Posted on Monday, 30th August 2010 by lordofthewing
Last week we were feeling the love in the room. This week we are feeling like a scorned lover and we have discovered that the object of your affections doesn’t care about you as much as you care about them.
Over a beer yesterday I came to the conclusion that the last two seasons have been the worst for a generation. They match any of the 90′s. They could be worse because we were mismanaged and skint during that spell now we are just mismanaged.
FC Utrecth sound like the sickening noise that we all made when we realised that we have reached Ground Zero. Though, our emotional attachment means it’s quite difficult to detached yourself, just, for once, have an out of body experience.
Float above and see a club who in the last two seasons have went through more players than X-Factor auditions, appointed a hapless manger which in turn has lead us into appointing an inexperienced one who has lost the clubs three best players before a ball was kicked.
The club is rightly being viewed as a joke with a never ending punchline. Add to that our main rivals have a manager in charge who seems cause our club to become bumbling buffons when faced with his super human cardigans.
When he leaves in the summer and they are wailing into their King Billy tea towels I will be celebrating. Hopefully during a title winning party.
You see, we are now at expectation levels pre Martin O’Neill. The League Cup has gained importance. We are dreaming of winning the league and maybe one day having a team good enough to get in the Europa League. It’s like returning to a pair of old slippers for us of a certain age.
That is why days like yesterday are acceptable. When I saw the team it was relative mis-mash. A defence that saw two debutants, a striker making his SPL debut and a midfield that was shorn of it’s more impressive performers so far this season. In hope more than promise we started the game.
Emillio Izaguirre was one making his debut. He reminds me of the alleged illegitimate son in Meet The Fockers and my take on his debut is hindered by my original view on Cha Du Ri. I thought he was impressive. But now I fear anytime I see his name on the team sheet.
Emillio looks like he has a bit of pace and is physical enough to handle the Scottish game. Jury is out on whether he can defend. He didn’t need to yesterday.
Fraser Forster punched Glenn Loovens in the face. I get that urge every single week but never the chance to fulfil the urge.
The performance was expected when the team lines were made public. Celtic fired loads of balls over the top towards Airdrie thinking the park was a mile long, we couldn’t pass a parcel never mind a ball and none of the strikers thought about hanging around in the box long enough to trouble the goal.
We grimly hung on in there and got our rewards. Character our manager might call it. Stubborn as mules was my take. Motherwell disappointed the Radio Hootsmon pundits by not troubling us. Long may they continued to be disappointed.
My lower expectations means I expect to have many happy Mondays. 3 wins and 3 clean sheets domestically. The shoots of recovery are there but so are the shoots of forthcoming inconstancy.