SANDMAN’S DEFINITIVE RATINGS: CELTIC v THE GORGIE BLIGHT…

“I am not what happened to me, I am what I choose to become.” – Carl Jung.

VINDALOO – 6/10 – An anxious, anguished game for Vinny. Caught under their opener, which he must have feared decisive. But redeemed himself second 45 with some solid handling, and a number of forays out his box to cover for a strained backline. You need a gallus goalie in such circumstances and the relief of seeing him enter the chase for a through ball in-behind out the corner of your eye, realising he’s getting there first – mostly – cannot be underestimated…

WAYNE GRETZKY – 7/10 – Maniac. But so welcome. If there’s one thing evident that we’d missed from The Moose, excepting his power-running and energy, it’s the dark arts. Clips, blocks, dunts, thumps. No wonder the Cousins hate him. He can play, too – marvellous overlaps as we got deep into the woods. Might have become the best all-round full-back seen in the Hoops since Danny McGrain?

KATIE – 6/10 – Talking of power, KT was almost out. But sterling effort to see it through until his legs gave. Most important today was his sheer presence and experience; driving lesser characters to the title.

OF JUSTICE – 7.5/10 MOTM – Liam. The Ginger Baresi. The Barndarigg Beckenbauer. The Wicklow Wonder. The Virgins’ Scapegoat. The Mhan Most Misunderstood. And the bhoy most thanks should be give to today at the shrine of the Madonna and child in County Mayo. Because when the chips were down with NOTHING
between us and oblivion – another Shankland strike and we were dead in the water – Scales was the one who stepped right into that zone of uncertainty and asserted HIS will. No more were going to pass. Today his defensive partner was having a nightmare, confidence seeming shot, legs looking like jelly (which is ‘Jam’ if you’re a toiling Yank, but let’s not ‘trifle’ with American mutation of the lingo… See what I did there, jelly – and custard – fans?) But yet again, LIAM SCALES got the defence through a torrid, fraught 90+, on-point for the nerve shredding set-pieces, calling the shots, hustling the Pseudos. Going Han Solo in that central position. The season’s most derided – by his own fanbase, shamefully – and also the season’s most consistent. And don’t you ever forget that…

CRUSTY THE CLOWN – 3.5/10 – Oh, dear. The big mhan’s been mostly a revelation since he was recovered from the block of ice the Snake had concealed him in, by an Antarctic expedition.

But today he suffered. Too much time on the ball, footballing brain mushed by stress, unable to pick a pass or rely on his instincts, rolled and outwitted by strikers. Just one of those games, and not indicative of his season. Bailed out by the heroic Scales, mercy-hooked by MON just in time.

CALMAC – 6.5/10 – Swarmed again. Always the same with Negan wandering, wandering… Like Jim Morrison on peyote in the desert. So Calmac and Arne dug in and swatted away nuisance Jambos for the best part of an hour before the pretenders’ legs gave and we could impose a classic Celtic payoff upon them. Injured, maligned, abused – he took it all, all season, rallied his mhen and won it with minutes to spare; roon yeez.

THE TERMINATOR – 6.5/10 – Will I go right? Left? Maybe Blast it down the middle? Nah – I’ll roll it under him…The worst penalty of the season is also the greatest. And the kid loved it; which is the difference, undercover Zombies, between him and RumpleRatskin; both subject of ‘Best Belgian’ discussion, but only one had the dig and guts to overcome injury and put it on the line to win a title. I’d like to see him and Calmac in a midfield with a real quality playmaking number 10 ahead of them. The odds of that may be the same as me nailing Scarlet Johansson tonight. Hmm… But not the same as Jamesy’s chances…All things, therefore, are possible.

NEGAN – 5/10 – Ghod almighty. Missed a sitter, produced a great save. Got more involved as the game progressed but such a frustrating watch – complete flip of the coin whether you include him, meaning you’ll be lightweight in the middle but more potent up front, or bench him for late firepower. I like the guy, got nice feet in the final third, but can we really afford such a starting luxury?

YING – 5/10 – The wee mhan failed to click. Just when I hoped he’d rinse the tiring Minis, he tired with them and a sticky performance was bogged down in untidy midfield scraps.

LORD KATSUMOTO – 7/10 – Daizen Maeda. In ancient Japanese, his name simply translates as ‘Inevitable’. And who else were you expecting on the end of that cutback? A carbon coopy – thats like a screenshot, kids – of his Bog Cousin-skelping first last Sunday (yes, ALL that time ago…). This week, a title-winning wonder goal of screaming intensity to cap THE return to form of return-to-forms ever witnessed. It may be the last time we ever see the perpetual-motion engine in Paradise, and if so he went out as he arrived that deathly cold January night against Hibs – a Samurai KING.

TUTANKHAMUN – 3/10 – Ach, Mikey, for heaven’s sake. How long – and with how many chances – do we have to wait for some match-winning flair again? If he’s not going to take the ball and take them on, he’s impotent. Got shut down like a moonshine stall in a mosque today.

SUBS –

ITCHYCOO PARK – 6.5/10 – The Nigerian Albert Kidd steps into the fray and gives us the extra dimension to unlock their maroon souls. Suddenly, we had options down the middle – timeworn defenders had nightmares. Kelechi, for all his lack of injury-cursed mobility, has savvy and class and gifted feet; that he hit the post was a crime of the fates, but he’s done enough in this run-in to be forever a lauded hero of Celtic folklore. And he
LOVED it.

DONNY – 7/10 – Might be only 19 but you’d be as well quitting now, kid. Full-Fat-Skelping in November to title-winning Diet-Skelping in May. Doesn’t get much better than this. Sharp, speedy and smart – outstanding dart beyond their lines to set up Daizen. And then the crowning moment – literally – you can dream of, but you’d be as well ordering a Lambo and telling them you’re going to finance it with a sure-fire lottery win. Good news is the lad is ours. With a knack for influencing big games. Big expectations next campaign.

JAMESY – 6.5/10 – You know how I tell you… Every. Flamng. Time – need to score, introduce the Prestwick Pele. Well, call me Nostradamus, in he comes again to seal his 14th Celtic title win, nicking it off wee brother Alan. Forrest senior was probably at the Rangers game – oh yes, he is… – so it’ll be up to Mum to keep the peace and separate the boys fighting over the ice cream and jelly at the dinner table tonight. But I’m sure Jamesy will console Jambo the younger later, by letting him have some of his sloppy seconds. That’s, eh, melted ice cream I’m referring to, ya filthy-minded so-and-so.

SCRATCHY – 6/10 – Buzz, buzz, buzz, Arriba Arriba! Andale, Andale! A welcome injection of energy, pace, intent, and… Madness: “Who you  talkeen to, Cinco Cabezas, eh?”

GREAT – N/A – ‘Get on, and run the clock doon, son.’ …”Who’s ‘Clock’, Fozzy?”… ‘Ah, fer fu… Just kick or heid the ball away, then.” So he did.

FATHER MARTIN AND SAMWISE GANGEE – Marty, Shaun, Fozzy, Gav, and Mick. The band back together and what a final tour they gave us. Still room for next week’s encore but today’s ripping finale brought the house down. MON in merciless mood, all the subs on he could muster, going two up top and throwing everything at them – a quarter of a century later and the more things change…

…The more he wins again. Bona fide legendary status assumed. Build the statue.

MIBBERY – 5/10 – “Bet they gie the Sellic a penalty again, man…” Yes, they did, Zombie prophet. But, unlike Wednesday, we were only due the one – for handball this time. And so clear as day, you can only imagine the rage against the Ghods in the VAR box. Fine attempts to manufacture a Hearts glory day with numerous picky foul awards in ‘launchable’ territory. Lino with a very twitchy flag, whipped aloft in anguish as Daizen nailed the title. But all in vain.

And spare a thought for poor Don in the middle as our young Donny iced the open-net cake: so crestfallen he never ever got to blow the final whistle on the season. All that was heard amid the pandemonium, apparently, was his audio: “Well it. It’s done. Let’s get tae…”

OVERALL – 8.5/10 – Darling… The drama. The pure theatre. We’re only here for the banter, and it did overflow with luscious brevity. The utter carnage. The glorious mayhem. An overload of joy and schadenfreude.

THE hated title. The absolute SEETHE among the SMSM, the Anglos, the Scottish ‘neutrals’… Absolutely glorious. Inject it right into my jugular. That teetering, faltering, insanity of the method of victory – the spectre of Albert Kidd all but banished; in he swoops one last time, two minutes on the clock, in the form of a Japanese enigma. And the generational agony of the Gorgie hordes is eclipsed in coruscating fashion by a one-two from this never-say-die Hoops side. Forty years of hurt since their Dens Park collapse, echoed in the thundering cathedral of Paradise as history proves it will rhyme in the most sensational curtain-crashing of styles.

I’d feared the worst upon catching MON’s pre-match interview; we were to be cagey and non-committal for fear of letting the game slip away early by counter-attack. But we were TOO passive. And again gave away a lead. How many times? Every? Felt like it as the ball punched the back of the net off The Heid. But the sneaking notion we were going to be galvanised by that crept upon us once more. And if there’s one element this side has elite reserves of, it’s character.

As two were thrust down the middle, the signs were there. The Minis were on a countdown, mentally begging for it to be over. Celtic were entering ‘business as usual’ territory. And get down to business we did. Marvellously so. It’d be facetious not to feel for a number of Jambos and their agonies; Many you may know who are not the Zombies-without-the-bus-fares their fellow hubris-dishing pals are. Their team performed above and beyond, very well beyond their bottle-merchant big cousins from Govan. They were the story of the season.

But not the fairytale. That Once Upon A Second Time fantasy was reserved for a genial, soft-spoken Irishman…Did you learn your lessons, Cousins big and wee? Semi-literate SMSM hacks?:

You don’t write off the Celtic.

These much-maligned Bhoys just proved that comprehensively. A comeback for the ages from a patchy squad of Maybees, Ne’er-do-wells, and WTFs?, who joyously just re-defined themselves as…

CHAMPIONS!

Go Away Now

Sandman

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