“2017/18 – Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
2018/19 – Celtic, played 26, points 60. 8-point gap to second.
Statistically, and historically, speaking, the Zombies are still shite.”
Stephen Hawking’s Virtual Ghost.
“Whodda thunk it – a LEGO pitch! Those whacky Danish funsters will make anything with those crazy
bricks.Including Mordor! Gonna have some (everything is…) awesome fun today! But nobody will be
building from the back!”
Emmet from the Lego Movie.
“‘Sake, man. Boaby’s wan o’ ra peepul. Like me. Fecks he daein cannin’ me fur choppin’ that c***, Broon? Dis he ken he’ll never again be able to set fit in Ma hame toon, Drungan? How can any man live wi’ no bein’ able tae experience thon paradise utopia of erudite, free-thinkin’ pape-hatin’ cattle-humpin’, gurning bigots?”
(Free) Kirk Broadfoot.
BANE – 8/10
After the bats of Valencia, comes the trauma of the pies of Killie. In particular one rotund pie-eater, Monster Munch, whose presence on the subs’ bench still managed to obscure Bane’s view of the pitch beyond.
Sneaky Stevie Clarke (next Celtic manger, kiddos) tactic of having Monster Munch warm up beside Bane’s goal second-half to block out daylight failed as our keeper proved implacable. Smart handling and footwork.
TOEJAM – 7.5 /10
Phew. Valencia swamping over, back to Premiership business and a chance to exhibit his all-round ability. Busy and keen in all departments, we have this quiet, industrious alternative to the madness of Mikael. I like him but, at this level, still think Lustig gives us an extra attacking threat from set-pieces when struggling. Like today…
HAYES – 6.5/10
Did he prefer the churned battlefields of WW1 to the Killie concrete-painted-green? Our time-travelling Tommy from the Great War filled the erratic Izzy’s left-back role and played it very well. The irony of the piece is that he FAILED in his natural position – wing-back; very poor final balls from dangerous positions. That was no day for juxtaposed irony, Jonny, you cheeky Jerry-baiting, cannon-fodder scallywag…
AJER – 7/10
Big Kris knows the place. And still didn’t enjoy his return to Legoland after a year trying to escape
the joint. Today was all about minimising mistakes and trying to be efficient with distribution. He did
well, right touches at right times.
BOYATA – 9/10
It’s tough to begrudgingly praise a mercenary, shiftless drifter with his eye on the summer prize
of a lucrative move south, pocketing all the cash and screwing Celtic for CL qualification last year, and this
coming July, and 9 million spondulicks of transfer dosh. But he was near-perfection today, winning everything, positionally spot-on and alert and aware enough in the final seconds to win the knock-down perfectly to set-up the Broony screwball winner. Consummately professional, might be the apt summary. Thank-you, Dedryck.
BROON – 9.5/10 MOTM
HA! A spike in the heart of the Broon-loathing sophisticats and a silver bullet to the Zombie hopes of adequacy.
Deservedly booked in the first-half for a late flip, he walked a tightrope; A tightrope as diaphanous as
Kyle Lafferty’s marital bliss.
But, he does not shirk. Every time the ball bobbled around on Lord Business’s rejected playing surface I feared
for his tenure. One wrong tap, a loose foot, a dangling leg, and Baldy Boaby The Madyin was going to burst his
boolin’-club breeks to flash the red.
And then, with frustration building akin to being suddeenly locked in a room with a lustful naked Angelina
Jolie right after you’ve woken from a wet dream to find Theresa May on top, big Dedryck The Undesireable
placed the perfect header back into the skipper’s path from a corner.
And the skipper skyed it…
…Against the outthrust forearm of some Killie chump and it bloopered into the very perfect corner of the
And then we and every mentalist pitch invader and worldwide Sky viewers – and Zombies just before they thrust
their welly bits through their tellies – got the Broony in our faces.
And Broony got his second yellow and walked the walk as Bobby Madyin balanced his books after sending off unspeakable microwave-weilding egg-terrorist ned Broaderse fifteen minutes previously.
NO booking for EVERY other Celtic player celebrating with the crowd overspill?
Noooo… course not , Boaby.
NO booking for any Zombies celebrating with their pitch-invading army of zoomers when they win the World Chumpions League Supercup Skittle Series Title at Livingston and wee hovels beyond?
Just nail the Tim captain for doing what every other football player/fan with a soul would do in the given moment, and blame it on ‘the rules’.
Look Boaby, all things being unequal, let’s blame my following statement on ‘the rules’ of grammar, poor or other wise: You’re. A. Servile. Zombie….
CALMAC – 6/10
Not tweaking at all. Not turning or finding the killer ball. A split-second off-key and playing a lot without that half-turn he’d perfected from watching Zidane. He will come good again, but got out of jail today after failing to magic up something special to win us the game.
CHRISTIE – 6/10
Forayed and forayed and ran up cul-de-sacs. Almost nailed a header second-half, made a mess of a free-kick gift when it looked like that was one of our only hopes. Not getting the luck with his timing and energy at the moment but we’ve seen that happen before with Armstrong and young Corpus has more grit about him to get through it and come good for the run-in.
FORREST – 5/10
Just up the road from his flashing grounds, Jamesy employed more sleight of groin in North Ayrshire’s
most affluent midden, but they had him corralled. No space at all for him to even get up a head of steam; such a tight expanse of prefabricated plastic surface offers Jamesy’s pace little outlet.
SINCY – 5/10
Reverted to dropping deep and picking up balls in non-threatening positions. Poor delivery to his dancing feet all game – everything seemed delayed and imprecise; almost a given now when we play at Rugby Park.
FRENCH EDDY – 5/10
Tangled up by goons and offered no service aside from some intricate edge-of-box play to carve openings. We failed miserably to play to his strengths or support him in any way. The French have a term for the notion of playing football at Kilmarnock; it’s know as ‘l’ennui.’
WEAH – 7/10
The First Lady of Liberia was in the stands to watch her boy’s scintillating cameo. Came onto the park, didn’t get a touch for ten minutes then tore them up.
Almost scored when he should have squared. And at full-time got involved in verbals with Killie’s
farming prodigy, Coo Cluks (aka Jordan Jones – surprise, surprise, Slippy G’s rent-boy gets involved), which facilitated Boaby Madyin (of course he is, legally-anxious pedants) to book him.
Accompanied by her daughter, the first Lady of Liberia – bless her for her dynamic offspring – is known for her benevolent visits to rancid outlying villages with little or no sewage systems and a culture based on witchcraft and sacrificial rituals. She also visits underprivileged towns in her home country, too…
BURKE – 7/10
Big Snatch resurrected the ghost of Samaras with a lung-bursting run down the wing that deserved more than the outcome. He’s like a rear-view mirror – an object a lot bigger than he first appears and is at least giving us a good shift in return for the stolen jersey he’ll give up come June. Fair enough.
BAYO – N/A
Big SOAG – acronym fans, you got it – looked well up for it and could have bagged a legendary start in the footsteps of many Celtic-career failures before him if Timo had squared for an open goal in injury-time. But he was spared the curse and we wait until he gets a decent hit at it for judgement to weigh.
BR – 6/10
Is he lucky? I’ve asked previously. Yeeeeeeeaaaaaassss! Screamed a million Tims on the 90th minute as
Captain Marvel smackeroonied in a winner contrived of ricochets from the Roadrunner cartoons that ended with the ACME dynamite explosion in the away end (one of two, cos Killie is a shitey Zombie supporting town…).
Abject refusal to change his system until the utter death when big Son Of A Gun made his debut. Once again he
nearly – neeeeaarly – came unstuck against Stevie Clarke (next Celtic manger – watch this space, kids…)
at Kilmarnock but this time fortune favoured the brave-ish.
OVERALL – PHEW/10, or 7.
I hate the place. And so do the Celts.
Yet, a team game is reduced – as it often is on occasions like that, on a pitch like that – to a game of individual
moments; Broon, who bleeds the Hoops, and bleedin’ Boyata who needn’t be at the Hoops.
We shall repeat the glorious moment as attempted above with Broon, in more glorious exposition of those two dichotomous players –
One playing the perfect professional, fulfilling his contractual obligations to the best of his abilities, knocking
down to tee-up the winner for one playing the odds – on a booking – and playing with his heart like a demented berserker, raging onto the knock-down with a determined blinding fury, a single thought only – to smash the ball into the face of the Killie bam that dared to challenge him…
Luckily, aforementioned Killie bam – Bruce – threw an arm up to defend himself from Broony’s tango size-5 assault and deflected the leathery balloon weapon, skittering it along the ground into the net to the astonishment of many.
Well, everyone. Except historians…
It was already Arthutrian lore:
‘And the captain plunges the emerald dagger into the black hearts of the undead everywhere, and the skies open in anticipation of the return of the coming sun to banish the armies of darkness.’
So, yeah, we pull it out the mire, and Rugby Park can F right off for another season. Thank Ghod.
Onwards and Eightwards.
Also on The Celtic Star…