SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ BRIGADOON…
“Once Upon A Time, in a remote Scottish town, a derided Australian-Greco magician turned round the fortunes of a forlorn cause and sprinkled stardust over their hopes and dreams.”
– from ‘Modern Tales Of Myth & Marvel’ by Kenny Believeit.
ROXIE – 6.5/10 – Perfectly calming, and composed when required. No show-stopping necessary, but the ghirl’s flapper hands stuck well to everything dangerous thrown into our box. Comedy moment of the game as he got rakish striker booked by smacking the ball off him for getting too personal. Missus.
GREGGS THE BAKER – 8/10 MOTM – A sausage roll of a performance. A tasty feast of gutsy defensive competence wrapped in a pastry of terrific rotation and support play. Last week’s nearly-skelper shook off the
ennui of a below-par outing and made sure everything would count today. He was the great example of how to win at such places of toil and trouble – combat them at their level of work rate and physicality, then use your class to make the crucial difference. He did.
STAR LORD – 7/10 – After half an hour I realised he’d handle this one a lot better than his rickrolled red card nightmare during The Ralston Experience; he played his way out of a sticky situation and the Racoon gave a satisfied nod, folded its arms and sat up the back of the away end to let Arthur Shelby take the stage. Ross County away is an ask for any defender. The question being – do you fancy it? Star Lord showed us he did as his confidence in dealing with rogue mountain men grows by the game.
GET CARTER – 7.5/10 – No doubting the Big Mhan fancied it; this encounter is bespoke tailoring for his game. Somebody to smash AND a ball to win? Sunday lunch right there. Nobody got change out of him, and he threw in the block of the season to enhance his growing reputation.
TONY THE TIGER – 7/10 – Made of steel, eats bricks for breakfast. Survived an early assassination attempt from gurning wannabee Zombie-hero Callachan, which in soccer circles is generally known as a ‘flaming obvious red card challenge’. Except when the Celtic are pushing for a title that’ll condemn the slavering supremacists to years of subjugation if not Apocalypse 2. However, Tony’s designed like the T-1000 Terminator and morphed in a new leg almost instantly, then proceeded to rampage up and down the wing like an android possessed until the glory was his and ours, lacking only the usual deadliness to his crosses. But not bad for a guy who might not even have been walking.
CALMAC – 7.5/10 – Good grief, the consistency is that of a fillet steak cooked by Salt Bae (AKA Juran Juran), the leadership by example, and the passing precision-honed by Lockheed Martin. Shooting by Mary Feldman. He was not leaving there with anything less than three points, though, and again the team rallied round his unwavering commitment to answer the call.
HAKUNA HATATE – 6.5/10 – Wee Reo looked the part for an hour, surprisingly fending off the rough-housing I feared would cull his endeavour. He was finding good supporting space, if stifled in his attacking ambitions. You could see the fatigue affect him mentally into the second-half as he slowed and the passing wasn’t as crisp. But he’d contributed enough and lasted well. A couple more big performances, fella, then it’s a well-deserved champion’s rest – a couple of months of sushi, sake, and laughing at the Zombies.
THE BUILDER – 6/10 – Another who looked bright but faded. Him, I was more surprised about because this looked made for his guile. But after some inventive moments he lost his way a bit. Maybe the English part of him got spooked being so far North even the grass appeared tartan.
NOTEBOOK – 7.5/10 – At last, the bite is back. Turned a Different Corner, and look what we got – killer lines to go with the entertaining jigging. A beautiful cross for the opener, then still lively and alert enough to pounce and stab home the rapturous clincher.
MR.KOBAYASHI – 7.5/10 – He Henrik-ed it! A header out of Swedish mythology from a Japanese baku. A piece of footballing art to savour as trepidation was consumed by joy. He snapped that ball down into the bottom corner, merging nostalgia with futurism so stylistically that the streets of Verona shuddered as Umberto Boccioni spun in his grave. (look it up, philistines). Maybe should/could have had a hat-trick as he struck the bar and missed a nerve-calming sitter, but… Whisper it, Kyogo is back.
LORD KATSUMOTO – 6.5/10 – It had to happen at some point- the flamiing kitman forgot to pick up a packet of Duracell at the Inverness services and the human dynamo burnt himself out by the hour. Showed his usual thrilling and undying dedication to the cause in a first-half of sparkling movement and link-play. But take that rest, well-earned, and be prepared to unleash torment next week.
SUBS:
ROGIC – 6/10 – Oz has inflicted much damage upon those robust Heelanders in the past and was but a couple of lucky interceptions and critical tackles away from doing so again.
EDDIE TURNBULL – 6/10 – So old he knows Gene Kelly from the original Brigadoon appearance and it took him five minutes to realise this was a whole new reprisal, a top-six rarity for the Dungball inhabitants. Then he settled and got on the ball, showing some of the quality we look forward to adding back into the mix.
ABADASS – 6/10 – Looked completely freaked out by the locals. Must have felt like he’d stepped off the bus into Sheol. Fluffed his lines a couple of times before he found the defining moment and a great bit of wing play chopped up the virtual cocaine hit to send us buzzing into the week.
SON OF JACKIE – 6.5/10 – The big hustler did it – what he does best; forging some room in the box, meeting the cross as he rolls the defender. Denied only by the bar yet another one-touch delight and the limelight, but he’d played his part beautifully.
JAMESY – N/A – ‘Unpacked’ late-on to give the local ladies at least something to send them away with a misbegotten smile.
ANITA DOBSON – 8/10 – A cunning ploy by Ange to start all three Japanese and gain the upper hand early as Big Mad Mental Racey Malky stood on the touchline dressed like a fat Carlito Brigante, face bursting and veins
popping, unable to contrive the correct term to instruct his team to mark…’ Those phckn…’ ‘Ja..’ ‘Slo…’ ‘Thaim!!’
A great psychological job done this past week to shut out the noisy Humming Monkeys and their SMSM fanboys who’d swooned to the deck shanking over a scrappy, shitty extra-time win against a disjointed Celtic who really hadn’t turned up yet had still almost put it out of their grasp. He got the focus he spoke of, the result we craved and the touching-distance of legendary status. Don’t Stop, Ange – it’s right there in front of you.
MIBBERY – 5/10 – ‘Red card, red card, red card!’ Somebody needs to play back the squealing Ibrox demands of the Tory rent boy for Clancy Drew to unravel the mystery that the scythe on the Brickie was mistimed, high, dangerous and carried out with malice as ugly as the goon who escaped with just a yellow. Some bullshit mantra of not wanting to dismiss someone early will be the lame reasoning. But, here’s a revolutionary idea – just start applying the laws of the game.
OVERALL – 8/10 – Dingwall for drama. Not you, Divine… although drama-‘Queen’ might be on-point…
Another late show and scenes to savour. There were probably more fermenting Zombies watching the closing moments at 1-0 than Bhoys, whose nerves were fraying and looking for something to occupy ten minutes of their time until the bloody game was done and won. I know I was, and the only response I got from her was, “We’re not doing it five times”…
However, faithful trepidation was rewarded with that special kind of ecstasy only a late vital goal can deliver; compressed, pressurised joy let loose, garnished with lashings of schadefreude from spewing Zombies.
But why did we fret? From the start the Bhoys were back in the groove like Snoop Dogg laying down a track for Rhythm & Gangsta. They clicked, took the lead, might have killed it off, but built the tension for the big dramatic finish we now expect up there.
Title run-in nerves came, manifested, then were blown away by the Angeball machine that didn’t stop. We’re so close now, the vengeful dreams of the squandered TEN near to becoming sweet reality. One down, two wins to go. Or maybe just that relished one big result next time out… Ready the champagne corks – the average Zombie burd’s about to ruin the ludge karaoke night.*
Go Away Now
Sandman
* ‘The fat lady’s about to sing’, for slow readers.
