Sandman’s Definitive Ratings – Celtic at Niflheim, Hacks’ Premature Publication

SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC @ NIFLHEIM…HACKS’ PREMATURE PUBLICATION….

“Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.” – William Blake.

Joe Hart of Celtic roars in celebration to the Celtic supporters

ROXIE – 6/10 – Quiet/not quiet. Mad night for him as he endured unintelligible teuchter banter from the coo shed, conceded helplessly, got involved plenty vocally and surprised me by not turning up to score the winner himself.

; Anthony Ralston of Celtic celebrates towards the fans after his goal late into injury time secures the 3 points

TONY THE TIGER – 8/10 MOTM – Tony is the humble Son Of Man. A living Ghod. It is his birthday next Saturday. Sacrifice a lamb, bestow him with frankincense and Myrrh. Praise him. Build a statue. Eat frosties.
Truly leaps like a tiger. Flaming Grrrreat!

Jack Baldwin of Ross County makes it 1-1 in the 57th minute

OF JUSTICE – 6/10 – Ups and downs. Great run to set up the first, never covered a run properly to sell the equaliser. Never looked overwhelmed though and can do the basics well; fulfilled his part in the grand scheme decently.

GET CARTER – 6.5/10 – Have some. Fine Jozo tribute tackle in the opening stages set the tone for a no-nonsense intense display where he compensated well for the bag of anxiety beside him. As the game strung out he impressed with his mobility as we defended pacy breaks.

Carl Starfelt of Celtic is yellow carded following a challenge in which he was left with a bloody face

STAR LORD – 4.5/10 – “Faackin’ ‘el, it’s grimmer than the ol’ Black Country up ‘ere,” growled Arthur as the Shelby family wagon rolled into town and his brothers got on with trading horses while he took to the field. And the cold had him lively and punching his weight from the start. Alert to cope with their forward sprites and ballsy enough to fancy a drive forward. Then, well, then came the voices in his heid… And none were his faithful racoon as he mistimed a jump, battered into the ‘robust’ arm of a tree, bloodied himself, bitched at the insipid wee MIB who saw the chance to book a bleeding Bhoy and level-up in the ludge, compounded minutes later with a clumsy, stupid haul-back due to being busted wrong-side. Off he went. A seasonal gift for Muir The Staunch. At such a traditional time of year he managed the Holy Screw Trinity of idiocy, unlucky and victimised in one calamatous spell. Oh, Star Lord, what will we do with you?

Carl Starfelt of Celtic gets his second yellow card of the match and is sent off in the 79th minute

JURAN JURAN – 4/10 – Can he cross it? No, he can’t. Our accomplished Ballkan balked at every good opening, bewildering himself with his poor final balls. Then, from being all over the park last couple of games, he mysteriously disappeared somewhere in the highlands after the break. Sight-seeing or Xmas dinner for one of
the numerous local cannibal families? #Pray for Juran Juran.

Nir Bitton goes close.

BLOCKCHAIN – 6.5/10 – A shame to see him sacrificed because he’d been one of our successes, continually punching the team on from his elevated midfield position as we struggled second-half. Still, no worries for the lanky assassin as he celebrated the winner along the touchline, clench-fisted like he’d just won an MMA fight. And he probably would with that reach.

Callum McGregor of Celtic gestures to the fans on the park to leave so the game can restart

CALMAC – 7/10 – Thank Ghod for the skipper’s consistency. Perpetual football is his mantra and even when he’d let the precision and accuracy slip around their equaliser, he recovered rhythm like Charlie Watts coming off a crashing, coked-out cacophony into stoned percussive excellence. Always alert to the crucial pure-football pass, exemplified at the very death as he took one cool touch and segued in a second to slip in Oz.

Regan Charles-Cook of Ross County brings the ball away from David Turnbull of Celtic

EDDIE TURNBULL – 5/10 – Worried for the old bhoy when he collapsed just before half-time. But it was only another stroke. Prior to it, he’d been subdued, almost unsure of his exact position. Or maybe it was just the surroundings, unchanged since he was a kid on holiday just before the Great War. As we toiled, he tried and tried but the cuteness didn’t pay off and his free-kicks began to resemble video game quality efforts – not FIFA, more ‘Breakout’ from the 80s.

FIELD MARSHALL – 4/10 – Strangely absent, almost appearing on the Dingwall missing kids’ milk carton pictures (which are always popular during sacrifice season), save for his involvement in the first goal. Kept well left, and mainly saw his role as a decoy, opening space for The Scales Of Justice to exploit. Couldn’t lever himself into the game as time wore on.

Liel Abada celebrates his goal.

ABADASS – 7/10 – He handled leading the line pretty well for an ethereal winger. Forced into more participation than usual, he adjusted his early mistimed movement to nail it for the opening goal. Thereafter, recovered from being chewed up by brawny animals twice his size and gave us a presence to play to.

SUBS:

Owen Moffat of Celtic celebrates with his family and friends after the final whistle

LITTLE MISS – 6/10 – Aw, isn’t he cute? Thrown on to market the Celtic Superstore’s new Xmas range of Celtic Patch dolls, our ball of reddish blonde fluff had their redwood defenders chasing him around with the frowns of a dug pawing at a rogue hamster. No fear shown, just enthusiasm – should be extra thrilled to be partially involved in the winner. They’ll never get him to sleep next Friday night now…

ROGIC – 7.5/10 – Ever seen Van Gogh paint with his left hand? Course you haven’t. But tonight you saw this Antipodean artist deliver a winning stroke of genius with his standing foot that might just have set up a
title-winning surge we haven’t seen for a few years. I love you, you marvellous muthu….

Celtic Manager Ange Postecoglou celebrates to the fans as he leaves the pitch

ANITA DOBSON – 7.5/10 – Angeball lives on. If only he’d had enough players to play it. But the patchwork quilt of a side managed enough cohesion to make it look like they’d stroll it with their eyes shut. However, came the turnaround and came the teeth-grinding disintegration of Ange’s strategy as tempo lapsed and nobody stepped-up to counter the home side’s verve. But then, vindication of his symbiotic relationship with
his players deep into stoppage time. Well, right at the final swipe of the hammer towards the final nail in the
title-challenge coffin to be more accurate. There Ange was, growling out encouragement as he prowled the touchline looking like Fifi Macafee egging on Max Rockatansky, until our own Mad Tony triumphed in the
glorious final scene. Aussie mad bar stewards, gotta love ’em.

Carl Starfelt of Celtic speaks to referee Alan Muir following a challenge in which he was left with a bloody face

MIBBERY – 7.5/10 – A-ha, a-ha, a hahahaha. A close one. Almost a 9. Thought ye’d pulled that off, didn’t ye? Star Lord’s abberations got him very, very brave, running around with a semi; edging like a crazed fetishist as he
denied us a stonewall penalty in the last minute, only… ONLY to see the resultant corner transpire to give him the worst case of blue baws he’ll ever know. Iced-off the FAIL by not booking Tony for the crowd orgy. Because the distraught blue-nose couldn’t see who it was through his vale of tears. “I should’ve given the pen…*Sniff*…I should’ve just given it…*Sniff, sniff*…Bar stewards might have missed it…Bwaaa….”

Anthony Ralston of Celtic celebrates towards the fans after his goal late into injury time secures the 3 points

OVERALL – 5.5/10 to 9/10 – What the hell was that? A pivotal title-winning victory, very possibly. With echoes of last season’s misery resounding, Celtic dug out the points with the timing and style of 80s action heroes leaping from a crashing plane and racing away from the fiery explosion in the background like absolute bosses. Our game of two halves became a game of seconds, frustrating inability to finish them off protracted
into tortuous disillusion, then flash-fired into an intense and dazzling beautiful blink of lens-flare glory that only the live theatre of tribal sport can produce.Around the wonderful Celtic circus we got crestfallen officials and Malky Mackay trying to set a darkside narrative about excessive injury time. Well, there wasn’t, Malky.

So on we go to a Sunday greenfest glamour gig with that first silverware for the taking, buoyed up knowing that this squad will go to the death for a win. And you, dear reader should be careful to avoid your own demise tonight and tomorrow morning by slipping on your way home or to work. Not because it’s icy – it’s just that the streets are slick with ragin’ Bear vomit.

Go Away Now.

Sandman

About Author

The Celtic Star founder and editor, who has edited numerous Celtic books over the past decade or so including several from Lisbon Lions, Willie Wallace, Tommy Gemmell and Jim Craig. Earliest Celtic memories include a win over East Fife at Celtic Park and the 4-1 League Cup loss to Partick Thistle as a 6 year old. Best game? Easy 4-2, 1979 when Ten Men Won the League. Email editor@thecelticstar.co.uk

3 Comments

  1. Malky got Malkied, by Tony Ralston and for god sake don’t turn into another Neilston greeting faced Rat,spear chucker football wild falling armed thug sent on

  2. Ralston a true Celt. Plays with heart and is more controlled each game.
    Both goals scored this term shows that he can play further up the pitch when needed.
    Has strength,steel and skill needed for the coming months.
    Stay fit Anthony.
    Turnbull not the man for me.Will need to realise Celtic need the Ralston and Walsh attitude to win the league.
    Nothing else is important this season.
    Cups are sideshows .
    Hail Hail.

  3. Erudite and witty as usual. Disappointed in your description of aTurnbull effort v Motherwell. Very outdated term. Look it up if you are not sure. Not big, not clever, never funny. Keep up your good work.