Final classification of Sandman – Celtic against Old Firm FC

SANDMAN FINAL NOTES: CELTIC V OLD FIRM FC…

“We want the devices to be changed. For…reasons…Scotland, ‘n’at, you know? Yes, and we also want Christmas to move – Tae summer, like in Ozzieland. So we can be more like Big Angel…”

ROXIE – 8/10 MOTM – Just wonderful. Everything you’d expect from a keeper in such circumstances – that double-stopping goalkeeping verve deserved winning accolade. Such a shame that he will be forgotten, overwhelmed by the dross of the capitulation of his colleagues.

GREGGS THE BAKER – 5/10 – Yeah, almost won the 1980 Danny McGrain Memorial Trophy as a sagging left-back through deflection; and it could have been the game memories of a lifetime for the
the beleaguered defender didn’t have the final 15-minute collapse. However, overall he was abject; worst game of this calendar year, ridden insane by Tavpen throughout the first half and only spared more angst by Daizen going left to contain his threat after the break.

STAR LORD – 6/10 – For heaven’s sake, relax and stop worrying. No Hampden in the sun for the raccoon to bask in as our careless display culminated in torment; and though he threw a few erratic balls into the ether, he wasn’t the worst of a bad lot.

GET CARTER – 5/10 – Ah, big man – it was right there. Treble in your boots. And as he hit the bar, my Spidey senses stung and the joy of a rambling triumph began to disintegrate into a grim omen. And he lost his way, his presence, finding the addition of Aribo contesting high balls a nuisance and ultimately a loss of his defensive dominance; letting them find the space in the box to bring home the killer shots.

JURAN JURAN – 4/10 – Oddly inefficient in a game we know it’s made for. But also a measure of inept collective display – which ended in a nothing-burger early retirement.

CALMAC – 7/10 – You are an absolute champion, Calmac. And, God willing, it will be in a few weeks. Despite the utter depravity of the opposition and the scarcity of talent on display, he continually strove to lift us above their grind, bring his hoops to life and footballing superiority. That no one paid attention or reacted positively is
something his captain is concerned about, and something he has to deal with without empathy given the importance
the next five matches are. that is, he needs to kick fiery asses with impunity.

HAKUNA HATATE – 5.5/10 – No, the little guy took a few hits with his usual excess of cuteness – someone told him it was the flaming zombies. But he was never free to apply himself to having the impact we have seen or now expect. However, that comes with the caveat of having to play with damaged ankle ligaments… Because this is Scotland and Old Firm FC are screwed.

ROGIC – 6/10 – Oh, Oz. Kicked out of the game but still able in his moments to offer glimpses of the mercurial talent we know kills vermin. That he was ultimately ineffectual and smothered says more about our lack of verve and inventiveness than his role in the team. For fiery slow readers – we never played it fast enough or often enough and when we did – about twice – it wreaked havoc. Wasted.

NOTEBOOK – 4.5/10 – A fine line today between the sand dancer Mikey Johnston is crucified for and the expectations he hasn’t met for a few games now. Choice off, totally ineffective final balls; how many millions should we shell out given this helpless demonstration? Hmm…

LORD KATSUMOTO – 7.5/10 – Captain Quint leaned over little Gio’s tiny school desk, his breath heavy with whiskey: “I value my neck well over three thousand dollars, Chief. I’ll find it for three, but I’ll catch it and put it out for ten.

But the zombies are lean and the only capable man was eaten by a shark and his ship, the Orca, was wrecked. So we let Daizen go wild on them and he fidgeted and rattled their cages like a Goodfellas hustler and still got no reward for his perpetual effort to shut down the machine beyond human-cybrid Bladerunner . If only others would give such a guaranteed commitment.

ABADASS – 3/10 – Look, the kid has been an extraordinary ‘skelper in his short tenure; But yesterday he was a ghost in the machine, barely notching a touch let alone a threat.

UNDER:

THE BUILDER – 6.5/10 – Congratulations on coming to enhance a stacatto performance when you’re used to a full-fledged symphony. But he persevered, trying to pick the zombie locks, getting closer, but finding the general unease going against his intention.

TONY THE TIGER – 5/10 – Everything seemed more secure with Tony in position, even though it wasn’t. Weird. Then he turned around and they won. Fuck you, universe.

JAMESY – N/A – Was he hit? A measure of our ineffectiveness was the lack of involvement of this arch-skelper.

Mr. KOBAYASHI – N/A – Awesome. Bring him in – the one that Hoop the zombies haven’t had to face in the middle since becoming a talisman – and give him some turf on duty. Male…

RAQUEL – N/A – No matter how pretty you are, some games just can’t be bettered.

ANITA DOBSON – 6/10 – Well, Angel, do something! We watched with him as Angeball got stuck in the sclaff and waited for him to make the big changes or apply the big whip. He hesitated as we took a sordid lead, nearly killed her, then sat us down and let the monkeys have a few dark, depressing moments.

It seemed – to me, but I’m crazy, remember – that he didn’t require the same relentless Hoops vibe we’re used to; Far too many absent from the Angeball program. Far too many people persist, hoping that the collective method eclipses the individual contribution. What I’m saying is – don’t let the slackers slack off, Angel; put them on point for the great finish. Yesterday was a nadir in the ascending chart of the season’s bull run. Collect them and go.

Off-side…

MIBBERY – 6/10 – Ach, get lost, bearded Bobby; now trying to get immunity from Guantanamo Bay, throwing away the yellows, letting our ballers get kicked out of the game. Creamed his shorts in overtime as all his fantasies came true. Too bad the final you will be awarded is only an afternoon of diddy consolation.

GENERAL – 4/10 – I’ll say what you think – phishing, man. After all the thrilling volatility of the Angeball season, it was a stagnant affair that baffled logical perception; they are so bad for the “Euro semi-finalist titans” that they have challenged the accepted construction of reality.

The fact that we couldn’t impose Angeball on them and make them suffer for their tragic hubris was equally mystifying. It was a performance by RANK, driven to the level of discord at Old Firm FC, stumbling through the day with all the fluidity of a brain-damaged Orange Walk batsman trying to beat a Keith Moon on an acid rendition of My Generation knowing the generation in question are the wee-lassie-terrifying phukwit onion bears.

And yet…

Still, we had them, lumpen heids on the chopping block, vomit hordes ready to rip Groinio’s little limbs off, and the Big Man swallowed the bass instead of the zombies… At 2-0 we were home and watered, cannibalized and beaten like Tom Waits’ “Renfield” in the Seward Sanitarium asylum in Dracula; “Master. Maaaaasterrr..”

And we messed it all up… BUT, of all the games – if there are any – to lose and choke and look generally unhappy – This was the one. It is little comfort, I know, to find solace in karmaic compromise after witnessing such lamentable abandonment of advantage. But we really took a pig’s ear from a game animal and turned it into a silk purse, then sent it back to the fermenting savages to glorify it as some sort of iconic triumph…

When we know full well it was an abstraction of Celtic’s own making; a ridiculous madness of underachievement, underperformance and complacency. We never started, never imposed or rushed, never found the class that defines us to rise above and beyond.

Yet we still almost won; MUST have won. However, we got what we deserved for matrix dysfunction; A timely reminder that it’s not over until it’s over.

So get together, Celtic, and get after the BIG prize.

Leave now.

Sand seller.

About Mildred B.

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