SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ EMELDAMARCOS…
“Hungary is very similar to Bulgaria. I know they’re different countries.” – Kevin Keegan
ROXIE – 7.5/10 – Big Roxie is not a girl to be messed with. Decided the defenders need what we’ve always prescribed – a damn good rollocking. It nearly worked; we almost saw it out comfortably until the usual inexplicable lapse which gave him no chance. Just like the first physics-defying ball-tap from the fates that brought them level. In-between the universe being a bitch, she was again that ineffable presence between the sticks which just makes everyone think, ‘Ach, we’ll be fine.’
TONY THE TIGER – 7.5/10 – Socks, Tony! Socks! His agent sat in front of the telly, head in hands as the one word that had escaped him all contract talks shamed his client in front of the watching world. Kick-off held up for three minutes for… Socks. Tony sporting the holiest pair since Jesus took off his during a game of fives and said, ‘It’s too flaming warm, pass the sandals.” (AlternativeBibleTales.com). From wearing the hosiery of an early twentieth century Parisien street whore to yet again winning hearts and minds as he gave all for the cause. Constant motion, reliable and unreliable then reliable again as he cleared up his own mistakes.
Never has a jersey been won and retained so justly and with the character arc of a classic superhero. He’s Peter Parker and Wolverine but he’s not good enough for Scotland, L.O.L. Facepalm special from Stevie Clarke, master of irony.
RAQUEL – 7/10 – The world held its breath. Would he looks be tainted forever? Grown men wept as replays of the ball smashing Raquel in the face caused anguish across the heterosexual metaverse. Whatever that is. Ask Zuckerberg the Borg. But she recovered and remained eternally beautiful. Well, until hobbling off after 85. Certainly in the wars, and suffered from a shaky start, caught wrong-side, slipping, misplacing passes. Then received the worst yellow card of 2021 for having the misfortune to easily beat their collapsible fanny, who then collapsed. Like a fanny. But settled into a fine game, alert and strong, coping very well for a defensive player on a yellow for so long.
GET CARTER – 6.5/10 – He’ll flaming well get you. Some of their pseudo-hard-men shrunk in the face of Get Carter stepping out at them. Took no prisoners, only beaten by fleet-footed strikers occasionally – handled their most dangerous forward with quiet aplomb. Gets better as he gets match-fitter.
JURAN JURAN – 6/10 – Quieter game than I expected. Played more conservatively, which is probably to his credit as we had enough maniacs bombing forward at every opportunity. Ridiculous bad luck at their first goal, possibly a consequence of a natural right-footer at left-back; lunged to block with the wrong leg. But that’s a moot point, as he again excelled out of his normal position.
BITTON – 8.5/10 MOTM – Incredibly valuable to the squad, having a man who can fill in the defensive mid position with such suave grace and add some welcome steel right in front of our unsettled back four. He was immense in both breaking up their nifty attacking play and sharply switching us onto counter-mode. Looks so passive yet applies himself like a hired assassin, with clinical thoroughness. As Mossad may testify.
Or not. You never heard it from me, right…
CALMAC – 7/10 – A busy, busy bee. Surprisingly. The way they set up with their able and dynamic midfield players interchanging, Calmac’s expected freedom became more of another industrious haranguing display just slightly further ahead of Bitton. So instead of roving forward at will, he spent most of his time conducting our press to hem them in. And he triumphed. Because he’s Calmac.
EDDIE TURNBULL – 8/10 – Anonymous for the first fifteen minutes as we traded punches, then sparked into life – not easy at his age (Deid) – and all but ran the show. Put Saturday’s non-event behind him and made more quality, telling passes in one game than his season to date. Deliveries were also consistent and mostly dangerous. Made up for Oz’s absence by being our central creative force and lead cheerleader; although not really pretty enough.
NOTEBOOK – 7/10 – He put the boom-boom into our hearts with that strike as he exploded like a jitterbug. More Wham puns to come, don’t worry; they’re still number one in Hungary. He’ll be Fantastic as we Make It Big and head for The Final. All young Notebook needed was a Father Figure like Ange to look up to – like Jesus To A Child – to make him turn A Different Corner, give it One More Try and play with Freedom, not spending this season, like Last Christmas, stuck in the reserves at Club Tropicana, Praying For Time, asking simply, Don’t Let The Sun Go Down on Me. Mic dropped.
ABADASS – 6.5/10 – First he was there, swooping and setting up the opener. Then he was frustratingly ineffective, misplacing passes, cutting in predictably; then he was incisive, slotting home the winner like a veteran. Kids these days, bloody unpredictable…
MR.KOBAYASHI – 7.5/10 – ‘Wake me up, it’s flaming Koyogo!’ screamed the ex-Hibs goalie in nets for them as the Wham Rap had barely finished playing over the tannoy and his defence was queueing for Notebook’s autograph while Koyogo stole in between defenders to shift feet and strike a peach. Blonde, like a manga demon warrior right out of a Final Fantasy game, we still don’t know if he’s real or the manifestation of our collective consciousness’ longing for a genetic mix of Naka and Henke. At any frequency of existence, he’s the bargain buy of the century. Could have had a second with a deft dink salvaged on the line.
But we now know the haiku for the teamsheet – play Koyogo central, get more goals every time, don’t compromise the forward line. Of course, that’s not a haiku – I’ve no idea what the hell I’m doing; just throwing together a random senryu…
SUBS:
SON OF JACKIE – 6.5/10 – Did well to rickroll their defence a couple of times and wore the set of a man with Saturday still on his mind. Good. ‘Cos he’s got that nonsense to make up for.
MIKEY J – 6/10 – Both annoying and encouraging. Angsty mishaps to give the ball away or failure to exploit opportunities, offset by good awareness and endeavour. Just like the 90s music scene; dross and diamond alike.
JAMESY – N/A – Exposed to the far stand for a brief time. Also played for last fifteen minutes.
MCCARTHYISM – 6.5/10 – Anxious when he came on. Not him – me. But he covered the vacated MOTM role well enough.
OF JUSTICE – N/A – Welcome to Celtic – choose your position. No, don’t, – you’re centre half today. Good luck..
ANITA DOBSON – 8/10 –
Bravery to the point of insanity. Probably created history for being the first Celtic manger ever to play three forwards away in Europe AND replace them entirely with ANOTHER three strikers. But it worked. Even the tikki-takka in our own six-yard box is now becoming a thing of habit which barely raises eyebrows; a far cry from the early season eye-bulging screaming from between fingers witnessed among countless cardiac-cases.
Ange demanded, and Ange is getting his results. An away win against the champions of Hungary is a fine scalp. Now we’re maybe four points or even three, from knockout qualification. It’s a nice distraction from the grind of horsing the Scottish establishment into the pit of Hades, but more crucially, it gives Ange and his players vindication that they’re doing all the right things – a valuable counterpoint to the echo chamber of
the domestic goldfish bowl.
OVERALL – 8.5/10 – Ah, Budapest. The beautiful backdrop to many of my favourite movies of the Nineties from the Private Media Group – a prolific European arthouse film company responsible for countless classic romantic dramas. No wooden acting last night, apart from the opposition, but plenty of pumping action from our dynamic bhoys as they terrorised the home side every time we smuggled the ball off them, then took control of the game for long spells.
As Celtic Euro performances go, it was a treasure – nightmares of the past consigned to the penumbra, trampled into the subconscious as the team confidently went about their business. We knew we had to win. Knew we had to get the points to set a fire under the group qualification. Scrappy one-nil, defended to the hilt, like Davy Crockett holding off the cartels? We’d have taken it. But tonight we actually played. Went out and puffed up the chests – very much like a Private movie – and stuck it to them. Again, very much like…
Anyway, days like these we’ve waited a while for. It’s heartwarming that we see a plan taking shape, a new Celtic style formatting before our eyes; that the grand Antipodean utopian vision hasn’t collapsed into desperate Lennonism as last season did. And so, to paraphrase the pigeon-English of those great
90s movies’ dialogue:
Celtic, I love you. I think now, we should go away to….
Sandman.
