Sandman’s Definitive Ratings – Celtic v Murderwell, Part Uno
That’s ‘TWO’. PART ‘TWO’ lingophobes…
A quick re-cap on Part UNO below, that’s the ONE…then straight onto DOS, no slackin’….
Sandman’s Definitive Ratings – Celtic v Murderwell, Part Uno
LIAM/EWAN HENDERSON – 9/10
And we save the youngest and best, ’til last. Was his performance good? Undoubtedly. First-half, so sharp and incise, beautiful link-up play- touch and decision-making beyond the reactions of his opponents, great ball to set up Eddy.
Then came the test. Second-half; that make-up – Hollywood special effects extraordinaire to make Liam become the younger Ewan seemed to weigh on him as the half opened, perhaps the heat and a sweat melting the prosthetics a little and distracting his game.
But, wait. It all kicks off due to those CHEATING BAMS and suddenly the wonderkid’s bang in the middle
of a man’s grudge-match. Experienced pros around him losing the plot. Did it faze him? Nope. He borrowed some sticky-tape, fixed up the traitorous disguise with an impromptu sellotape facelift (pulled his cheeks back taut behind his not-inconspicuous ears, cosmetic detail lovers…) and again involved himself in the patterns of play, actively looking for the ball, seeking the link-ups, refusing to hide or be dominated.
Given what transpired, one of the best full-debuts I’ve ever witnessed. Deserved MOTM.
SUBS:
HENDRY – 6/10
Awe naw, young Jack trying to be eased into the first-team again, waits on the touchline to replace
Corpus and all hell kicks off. In he’s thrown, negativity abounding, on a hiding to nothing as our
composure is gone. Acquitted himself without incident and did all that was asked.
BURKE – 7/10
Wish he was ours. but he’s not going to be. Meantime, Big Snatch builds towards a legend as
most-loved-least-time with another vital goal, and a great sweep of a shot into the roof of their
net to kill off the CHEATING BAMS once and for all.
Edit out all his contributions from online footage, tell WBA he’s shite, offer five million.
HAYES – 6.5/10
Fecking Jerries! On he came, furious with the Kaiser’s underhand tactics and melted one of them.
He escaped a booking and nobody told him WW1 had ended as he ably filled in for KT.
Definitely a great alternative at left/wing-back. His pace and determination cover him defensively
and his natural attacking ability means he’s welcome to deputise for Young Caesar (© Sandman, NOW)
as he rehabilitates/rests.
As long as Jonny doesn’t realise the battle of Passchendaele has finished, we’ll be fine; given SPL
pitches, there’s no danger.
BR – 7/10
Hendry’s coming on! The feck, whit!? Jaws dropped as the CHEATING BAMS pulled that ‘goal’
back and BR kept young Jack in mind. Then threw him on as many wondered if BR really saw what
had just happened.
But he picked a team to cope with chaos and they had to. Bitton and Henderson in the
middle!? The feck, whit? But it worked. Both outstanding contributions to the cause.
Again, BR tweaks in the face of fear and gets results. make no mistake – his season is absolute win
or bust. Lose the title to the squeaky Scouse bottle-merchant acrobat and his reputation’s done.
NOTHING less than another title will win BR any grace or respect. He knows it and he operates
under that oppressive truth every waking moment. Pressure. Of a kind almost unique.
So he gets the job done, moves ever-closer. Soon, he becomes legend. Or… There is no alternative
as Celtic boss.
MIBs – Feck Sake/10
‘Red Card, redcard, redcard, rrrreedcard!!!’ became ‘Play on, playon, playonnn, ppplayyon!”‘ as Tory W**k-stain Ross ran the traitor’s flank an let the CHEATING BAMS unfurl the new
dimension in CHEATING right in fornt of his eyes.
‘There’ nothing we could do,’ will bleat Clancy as their joker was played, and failed.
Yes there is:
Blow your whistle when you see the CHEATING unfold – it wasn’t difficult to spot… – and
call it back for any spurious excuse – there’s a whole fecking dictionary of them catalogued
against Celtic to interrupt the flow of play – ask Hugh Dallas, who frequently takes the
hefty volume to the bathroom with him instead of Penthouse Letters.
What befuddles me is the question – do they really think we don’t see what they’re up to?
They’re either really thick or really don’t care; looks like the only raison d’etre is to stop Celtic at all costs.
LOL, good luck with that. This isn’t the seventies or eighties – the paranoid were right and we
got your number; 666. The Celts are on course for the TEN, and there’s only futility left in your
pathetic efforts as the great Stein’s epitaph echoes in your nightmares – we’ll beat you with
pure, beautiful, inventive football.
OVERALL – 9/10
A tough nut to crack against the form team in the SPL beside us. Turns out they were
CHEATING BAMS all along. Murderwell manager Steven Robinson outs himself as
an effete wee ZOM with his risible after-match comments. Classic whataboutery ensued as
we heard a plea for the CHEATING BAM SCOTT’S wages to be taken into account and
the CHEATING BAM’S age.
Unknown to us, it seemed he’d just been introduced to football sometime on Sunday morning
after a lifetime’s embryonic state in a bio-pod at the Murderwell experimental genetic research
lab which is principally involved with research into the Zom gene so prevalent in the area and
the relative zoomer-imbalance in the population.
Poor kid didn’t realise the etiquette of the game of ‘soccer’ and should be absolved of any
fault in the CHEATING BAMS’ goal, apparently. Aye, wee soul. Could’ve started a fight at
an under-tens’ match. Would have ended any of my old Sunday League matches there and then
in utter, utter carnage that would have made Game of Thrones look like a Windsor Garden
Party. Wee ingenue, my erse. Wee Zom bam, FACT.
But Celtic, despite a makeshift team, kept to plan, kept their heads, gathered themselves against
the devilry, and prevailed, as Celtic have always done – thanks to moments of that pure inventive
football the Godman Stein spoke of.
And how sweet it was. How sweet it is. How sweet it will be.
You, me, everyone ever connected, aligned with, or who have held Celtic dear, are now right in
the moments of bright, high footballing fantasy becoming actual reality. And with that comes
the darkness, those zombie-wraith agitators who postulate as ra peepil but are nothing more
than goons led by a gangster.
It’s playing out like a classic fairytale, or a decades-long Russian-penned epic of trial and triumph
drawing to a conclusion within the next few years that may forever silence the Bams. Whatever they
or their agents try, Celtic deflect and keep on striving for perfection.
Perfection is the TEN. As we close on the EIGHT the pressure brings a taste of the shape of things
to come. May they be hooped.
Sandman. Dreaming yet still.
