As sponsored by Panini. (No they’re not – 80p a packet of stickers? f#### off, Panini).
“I crossed into West for rat. Fifty security guards, an armoured rimo, worldwide media coverage and rye end up watching ra peepil get prumped in ra Wolfhound Paddy pub in Itawon district of Seoul, an embarrassing result an whassmore my transration drevice frailing me an ris beginning to read like ra trotal strereotrypical Asian dialogue effort. Srorry.”
Kim J Un. (2nd?)
“Eeeeeh, tell yees dis, der’ll be nowt eh dis chrap when me ‘an de lads sart owt de Mess – megea investment an’ ‘nat wi me wee scally squad roonin’ d’Albion ceeeeeer perk – ey, looch after yer alloys fer a tenner, mayte – an A’ll be ‘avin Joey fay Bread in nets, big Yosser Yews ancherin’ de middle, an we’ll be stichin’ Scully an’ Mooey up front. No probs, likesay. Calm down, calm down.”
Stevie G.
“We believe in nothing, Lebowski. Nothing. And tomorrow we come back and we cut off your chonson. Whereas what we have here? A bunch of fig-eaters wearing towels on their heads, trying to find reverse in a Soviet tank. This is not a worthy adversary. Uli doesn’t care about anything. He’s a Nihilist. He’s given up on the Bears, too.”
B. Lebowski Nihilists
HA!
(follows; intro to Born To Run cover by FGTH)
…runaway Celtic dream…
SKELPERS RATINGS:
Gordon: Se7en/10
The man with the hands possessing the adhesive qualities of a chameleon footpad – finest shot-stopper in a generation, snuffed their single hope of parity with a smart drop-stop to his left in the first half.
Relieved his boredom in bizarre fashion second-half by clipping the ball out to give them a corner. Glorious days when a Celtic keeper is making his own work versus the scurrilous ragamuffins.
Officer Lustig: Se7en/10
Impersonating a Five-0 during a 5-0 is the charge they want brought against Celtic’s Swedish mentalist. How he relishes damning those pagan trolls to Helheim with his swaggering Scandinavian eccentricity – had he scored that 6th goal amid the scramble I believe the insanity of the celebrations would have made headline news. Worldwide.
Ajer: Se7en/10
The bold young Norwegian monolith has defied the lumbering critique of his early performances by raising his game and sharpness to levels becoming a future captain of club and country. Alert to every loose ball, precise with every tackle, towering over trembling Gers; confrontation with him was akin to a club-bearing neanderthal (Mr.Morelos, adopt the role, por favor…) fronting up an armoured lieutenant of the Praetorian guard. Epitome of no quarter given, none taken.
Boyata: Se7en/10
Had his Dedryck moment early on – like in the semi-final – recovered from that Sunday-League hangover slice to put in another solid shift, winning every high ball, muscling out their threat, brilliant block from El Fluffalo to stop their comedic consolation.
KT : Se7en/10
Yet again, channelled Jinky, dropped the shoulder, then lifted the head to pick out the perfect slide-rule cutback for Eddy to slam the first stake into their black hearts.
Relentless machine of a player, engine seldom idling, always offering an attacking option. committed to the cause, gets it all 100%. And he’s one of us. I’m welling up…
Broon : Se7en/10
How many Cohiba Siglo VIs can one imperious captain smoke in a single game against the wretches?
Strutted around the midfield like a gamekeeper, popping them off here and there, tidying up the pitch for the groundsmen as he dictated the tempo and rhythm. Rarely involved in flashpoints as there wasn’t a grunting pigman who could get within range of him. Milked the day.
I feared Halliday was on the pitch solely to maim Broon but he spent his afternoon lapping up the praise of the home support. Seemed too giddy with phenianism to target our skipper….
Forrest : Se7en/10
The Prestwick Flyer finally got his just rewards for his efforts in thwarting the Armies of Darkness. Distinguishing goal which summed up everything that has improved about his game this season – skill, penetration, causing chaos BUT with an end result; a stunning finish to deliver the killing blow.
Glass collectors of Prestwick, watch out; wee Jamesy might have something special out to slap you about the cheeks with tonight….
McGregor Se7en/10
Calmac The Defier – earning his place and praise and burying the skeptics – aye, me. And YOU.. – with great performance after great performance. Second only to Broon in season-long consistency, Calmac strikes yet again – more often than the lazy ferry b*st*rds – against the Brox Bummers.
He’s back on track with that Zidane-esque half-turn when receiving the ball and it’s paying dividends and opening up the opposition. A Celtic player who’s earned his jersey the hard way – and the BEST way – by a long circuitous route and deserves an honourable mention in the Player of the Year awards; beaten only by Captain Broon IMO.
Ntcham, Son of Sam : Se7en/10
MOTM for me. Quality oozing out of him. Mother###### feet as cultured as Matisse’s hands, exquisite touch under pressure, weight of pass a delight. Eats Chicken ROYALE’s from MacDonalds for breakfast – mayo on the chips, y’know. Doesn’t go into Burger King. Chews THEM up for Sunday brunch.
Laid down yet more righteousness upon those heathens; probably with a little too much mercy. They should thank him for taking his foot off their windpipes or it might have been Se7en, or eight. Or more.
Boy’s a steal at £4 mill. Anchor him in Europe with Broon AND Kousssi, buy him space to dictate play.
Rogic : Se7en/10
Ah, those big Aussie boats, clown feet Pennywise would envy, yet they caress the ball like it was Elle MacPherson’s right breast or Kylie’s left buttock (see what I did there antipodean 90s porn fantasy fans?).
Nimble, deceptive, a footballer pure – stroked in that 4th goal; ‘just passing it into the net, Bruce, mate. Chuck us a tinny…’.
Edouard : Se7en/10
Who? Who? Who? Said the Bears, like fecking thick owls. Eddy, that’s who – another French nightmare for them to stress over; taking up from where Moussa left off, punishing their stultified backline with mercurial movement and pace – DEVASTATING finish on his second goal; if you’ve seen the VERY top boys finish you’ll recognise that for what it was – precisely aimed and executed right through the defender’s legs at the optimum moment to strike it just before the keeper got set and shifted his feet. A stunner.
Add in his timing – that first goal – and positional sense; we have the French youth project so many enthuse about across Europe. Can we poach him for £7 million? A no-brainer; you’ll search far and wide for that sort of class at anything less.
SUBS: Se7en/10
Griff – Must be ragin’ he skied that big chance for the 6th; no doubt had some special witty celebration planned; next, time, Sparky. Next time.
Hendry – good bhoy, took a card for a boot. May well become a vital cog in a very youthful backline; next season the big tell for him.
Sincy – Trying desperately to avoid the ’21st-Centrury Bobby Petta One-Season Wonder’ tag. NOTHING has clicked for him this season. Had it today we’d have hit double figures. Fingers crossed that mislaid talent and thrilling ingenuity makes a return next season.
BR: Se7en/10
Got his beleaguered squad over the line at last, probably later than he had imagined some months ago, but job done with players mostly unable to fire on full-cylinders consistently.
The way he dealt with the noisy wee mutants from across the city in these past three matches has been admirable. The white noise was cut through and the base stats show a 12-2 aggregate in the Hoops favour. THAT’S doing your talking on the park. BR never swayed from purpose. Stuck to his guns, to his philosophy and transmitted his belief in his methodology to the players. They kept faith and delivered.
OVERALL : Se7en
CHAMPIONS. Again. Don’t get complacent. Don’t fail to savour it; there was a time in the trophyless desert of the 90s every silver chalice looked like a mirage; WAS a mirage, grasped at with hope, withdrawn into the dark heart of corruption by Murray’s mendacious claws.
RELISH the Bhoys being on top. DO NOT let them forget it. Bring as much humility to it as you like but do not fail to get it right roond them; their pain and tears are sweet champers. Their battalions of sinister goons, their O-Ordure Pride marches, their Union Bear dafties on tour; Karma has decades of payback for those phalanxes of reprobates to endure.
Sandman
