Sandman’s Definitive Ratings: Celtic at Satan’s Sanatorium


“When we have reached the depths of despair, only then can we look up and see the light of hope…”

Stephen Richards.

“…Aye, but JFK just took oot the bulb to save money.”

The Celtic Support.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

BANE – 5/10 – Looked nervous, and no wonder. If they weren’t deflecting past him they were zipping in. Not a chance with the goals, but teflon gloves at other times.

GREGGS THE BAKER – 4/10 – All industry and no class. Huffed and puffed and blew…every chance for a killer ball. Work-rate alone does not equal Celtic quality.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

AJER – 6/10 – Another stoic, committed performance from someone who probably wont’ be here next season. But for jumping under the cross for their third he would’ve been MOTM, and his impromptu Ricky Villa impersonation late on would have sealed his legacy as a kid who grew into a main mhan and gave us all when imposters around him faked it.

Photo: Jane Barlow

RAQUEL – 4/10 – Reasonably solid under pressure but lacking presence to handle rugged opponents – needs to toughen up and roughen up; forwards get too easy a time against her. She’ll be scunnered to have been tied up in knots by an old man in injury time, who saw 1 Million Years B.c in his local Roxy cinema…

JONJO O’NEILL – 3/10 – So the trick is to look pretty competent against run-of-the-mill mince and somehow get through the big games unscathed; that’s how you forge a lucrative yet indistinctive top-flight football career.
Offered nothing when we needed solidity and spark.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

BROON – 5.5/10 – The cruel spittle of fate dismissed Broon’s last chance of glory and summed up the season entire as a mis-control broke off Broon’s heel right back into the path of the creature born of Pepe Le Pew being molested by Pluto from ‘The Hills Have Eyes’, who thrashed it into the net. Stood up well to run midfield Han Solo after 27 minutes, yet subbed too early which denied him the departing glory of being sent off for attempted murder. The final ignominy for a glorious leader, captain and legend as the pussies around him imploded.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

CALMAC – 2/10 – His nightmare continues. No solace in the fact he gave the MIB his first double-orgasm with a flukey Zombie goal and Celtic sending-off combination, which will surely mean obsequious weasel Walsh is awarded some kind of special golden goat-pumping dildo at the next ludge meeting/Referees’ ‘conference’. As for Calmac, started brightly enough and looked in the mood. The consolation may be that nothing else can possibly
go wrong for him.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

JAMESY – 3/10 – Off with just a swift flash to show for it. Might be the story of his Saturday nights but we needed more than a momentary burst of dynamism. That said, it became apparent ‘play it to Jamesy’ was somehow omitted from the team talk…

EDDIE TURNBULL – 4/10 – Showing his age. Which is ‘not yet of’… Still unable to dominate their backline with his obvious skill – too many failed flicks and poor balls make him lightweight when he should be terrorising them. Sitter missed with his head at a definitive moment to cap off another questionable big game showing.

ELYANONYMOUSSI – 5/10 – Couldn’t believe he got a start, and couldn’t believe he fizzed in a beauty, denied by the fingertips of the tangerine sex-case and the bar. Couldn’t believe he made a great run through them second-half which deserved a goal. Twice outing himself in one big game. Feeling alright? Then couldn’t believe he was all smiley-smiley with the retired snooker player as we suffered the worst pumping in a long time. Get back into hiding. Preferrably somewhere on the south coast of England.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

FRENCH EDDY – 6.5/10 MOTM – Le bonce strikes and suddenly we’re back in it. ‘Le Meditations On Isolation’ is the book Eddy’s been writing throughout lockdown – mainly about his experiences playing up front for Celtic; Jean-Paul Sartre is said to be existentially metaphysically frothing about it, according to mediums.

No new chapter to scribe this evening, just more of the same – a quality inside-forward left to his own devices, scrabbling around the frontline against unspeakable ugliness. But he was making inroads against the odds – felt like something was on whenever he got in between their lumpen drones and tantalised. However, grim punchline thrown on 75 minutes as he was pulled rather than given a partner to have a go for the last 15 minutes. Genius management, keeping the Eddy whiners in business.


CORPUS CHRISTIE – N/A – Pranced around squealing, “Don’t kick me, I’m in the Euros! Don’t kick me I’m in the Euros!” for fifteen minutes as he snatched the ‘Where Are They Now?’ trophy from Elanonymoussi.

SORO – N/A – Added some sharpness to the midfield. An hour after he should have…

MIKEY J – N/A – A brief stint to remind us of the worst of the 80s. Like the scoreline.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

JFK – 2/10 – Admirable swift reaction to the Calmac sending-off as he immediately sacrificed Elanonymoussi for Soro to keep the engine room intact. No. No, he didn’t. He left Broon in there alone for another 45 minutes of game-time. Admirable courage to go two up front and see how they handle a roasting from a pair of dynamic strikers. No. No, he didn’t.

He subbed off our only striker after 75 minutes in a woeful act of surrender, calculated at? Keeping the score at 1-3? Yes. How the hell did that work out for ya, JFK? Coup d’etat, pronto, please. I bet it’s  crowded behind that grassy knoll now.

Photo by Kirk O Rourke

OVERALL – 3/11 – 3 out of 11 isn’t a typo – it’s the number of times we’ve beaten theRangers in the past couple of years. It’s a figment of the imagination from an alternative dark plane of existence where the revenant ghoul of Walter Smith is overlord and cackling transexual witch-whore McCoist springs from the shadows to violate you. Daily. Or is it?

This seems to be the grim reality culpable insouciance throughout Celtic has conjured from the seemingly impossible position of horsing those mouthy zombies 4-0 and 5-0 in the space of a week to claim titles and cups.

Of course, todays’ new twist on our nightmare was referee Nick Walsh’s wet dream moment.  Still, the season’s regression was iced and delivered on a platter. What do we take from it? Well, our two best performers – one STILL the top scorer in the country despite him ‘not looking interested enough’ (a crucial attribute for any top player…) – will be getting out of dodge asap.

Wish they weren’t, but right now I’d probably question their sanity if they didn’t.

Photo by Stuart Wallace

For us who’ve revelled in a decade of vengeance delivered in often scintillating style, this remains but an aberration – or should I say, it BETTER remain but an aberration.

In the grand scheme of things theRangers have probably bust the bank again and we’ve kept our powder dry to encourage the money-making ‘rivalry’ back to a level where certain stewards of the club will feel fulfilled
in a business sense. Right, Pete?

This season has been the perfect storm of unrealised potential coupled with professional negligence. Today’s result was the statistical probability of that stew of incompetence.

Just… God’s sake, Celtic.

Go Away Now.


Photo by Stuart Wallace

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

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