Thursday is the day we go North of the Border to see what Peter is up to at Alloa. He’s managed to win Euro 2004 with Scotland but winning the SPL is proving a tough nut to crack. Is this the season?
With recent news of Bill Maher’s ‘Real Time’ renewal on HBO, there’ll be a plethora of ‘New Rules’ to be rolled out in front of a fervid and overly excited baying followers. Perhaps one he should include would be a three-year restraining order of recent male divorcees around acoustic guitars least they put into wailing song their inadequacies and insufferable confusion of their once white male exclusivity over the world slowly vanishing in front of their eyes. North of the boarder, we go for the Frank Clark philosophy of a sing along around the back of the bus, joyfully harmonising our Alba only rule to bring tartan dominance to the world of football.
Sadly, the Glaswegian stranglehold is still holding firm and we’re once again the filling in Reformation sandwich.
UEFA, in their pre-brown envelope days have grouped us with Celtic in the Champions League. Bit of a bruising encounter this one.
The Croc’s are drawing just about every match in site which explains the middle 79 minutes.
Francis can’t help Edward and we’re through to another final. Can we actually win one for once?
If only we could do this in the Champions League. The attendance is also shocking. We’re playing Infront of a half-empty stadium. Is everyone going mad for the pre-Halloween sales?
Flannigan is attracting high attention now since the move from right wing to the centre of midfield.
A very poor match follows but at least we keep a clean sheet.
Into the World Cup Qualifying stages and we’re 3-0 after 56 minutes after which Wales decide to wake up and John begins the comeback.
More people turn up to watch this drab affair and the lads are knackered after their international exploits. I presume Noah was playing on the left wing…
Glennie!!!! We’ve actually won a trophy! For the first time in 3 years. 3 YEARS!!!!! It’s only the 4th most important cup but the moral has shot up. Easily cheered up this bunch.
Do the SFA know how to handicap their own brethren. Two days later the Sporting Lisbon bus arrives at the Rec to inform us there’s a match to be played. At least we’re nearly at capacity, which clearly frightens our front 2 and we’re totally out of ideas.
This has been our poorest Champions League campaign so far. 4 goals in 5 games isn’t good enough and we’re going to have buck our ideas up if we want to qualify.
Martin still has the grump that his striking stardom has been usurped by Dair’s youngers limbs and is only performing on the smaller scale.
Clean sheets aren’t our problem at the moment. Christian Dially is patrolling the backline nicely. We need these goals during the big occasions.
So onto our final CL game and we’re out of the blocks so fast that we score in between kick-off and the time to press the space bar so I have to watch us score the slowest ever goal to be seen at the Rec. Space bar engaged and nothing happens for the rest of the turgid 90 minutes. What an awful match that was. No one on either team scored higher than a 7. I hope there was no traffic outside the ground. Do we qualify??
Bloody hell!! I have to break the news gently to the recently showered lads who are as upset as Cable Hogue when he had to give up the springs. “How is this helping???” the dripping boys ask.
Doesn’t the line mean anything?? Turns out we were 1 point away from qualifying. “The line is a dot to you!” I say as I slam the phone down on UEFA. Right, best change blogging tactics least our overload tell me off for subpar submissions…
“If you fall off a horse, jump back into the saddle and try again.” My team talk stumbles when one of the lads ask “What if you’ve broken your back from the fall??” Not the best idea to get into a philosophical argument before sending the lads out to the Badminton Trials. “How do you play Badminton on a horse?” Which reminds me, the swimming baths in Ilkeston I used to go to as a kid had a cartoon advertising evening water polo depicting the main pool full of horses and jockeys in in colourful silks. “How do they get the horses in the pool” I used to ask. I’m not very good at these team talks…
Francis and Jo were at it again but as usual, Martin only turns up for the league matches…
At least F’Kinnaird kept off the mince pies but I fear the league is slipping away…again…
We manage to win by more that one goal after Jimmy decides to go back on the sauce with Bunk.
Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear. Martin! What are you doing! King Knutsen might have finally turned the tide in favour of Celtic grabbing 2nd place.
I decide to give Dair a rest and McQuilken grabs his first goal while Glennie has woken up.
Dair isn’t happy with the latest team sheet. Well, you should score some more goals then!
I’m going to leave it there least I drop myself in a bottle of pills in the hope of erasing the vision of finishing 2nd to Rangers from now until the Great Tribulation.
Och aye for now!