated attack; everything went to
plan more or less for 95 minutes. Subs came on and added a
bit, won the game in any other universe other than Celtic
Park on a CL night when we need a win...
Overall he can't be anything other than quite pleased and
utterly fucking gutted at the same time.
OVERALL - 8/10
Jesus. Fucking. Wept. That's not blasphemy, Faither -
it's three different sentences. Anyway, where was yer
Ghod tonight? Looking after his Roman fascists by the
upshot of it...
You know, it's easier to rant about a right good
Euro-horsing than try and summarise tonight's Italian
operatic tragedy of elite football - we were generally
excellent, holding our own in the rarefied atmosphere,
pinning them in and had them praying for a point.
Then the night of the Three Tenors turned fucking nuts
at the crescendo of Nessun Dorma as Pavarotti, Domingo
and the other one nobody can remember, hit bum notes,
stripped off their tuxes to reveal Pennywise outfits
and drove off stage in a clown car, parping the horn
as we all watched on stupefied and dumbstruck.
Only small voice in the stadium that could be heard was
Jamesy, mumbling, "Fuuuck, that's a kick in the nuts, an'
ah know all aboot bein' kicked in the nuts...Lost count,
me..."
Shutup, Jamesy, it's time to suck it up - no, not like
that... - and find the positives; once more we showed a
competitive ability at the highest level, looked worth
the point if not three.
And the negatives - we're cursed by some fucking Hun witch!
And out of curiosity I'd like to see what happens if someone
could manage to douse Emma Dodds in Holy water before she
leaves the stadium...
So, to summarise - baaaaaaaassstaaaaard.
Not an easy one to take; nurofen will be guzzled. But the
only real proven answer to angiush like that is 2 bottles
of Jack Daniels and 12 hours straight of The Doors until
I'm careering around a hotel room like Captain Willard,
erse-naked doing Kung-Fu and trashing the joint. Premier
Inns here we come.
Until fucking Saturday...
Go Away Now
Sandman
"The Rangers International Intersectional Internazi
football Club can announce the departure of first-team
coach, Ian Beale, who has left to focus on his independent
trader's marketplace enterprise in East London.
Contrary to dispicable fenian rumours, Mr.Mole has
been paid off in full and will not require an extended
European run 'just to keep him in broon brogues' as
quoted extensively across social media.
In what we insist are unrelated matters, the club are
on the search to replace some missing items from the
trophy room - a rather spiffing racing bike and a
selection of ceramics from around the globe..."
- Sauron Of Mordor's statment on the Klub's sacking
of The Shire; and Ian Beale.
ROXIE - 7.5/10
Terrific all game, feet or hands. No chance with the
goals, stood in as much disbelief as anyone else as
they snatched it. 10 Million. 10 Million...
GREGGS THE BAKER - 7.5/10
Epitomised the cliche, 'came onto a game' as he'd
started pretty sketchy. But once he realised where
he was and the occasion, his second-half was as good
as any he's posted in Europe; never missed or misplaced
a pass, nothing got by him, and he got everywhere.
WAYNE GRETZKY - 7/10
Rugged as the Rockies, startled the Nazio left side
with his sheer intransigence. Kept them at minimum
penetration - take note, Jamesy - and might even have
scored himself, but fluffed his lines.
THE NATIONALIST - 6/10
Solid, it has to be noted, given his lack of gametime.
Sharp enough too, that he wasn't mugged by some top-class
strikers around him. Unlike his replacement...
OF JUSTICE - 8.5/10 MOTM
Well, if we don't know who Liam's Da' is by now, then
I'm nominating the fella who swept the roads in Banrdarrig
in the late 90s, because this was a sweeper performance
to echo the great Baresi.
Read the game to perfection, distributed precisely and
timed every tackle and interception like a ginger, athletic
Raymond the Rainman counting cards in Caesar's Palace.
Yet here, the bhoy dismissed out of turn for the past two
seasons was in Caesar's Position, and doing that glorious
European memory proud.
CALMAC - 7.5/10
The Skip was on his knees at the death. After a half of
turning the screw, poised to finish them off, he had to
watch the points be thrown away.
Not a lot else he could have done bar put the ball in
their net himself - his positional play dominated a
quality midfield and begged for someone to finish what
he kept starting.
THE BUILDER - 7.5/10
Builders build walls - sometimes even walls that stay up -
and that cushioned pass to Kyogo to score surely came off
a wall constructed in gold bullion.
More matchwinning magic from the silky shambler; well,
not quite. His deft touch and drifting eloquence had them
standing off and opening late space we didn't capitalise
on. Mainly due to a missing cog in The Hoops' midfield
apparatus...
HAKUNA HATATE - 5/10
THE major disappointment of the night, and probably the
difference between winning comfortably and that shitshow
we suffered.
Only for a brief spell did Reo get to his levels; the rest
of his game was a series of poor touches, wayward passes
and mistimed runs; the New Contract Blues...
LORD KATSUMOTO - 8/10
He's brilliant in these games, is Daizen; Incredibly alarming
to casual swarthy Euro-defenders who like a bit of swaggering
time on the ball.
He was in their faces, up their arses, terrifying their loved
ones... An absolute demon just over your shoulder. And if only
he hadn't been so ubiquitous, he'd never have gotten the faintest
flick on a sclaffed overhead attempt to play Palma offside and
we'd have justly won. Sigh.
KILLER MUSHROOM - 7.5/10
What we've been waiting for - a CL strike, and it came swiftly
and clinically and still looks like he black magick-ed it
right through the keeper like a deadly Japanese David Blaine.
Appeared in the mood for a double but we didn't find the right
service at crucial times and he departed after running himself
into the ground for the cause like a wee champion.
YING - 6/10
The bhoy's feet looked comfortable at this level - lot of
promising movement with guileful trickery, but the finishing
gild evaded him.
SUBS -
GET CARTER - 3/10
Aw Ghod. The big strong man returns to a hero's welcome then
contrives to chuck the game with his last touch. 'Kick it to fuck,
for fucks sake'; that's what it says in the coaching manual....
A disaster he could and should have averted - don't trust your
own senses too much after a lengthy lay-off and operation; there's
fitter and match-sharper villains around waiting for that complacent
lapse. They were on him like wasps and the curtain crashed down
like a Hun on the express elevator to hell.
OH BHOY - N/A
Oh, damn.
BRIAN DE - 7/10
He did it again! No... No, he didn't; The most spectacular
moment of his career ruined by a baldy Japanese samurai
warrior.
After that surge of glory, the De Palma school of film-making
threw up a gut-wrenching climax that sickened audiences around
the world.
And the ecstatic lhad himself ended up booked for something -
according to the enforced rules - that never actually happened.
Life is stranger than fiction right enough...
SAINT BERNARDO - N/A
"There's two Matt O'Reillys on the park!"
And both seem to share decent balling ability.
Steady, ladies.
THE SHNAKE - 8/10
Not a lot he could do, either progressively influencing
proceedings or setting up any other way.
The side looked to be performing to instruction - focussed
ball-retention and calculated attack; everything went to
plan more or less for 95 minutes. Subs came on and added a
bit, won the game in any other universe other than Celtic
Park on a CL night when we need a win...
Overall he can't be anything other than quite pleased and
utterly fucking gutted at the same time.
OVERALL - 8/10
Jesus. Fucking. Wept. That's not blasphemy, Faither -
it's three different sentences. Anyway, where was yer
Ghod tonight? Looking after his Roman fascists by the
upshot of it...
You know, it's easier to rant about a right good
Euro-horsing than try and summarise tonight's Italian
operatic tragedy of elite football - we were generally
excellent, holding our own in the rarefied atmosphere,
pinning them in and had them praying for a point.
Then the night of the Three Tenors turned fucking nuts
at the crescendo of Nessun Dorma as Pavarotti, Domingo
and the other one nobody can remember, hit bum notes,
stripped off their tuxes to reveal Pennywise outfits
and drove off stage in a clown car, parping the horn
as we all watched on stupefied and dumbstruck.
Only small voice in the stadium that could be heard was
Jamesy, mumbling, "Fuuuck, that's a kick in the nuts, an'
ah know all aboot bein' kicked in the nuts...Lost count,
me..."
Shutup, Jamesy, it's time to suck it up - no, not like
that... - and find the positives; once more we showed a
competitive ability at the highest level, looked worth
the point if not three.
And the negatives - we're cursed by some fucking Hun witch!
And out of curiosity I'd like to see what happens if someone
could manage to douse Emma Dodds in Holy water before she
leaves the stadium...
So, to summarise - baaaaaaaassstaaaaard.
Not an easy one to take; nurofen will be guzzled. But the
only real proven answer to angiush like that is 2 bottles
of Jack Daniels and 12 hours straight of The Doors until
I'm careering around a hotel room like Captain Willard,
erse-naked doing Kung-Fu and trashing the joint. Premier
Inns here we come.
Until fucking Saturday...
Go Away Now
Sandman
whys that mental picture showin up in ma head now
