BROON – 7/10
A slow, predictable burden according to those who don’t understand soccerball or the art of positional play, in which Captain B excels; particularly tonight when his sheer intuitive
presence shut down their midfield space and forced quality playmakers like Larsson (Blessed be thy name) to opt wide.
Combative and tough, he led the way in stifling every promising build-up.
CALMAC – 6/10
Another quiet outing but it was an away day in Europe so his guile became grit and in tandem with Broon he forged a useful barrier to their ambitions. Not shy, Calmac took a yellow with his captain as IKEA’s physicality was thwarted. Soon, our metronome will open things up and punish the unworthy; Sunday, I’m hoping.
???? Celtic: Winners on the night, winners on aggregate, and into tomorrow's #UELdraw ✅#UEL pic.twitter.com/F5urD2SmIV
— UEFA Europa League (@EuropaLeague) August 29, 2019
CORPUS CHRISTIE – 6/10
‘JINGS!’ swore posh young Ryan as a frightful northerner tried to dig him a new eye socket. But he recovered after the butler ran on with some of Matron’s rejuvenating elixer and the Son Of Man once
again wore the opposition into gnashing ire with his perpetual motion.
Tremendous strike nearly got him a worldy. not quite on it. Maybe a day in the very near future? Like on an imminent weekend…
FORREST – 8/10 MOTM
Ah, Sweden. Where a man hanging freely is but a past-time, not a crime. What perfect environs for our dazzling Flying Flasher Of Old Prestwick Town to show his appreciation. What devastating impact he brought. And not just to the bars and clubs last night…
Tonight he tucked away his weapon of choice and furnished himself with his choice weapons – those lighting boots. Brilliant link-up, step-inside and finish for the first, then terrorised all game until teeing up young Freeman late on. All summer Jamesy’s been coiling up like a rattlesnake and he’s about to bite, big-time. Get yer bets on.
MIKEY J – 6.5
Wunderkind hit-and-miss first-half, like the 80s indie scene. But his New Romantic ideals would not be denied and with Spandau’s ‘Gold’ ringing in his ears reached for nostalgia far beyond his cultural
coiffure as he tapped the 60s and reprised a Jinky dribble which left their keeper so dizzy he slapped it into his own net while raising a glove to his overwhelmed, oversized foreheid.
Mikey is growing into his role, maturing towards teamsheet regularity. The hurdle looms large in front of him this weekend – it took Depeche Mode about three albums to crack it big so will our synthpop sensation be our own Ibrox ‘Violator’ this weekend? (see what I did there, fans of credible albums from an era of general glammed-up dross?).
FRENCH EDDY – 7.5/10
Mon Dieu! Leading the line like a total enigmatic hooped boss, this mercurial monsieur was abandoned by fate and a manager whom I can only presume was sleeping at the wheel (oh, the
GB-banner irony).
Ran them an utter dance, seeming to now revel in a lone-striker role he struggled with last season. Nearly scored himself, genius dink to get Jamesy in for the opener. The image of him laid out
on the turf will have gladdened many a Stygian black Zombie heart.
Why was he still on the pitch after the hour mark? A swashbuckling performance that deserved an early rest.
