SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v DAME HELEN MIRREN
“Oh Yaas, the set of Caligula was simply sumptuous, darling, festooned with Roman opulence and copious nudity. Some younger cast members were rather bashful about venturing onto such a set – like Helen. But I proclaimed with gusto, ‘Bring them out!’. And then she did, dear boy. Jings, what a fecking rack.”
Sir John Geilgud
‘The Rangers accounts are solid gold. There’s nothing to see here. Now move along. Make some room for my getaway car.’
Marty Feldman
THE WALL – 6/10
What larks at the Beach End of the Woolen Mill on Sunday as The Wall laid out his towel and was educated in swearing in a Buchan teuchter accent. Or they might have been trying to sell him sheep’s heid soup; who knows?
So would the Paisley Partisans give him grief back home? ‘Naw hey’, as they girls say down in all the swankiest Paisley joints. Saw three times as much of the ball as Sunday but mostly by his own defenders dicking about. Had the good sense to wear thermals.
TAYLOR SWIFT – 7/10
Welcome to the Pleasuredome, debutant. But can he still sing after his gender-transition from svelte American pop sensation? Who cares. Can he play? Now that’s a different proposition to some dodgy tweenie noises.
And so is the number one position in the SPL charts. In he came to cement our top spot and looked comfortable. Taylor depicted the conservative hardcore full-back tonight. He settled and got up to support attacks. Looked a stand-out in a jaded side lacking fluency.
JULIEN CLARY – 6.5/10
Heid it in! Mr.Cless In A Gless – that’s French for joueur de qualité – is a fine exponent of the Virgil van Dijk contemptuous arrogance exhibition, knowing he’s a level above his opponent and exemplifying why.
He’s not quite VVD yet – but considering his early apprehensive antics in the Hoops it’s like he’s had a Cool-Component implanted. Frustrating misses in first-half as he failed to imitate his Euro-glory, thwarted by Paisley bouncer on the line. Could have had a hat-trick.
AJER – 6/10
The latest subject of the SMSM sell-a-Celt drive as we come within a couple of months of the January window. Good luck with that, ya hacks. Quiet game tonight as he weighed up the old viking lore that says don’t feck with the Feegies, or something like that inscribed on longship hulls. Produced a few flicks second-half as he fannied around in search of warmth.
BAUER – 6/10
Much-lamented right-back spot has been this season’s bone of fizzing contention as we lined up three players who look very acceptable in their three different approaches to the role. Tonight he of the silken gold locks, thrown into the team as a distraction for any rainbow-oriented opposition. But the only Pride march you’ll see in Paisley is a drunken leather-clad biker who hasn’t shaved off his handlebar moustache since the 70s staggering down the High Street at 5am with a stolen pallet of loaves. That’s right – a Mother’s Pride march… Pause for tumbleweed to blow past….So the hair-nemesis of Stuarty Armstrong got to looking dynamic on our right flank but looked lost in the lame first 45 display. Livened up with the rest as we decided to play.
BROON – 6.5/10
The most consistent Hooped performer in the last decade. A man whose glitches are so rare they become the main focus of contentious points of view regards his inclusion. 95% of the time he’s the head gasket in the Celtic engine room. He’s also the anti-freeze on nights like this. Bullied his side to victory, looked like he’d taken a knock as he made way for a M*thuf*cka.
CALMAC – 6/10
Has the Podgy Pirlo played every minute of every game to date this season? You’d think somebody was trying to squeeze out every ounce of contribution before he’s no longer available…Faded first half when we needed impact. He eventually rose above the general mediocrity to prompt such. Still looks like he’s in conservation mode, which may be astute personal fitness management. I mean, what the hell would I know? Keep on, keeping on, fella.
FORREST – 7.5/10 MOTM
A song for Jamesy is the festive season’s Blue Peter appeal. ‘Flash’ seems so obvious. Because he’s fast, of course… They’ve got four more years to muster up something because Jamesy thinks he’s President of the USA and demands four-year contract terms. Nearly opened the scoring as fingernails got chewed right on half-time but the forces of darkness denied him, and us. Then, when the time came, he showed up to seal the deal; MOTM because he’s precisely the Mhan for sorting out the Bhoys on a mundane SPL mission – we needed a bit of class to wedge open the Paisley-patterned Iron Curtains and Jamesy came through. Ladies…
ELSHAGYONLASSIE – 6/10
Is he enjoying his time here? Isn’t every Southampton player who wasn’t at St.Mary’s last week? So he gets to meet a new kind of Saint – the Paisley kind, usually packing a customised sawn-off shotgun under their robes. And he hid. Then somebody opened the cupboard door at half-time and told him not to be such a big pussy. And he pounced! And we got on our merry way. He’s got the quality to bang in quite a few this season for us; we just need to get him out his shell quicker.
CORPUS CHRISTIE – 5.5/10
Son Of Man v Sons Of Sam. Got his eye in after the first quarter when he clipped the bar, guided another missile just wide. Never fired the bullet that counted as he ran up blind alleys and channels that closed into grim-faced sinewy men demanding he handed over his i-phone. Ryan’s too posh to engage with Paisley-types so he decided on a quiet evening of self-preservation.
FRENCH EDDY – 5.5/10
Riviera, sir? Spent frozen first-half on his moby to Marseille trying to flog himself for 30 million. Broony filled him with Ready Brek at half-time and thankfully the central heating for kids works with French wonder-kids too. A bit too well – skied a couple during a second period of all work and no reward, but his movement offset a more static Corpus and offered gaps for us to benefit.
SUBS:
SAM JACKSON – 5.5/10
What kind of m*tha-f*-ckin’ temperatures do these M*thuf*ckas dig runnin’ around in? M*thuf*cka cursin’ like a… Well, a M*thuf*cka, as his ass got dragged off the m*thuf*ckin’ heat of the bench and cast into the god-DAYM freezin’ wilderness of the unrighteous, beset by ghouls from some m*thuf*ckin’ Halloween ghost-story; ain’t no sainted m*thuf*ckas ever come out that Paiskley pit ‘o the daym-damned. A scowling run-out for a righteous M*thuf*cka who may come to be THE M*thuf*cka to take up the reins from our played-out captain through November and December.
MORGAN FREEMAN JR. – 6/10
Enjoyed his time on the bench discussing his Pa’s best movie roles with the reverend Sam L. Jackson before another cameo appearance which had us all not so awed as bewildered – are we playing manager’s faves, popping him in ahead of Sincy and Shed7? Is this not a meritocracy? Tried to make an impact, to be fair, but still reeks of queue-jumping. Pay for your ticket, bhoy.
HAYES – N/A
The rules – score against the Rangers in a glorious victory, receive lifetime mandatory appearance glory.
LENNONY – 7.5/10
We expect! And he knows it! There is no middle ground in these halcyon days of NINE and beyond – ‘a hiding to nothing’ is the alternative for slipping-up. With every passing game there rises background agitation, a latent creeping desperation reminiscent of Ian Durrant’s state of mind at a spelling Bee. A home support needing 4 goals in the first 30 seconds or angst takes hold.
Luckily, this manager is no glamorous project; he knows the cold practicalities of winning against SPL sides. Most of the time he’s getting it right, well aware there’s no room to manouevre after the Junkietown/Explorerville dual defective results.
But with emerging blind spots over Sincy and Shed 7, and with nobody else turning up first 45 things looked ominous when news broke the Grate-ust Peepils Teem Furst-Hauf Wuruld Champeens were banjoing the banjo players.
And then came another half-time teamtalk. And then came another immediate second-half response. Coincidence? This Halloween, you decide, punters… Cue twilight Zone soundtrack. So he strikes another expectation off the ‘to do’ list and like some filler episode in a mystery drama box-set we cut the maguffin number to a tantalising, sinister 27. Jim Morrison. Kurt Cobain. Jimi Hendrix. Janis jpoplin… Will the Zombies soon join the club nobody wants membership of?
OVERALL – 7/10
A cold night? I saw two jakey brass monkeys consoling each other at the London Road traffic lights. So the Feegie Folk visit at Halloween. Scary enough normally, but with the added uncertainty if they’re in disguise or not; like meeting Michael Myers at a Glasgow Clan ice hockey match.
Our players don’t scare easy. Stoical abstract thuggery is the avant-garde tactic most employed by visiting SPL journeymen, prompting Celtic to summon a mindset of guile and expediency of thought to overcome. And we took some bloody prompting tonight… Or perhaps the warm-up just lasted 45 minutes.
Yet again, the Hoops found a way. Gangsters’ Paradise XI turned up to make it difficult and I’ll take entertainment as a bonus now – we’ve shown enough already to satisfy my aesthetic senses. Showboat when the points are in the bag.
The mantra is just WIN. WIN!
Nights like these, we only require basic competency of performance to see us through. A teamtalk of no more than, ‘Dae Yer Jobs.’ And eventually, The Bhoys did.
NEXT!
Go Away Now.
Sandman to the semi.
