SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC V FERENEMELDAMARCOS
“So ma Da’s Spanish cousin – he changes the holy water in the Barca chapel. And he’s in there the other day, behind the altar workin’ oan the kegs – cos they go through a lot, like – an’ he hears a stramash ootside. There’s hollerin’ and someone’s shoutin’ ‘Your tea’s oot, ya buck-toothed Uruguayan-pric – Ah’ll mollicate ye if ye try tae nibble my erse in the shower again!’ In Spanish, y’know…
An’ then he says wee Messi storms in and disnae see him roon the back and he kneels at the altar and mumbles a prayer, like, ‘Madre Dios, hear me and get me to Paradise, let me change the stripes for Hoops and be with my people…’ An’ Ma Da’s cousin’s like, “Eh? Naaaa…’ An’ then he sees the fleckin’ papers the day an’ he’s like, “Whaaaaaat?!…” Gen-up gospel, totally legit.” Well-informed guy in the pub who knows stuff.
B.A BARKAS – 6/10
‘I remember this – just like the Athens games…’ he mused between losing goals. But he was playing on the
right side those nights. Still has an air of ‘bewildered stoner’ about him when the ball’s in his vicinity; can’t really blame him for wondering what he’d been smoking with those so-called professional defenders in front of him
tributing Jerry Lewis.
HAT ATTACK – 3/10
Grim task for a big hard man to harry and chase a fleet-footed winger. But his intensity developed in the Mossad desert training camps – you try living on scorpions and cactus needles for a week – won through…
…Or so we thought. Criminal lapse in basic defensive technique – had the ball, caught in two minds, fluffed it, lost it, bang-flecking-bang you’re dead. Ignored the sacred defenders mantra, even though it’s written on the Mossad Maniac Academy walls: ‘When In Doubt, Put It Out; Better In The Stands Than In Your Net’.
GREGGS THE BAKER – 5.5/10
Has to learn to differentiate between a sausage roll stock-check and stop-and-check every time he’s got the chance to fire in an early/first-time cross. Takes the sting out of attacks with his reluctance to take as chance and zip one into the opposition box occasionally. Seems to confuse momentum withy yumyum.
JULIEN CLARY – 5.5/10
Casual as an 80s hooligan. Took him half an hour to understand these feisty strikers weren’t SPL donkeys. Took him 90 minutes to realise he’d lost the battle with forwards who should have been smashed into hiding early on. Instead, paid the price of being lax and giving encouragement to opponents.
AJER – 7.5/10
Once he started striding forward and cancelling out their pressers we began to get on top. He barrelled through their lines a couple of times like a rampaging Norwegian troll and it unnerved them. He had a great game. He’ll be annoyed. He’ll probably be off to Italy.
BROON – 7/10
Captain’s job is to steady the ship. Had a lot of work to do in the first half hour as his crew went more Pirates of The Caribbean than America’s Cup. Detractors turn on Broon – our least-gifted midfielder – when things go wrong but he was struggling to contain opposing players who were running off their markers – i.e Calmac, Sam Jackson, Jamesy even, weren’t doing a correct defensive job. It took others clicking around him to allow Broon to do his best work – exerting a modicum of control over their tiring runners and raising the pressure on their backline by driving us forward.
See the tackle he was scandalously booked for? THAT is the sort of tackle that WINS games. His overall task was done well. Ultimately, other departments scuttled SS Celtic.
CALMAC – 6/10
Hmm, edgy and more cautious than usual until the game turned our way. Then he was busy and tidy but never tellingly influential; we needed more from him when we were on top; we needed Calmac the Conqueror, instead of Calmac the Janitor.
CORPUS CHRISTIE – 8/10 MOTM
NOT a centre forward, despite his divine heritage. But, by his Dad, did he slog it out – a great example for any kid of how to apply yourself when played out of position. Sadly, bizarrely – his game is timed runs into the box through
regimented defences like we faced tonight and he failed only in the respect that we needed him busting through the middle as well – y’know, the trinity thing: father, son and Holy Ghoster…
SAM JACKSON – 7.5/10
Had enough muthufleckin’ about and decided to get on them like a muthuflecka somewhere around the half hour mark. And he laid down the muthufleckin’ law all second half in a game that should have cemented his position as a daym advanced mid. But for every dee-ligthful muthufleckin nick, flick and flash of mu-thu-fl-eckin’ guile, there was no spearhead up front to complete his muthufleckin exploitation.
FORREST – 3/10
Dear oh dear, Jamesy. These are your nights. Where was the direct and troublesome winger with the laser-focus who’s ripped up the qualifiers of the past? He was a husk of himself, putting in only one memorable thrust (very unusual, ladies, don’t left-swipe…) against a tiring defence begging to be run at.
ELSHAGYONLASSIE – 7.5/10
Lively and classy and looked like the fulcrum we’d leverage a solid win from. Danced about their defensive block with deft touch, lacking all but a finish.
SUBS –
THE YETI – N/A
Rumoured appearance only; Not a true sighting recorded.
PNGPONG – 7/10
Wee mhan full of energy and commitment, excelled, went on a Maradona and should have taken it upon himself to show his seniors how to finish but he laid it off and there went the last chance.
LENNONY – 5/10
Nnnngh, faced a big test with a biiig gamble. Wisely threw in Sam Jackson as enforcer. And also stopped playing just one up front… Went with none…
So the teamsheet dropped like a Crain Levine porn mag and Lennony’s thought process was interrupted by the clicking echoes of a metaphorical multitude of loading guns rippling through the metaverse. Despite the empty stadium he couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being watched through rifle sights.
Now he’ll think he’s living in the soundtrack of a Hitchcock thriller with all the sounds of sharpening knives he’ll keep hearing behind his back.
Nearly one step beyond, maybe a pass due to Covid and the looming TEN, but he won’t get away blowing big bucks three years in a row. Almost pulled it out of the fire with decent tactical adjustments, BUT… didn’t go far enough. And the sucker-punch may have left permanent scarring.
OVERALL
Good evening Sir/Madam. Would you like a starter of incomprehensible slackness, or shall we proceed to the main course of an Athens, or a Cluj, or even a lowly Copenhagen? – you’ll recognise the historical
flavours as they’ve been cunningly woven through tonight’s shitshow.
A CL qualifier without yer main man – we’ve seen this curse before, and should have known there was witchcraft a foot when a number of farms in areas of staunch debauchery reported missing goats.
But here was another win-able game that we contrived to make un-win-able. Right on the hour mark I got the Clujies – as we hit the bar and awaited the inevitable two or three strikes that would dismiss the Hungarians I flashed back – Saigon acid, if you must know; Apocalypse Now indeed… – to last August when Corpus fizzed
a shot narrowly wide v Cluj at 2-1 us. Domestically, Celtic on top with a half hour to go is a 99% certainty. But here we were again – Cluj. Comfortable? Inevitable? Blew it. Again.
And the cost? Bucks, yes, but will we see French Eddy in the Hoops again? You know the price of CL failure, and you know how PL balances the deficit, and you know how fraught the economic future is at the moment. This one’s a dinger.
If it wasn’t for Covid I’d be heading down a nursing home tomorrow to find an old person who remembers Celtic playing in the Champions League. At least the players will be happy the Scottish Diddy Government didn’t sanction a fans’ return;
And it’ll save the GB making up a big banner that simply says, ‘Scunnered.’
Go Away Now.
Sandman
