Sandman
Well-known member
part 2, the continuation thread...
SAM MUTHUFUCKIN JACKSON - 7/10
Mutha-FUCKA! A return to action on Muthafuckas Day and a return to my ongoing tit-a-tat with
harangued moderators trying to edit out the 'Muthufuckas' from the Sam 'Muthufuckin' Jackson ratings...
And didn't that Muthufucka put it together like a Fonzie-cool Muthufucka all that first half - reprising
his September 18 Hunskleping Muthufucka role as he controlled the midfield flow and let Broon do his
break-up job.
Maybe Lenny's the Man For Sam - can Lenny wrestle the consistent level of performance out of him
that makes our moody Muthufucka a world-beating Muthufucka?
Terrific first-half then fell away mostly due to fitness after a lay-off. The future could be bright if we got
the right Muthufucka because he loves dishing it out to those un-righteous Muthufuckas when the chips -
French fried, Muthufuckas - are down, like Kool and the Muthufuckin' Gang Down, psyche?
FRENCH EDDY MERCURY - 8.5/10
Yes, he IS worth 9 million PL-Coin.
40-yard run with the ball at his feet, turning defenders insdie out then compose denough to side-foot
the ball into the net with his weaker foot against the country's most frustrating keeper. It wa sa thing of
beauty, a goal of quality over quantity - nine out of ten average strikers fluff the finish and we don't
see the top-level ability French Eddy treated us to. AGAIN.
Another Mothers' Day, another Eddy marvel - everything about his game- particulary first half - justified
the spend. Even as our engine room malfunctioned badly he still had the spark and awareness to set up
Jamesy's winner.
19 goals, I believe. We work on this bhoys fitness and give him the support and service he requires -
speedy, to feet, allowing him to turn and run at defences, it's 38 this time next year.
He's a fucking marvel when he's on his game. If it means ten in a row, I'm offering the wife to him for
downtime entertainment...
She doesn't read these ratings, by the way...
SUBS:
SINCY - 5/10
By Corpus Christie he was unlucky - denied by flukey goalkeeping (or great goalkeeping, dependent on your perspective) as McGregor stopped our second and killer goal with his sex-murder-suspect-lookalike heel.
But there was far more to come from him - I felt he faded when we needed him digging - and that's unlike
him; perhaps he's got a message from Lenny and his time's up...
ROGIC - 4/10
Nah, big Aussie is wearing the kangaroo boots. Languid is fine, when it's guileful and creative; today he
was like a man wandering the Bush (alright ladies?) without a canteen who's stumbled upon a mirage.
Obviously not combat-fit enough yet and was a problematic passenger the last ten when he kept giving
the ball back to excited Huns and putting his team-mates under pressure.
TOEJAM - 6/10
Came on, looked really fucking bewildered to be in the mix of such a chaotic frenzy. Thank God he manged
to compose himself enough to hold some sort of shape and maintain a decent presence. Probably on a
plane back to Dortmund tonight, sobbing quietly into a sick-bag.
LENNY - 6/10.... 9/10!
Well, let's take a breather.
Team selcetion - hmm. KT fit? Okay. Well, let's make sure his cover - Johnny Hayes - is on the bench then.
Whit?
Hayes starts? Okay. Let's hiope KT can take the frenetic 90 minutes... Shit, whit's that? Johnny's been
booked by the MadHun and you need to sub him at half-time to stop the next obvious MIB step of
a second yellow and Hayes off to even it up.
Good substitution, Neil.
But...
Fuck, KT's fucked. Toejam it is, then, cos the cover's already off...
Hang on, there goes Ntcham for Rogic because Sam's fucked too.
Oh fuck, Dedryck's fucked. Fuck.
Okay, calm down, calm down - just bring on somebody for Dedryck and we... Fuck. We're fucked.
It's 1-1, and it's ten v ten. And they're sniffing out a miracle, and we're out on our feet, and...
BANG. Fuck!
Whew...
So Lenny escapes. A game he must have been looking at savaging them and clearing a 4 or 5 margin of victory
turned into a scrap. BUT...
He won. AGAIN.
And there's no doubting he is a winner.
Hand-wringing mumblers, haud yer wheesht. Brendan Rodgers team LOST just such a game at Mordor on December 29th.
Neil Lennon's team today hauled themselves back to victory when it looked all but chucked.
Could Rodgers team have done that? The evidence shows they couldn't- if plan A failed, plan B...
Well, just wasn't....
Ibrox Dec 29 2018 - the attitude of nouveau fans/supporters/players and, most disturbingly, Rodgers, to
losing is akin to watching a light-entertainment panel show and not really caring which team wins.
Celtic Park, 31 March 2019 - the attitude is, we win, they lose. There was no compromise.
If today exemplified anything, it exemplified how a manger can stamp his CHARACTER upon a squad
of players in a short time. If you know anything about football - in fact any sport, from baseball to rugby
and all between played to limits of time and endurance - you'll know that consistent late victories aren't
a sign of luck, they're a mark of CHAMPIONS, the DNA of WINNERS.
We have a winner in the hotseat, wringing the best from a squad left high and dry by a mercenary rat-bastard with his eye on EPL mediocrity.
If Lenny lacks the sheen, he certainly supplies the grit. And True Grit beats suave gunplay any day.
That grit has made the difference.
Give him the job. I'd rather see nobody else make or break the TEN.
OVERALL - 8/10 EIGHT. yes, that's right, Hun lurkers, EIGHT
Well, we had them on the rack, stretched like a bleating juxtaposed Braveheart as the Hun crowd
begged for mercy.
'Freedom,' they cried, 'Gie's freeeedom!' forgetting they were - and are - the merciless empirical
Hun Nazi bastards, now getting a taste of their own...
But then?
With all the implausable historical inaccuracies and contrived Hollywood drama Celtic can muster,
we turned the whole romantic epic into a Tarantino bloodfest. We didn't shoot outselves in the foot -
we shotgunned our feet right off in a spectacular halo of gore just as soon as Hun keeper, McGregor
- who resmbles an unsolved sex-murder suspect, definitely - deflected wide Sincy's almost-killer.
Suddenly, the 5-0 showboating pumping they were about to get began to resemble a narrow struggle,
then an abject horror show loss as we matched their numbers with injury curses and they seemed
enegised in the way mythical creatures of darkness are when feeding off negativity and virgin blood.
But, look, our warriors got us over the line. Broon, Ajer, Lustig - all magnificent in THE most difficult
times, when you're up against it and the momentum shift has the opposition firing. To get mugged by
injuries and reduced to ten men through no fault of our own when they should have been down to nine
- it's a problematic psychological blow.
The team outplayed them for an hour, should have been five up then suffered a series of catastrophies
which had me praying for a draw. But the Bhoys came through again, late on. It was a win for Celtic
supporters who understand that life ain't always pretty and triumphs can come not cloaked in glory
but in blood and guts.
We're so close to EIGHT. A lifetime achievement, not to be equalled in mine. Then comes the NINE, the TEN...
Thank you, Celts, for being the victorious good ghuys yet again in a savage sporting play of ancient rivalry and
social struggle.
Magic Days, indeed.
Sandman OOT!
SAM MUTHUFUCKIN JACKSON - 7/10
Mutha-FUCKA! A return to action on Muthafuckas Day and a return to my ongoing tit-a-tat with
harangued moderators trying to edit out the 'Muthufuckas' from the Sam 'Muthufuckin' Jackson ratings...
And didn't that Muthufucka put it together like a Fonzie-cool Muthufucka all that first half - reprising
his September 18 Hunskleping Muthufucka role as he controlled the midfield flow and let Broon do his
break-up job.
Maybe Lenny's the Man For Sam - can Lenny wrestle the consistent level of performance out of him
that makes our moody Muthufucka a world-beating Muthufucka?
Terrific first-half then fell away mostly due to fitness after a lay-off. The future could be bright if we got
the right Muthufucka because he loves dishing it out to those un-righteous Muthufuckas when the chips -
French fried, Muthufuckas - are down, like Kool and the Muthufuckin' Gang Down, psyche?
FRENCH EDDY MERCURY - 8.5/10
Yes, he IS worth 9 million PL-Coin.
40-yard run with the ball at his feet, turning defenders insdie out then compose denough to side-foot
the ball into the net with his weaker foot against the country's most frustrating keeper. It wa sa thing of
beauty, a goal of quality over quantity - nine out of ten average strikers fluff the finish and we don't
see the top-level ability French Eddy treated us to. AGAIN.
Another Mothers' Day, another Eddy marvel - everything about his game- particulary first half - justified
the spend. Even as our engine room malfunctioned badly he still had the spark and awareness to set up
Jamesy's winner.
19 goals, I believe. We work on this bhoys fitness and give him the support and service he requires -
speedy, to feet, allowing him to turn and run at defences, it's 38 this time next year.
He's a fucking marvel when he's on his game. If it means ten in a row, I'm offering the wife to him for
downtime entertainment...
She doesn't read these ratings, by the way...
SUBS:
SINCY - 5/10
By Corpus Christie he was unlucky - denied by flukey goalkeeping (or great goalkeeping, dependent on your perspective) as McGregor stopped our second and killer goal with his sex-murder-suspect-lookalike heel.
But there was far more to come from him - I felt he faded when we needed him digging - and that's unlike
him; perhaps he's got a message from Lenny and his time's up...
ROGIC - 4/10
Nah, big Aussie is wearing the kangaroo boots. Languid is fine, when it's guileful and creative; today he
was like a man wandering the Bush (alright ladies?) without a canteen who's stumbled upon a mirage.
Obviously not combat-fit enough yet and was a problematic passenger the last ten when he kept giving
the ball back to excited Huns and putting his team-mates under pressure.
TOEJAM - 6/10
Came on, looked really fucking bewildered to be in the mix of such a chaotic frenzy. Thank God he manged
to compose himself enough to hold some sort of shape and maintain a decent presence. Probably on a
plane back to Dortmund tonight, sobbing quietly into a sick-bag.
LENNY - 6/10.... 9/10!
Well, let's take a breather.
Team selcetion - hmm. KT fit? Okay. Well, let's make sure his cover - Johnny Hayes - is on the bench then.
Whit?
Hayes starts? Okay. Let's hiope KT can take the frenetic 90 minutes... Shit, whit's that? Johnny's been
booked by the MadHun and you need to sub him at half-time to stop the next obvious MIB step of
a second yellow and Hayes off to even it up.
Good substitution, Neil.
But...
Fuck, KT's fucked. Toejam it is, then, cos the cover's already off...
Hang on, there goes Ntcham for Rogic because Sam's fucked too.
Oh fuck, Dedryck's fucked. Fuck.
Okay, calm down, calm down - just bring on somebody for Dedryck and we... Fuck. We're fucked.
It's 1-1, and it's ten v ten. And they're sniffing out a miracle, and we're out on our feet, and...
BANG. Fuck!
Whew...
So Lenny escapes. A game he must have been looking at savaging them and clearing a 4 or 5 margin of victory
turned into a scrap. BUT...
He won. AGAIN.
And there's no doubting he is a winner.
Hand-wringing mumblers, haud yer wheesht. Brendan Rodgers team LOST just such a game at Mordor on December 29th.
Neil Lennon's team today hauled themselves back to victory when it looked all but chucked.
Could Rodgers team have done that? The evidence shows they couldn't- if plan A failed, plan B...
Well, just wasn't....
Ibrox Dec 29 2018 - the attitude of nouveau fans/supporters/players and, most disturbingly, Rodgers, to
losing is akin to watching a light-entertainment panel show and not really caring which team wins.
Celtic Park, 31 March 2019 - the attitude is, we win, they lose. There was no compromise.
If today exemplified anything, it exemplified how a manger can stamp his CHARACTER upon a squad
of players in a short time. If you know anything about football - in fact any sport, from baseball to rugby
and all between played to limits of time and endurance - you'll know that consistent late victories aren't
a sign of luck, they're a mark of CHAMPIONS, the DNA of WINNERS.
We have a winner in the hotseat, wringing the best from a squad left high and dry by a mercenary rat-bastard with his eye on EPL mediocrity.
If Lenny lacks the sheen, he certainly supplies the grit. And True Grit beats suave gunplay any day.
That grit has made the difference.
Give him the job. I'd rather see nobody else make or break the TEN.
OVERALL - 8/10 EIGHT. yes, that's right, Hun lurkers, EIGHT
Well, we had them on the rack, stretched like a bleating juxtaposed Braveheart as the Hun crowd
begged for mercy.
'Freedom,' they cried, 'Gie's freeeedom!' forgetting they were - and are - the merciless empirical
Hun Nazi bastards, now getting a taste of their own...
But then?
With all the implausable historical inaccuracies and contrived Hollywood drama Celtic can muster,
we turned the whole romantic epic into a Tarantino bloodfest. We didn't shoot outselves in the foot -
we shotgunned our feet right off in a spectacular halo of gore just as soon as Hun keeper, McGregor
- who resmbles an unsolved sex-murder suspect, definitely - deflected wide Sincy's almost-killer.
Suddenly, the 5-0 showboating pumping they were about to get began to resemble a narrow struggle,
then an abject horror show loss as we matched their numbers with injury curses and they seemed
enegised in the way mythical creatures of darkness are when feeding off negativity and virgin blood.
But, look, our warriors got us over the line. Broon, Ajer, Lustig - all magnificent in THE most difficult
times, when you're up against it and the momentum shift has the opposition firing. To get mugged by
injuries and reduced to ten men through no fault of our own when they should have been down to nine
- it's a problematic psychological blow.
The team outplayed them for an hour, should have been five up then suffered a series of catastrophies
which had me praying for a draw. But the Bhoys came through again, late on. It was a win for Celtic
supporters who understand that life ain't always pretty and triumphs can come not cloaked in glory
but in blood and guts.
We're so close to EIGHT. A lifetime achievement, not to be equalled in mine. Then comes the NINE, the TEN...
Thank you, Celts, for being the victorious good ghuys yet again in a savage sporting play of ancient rivalry and
social struggle.
Magic Days, indeed.
Sandman OOT!
