Posted on Monday, 25th October 2010 by lordofthewing
Derby games are a bit like the concept behind Come Dine With Me. You are forced to invite unwanted guests into your home knowing full well that they are unintelligent buffoons, who lack conversational skills and will abuse your families fish pie.
R*ngers brought their own brand of erotic asphyxiation to the East End. Though there is nothing erotic about it. What can’t be argued is that its’ damn successful and they are on – what can be argued as maybe THE best of Smith’s two reigns – a run that should be above the sum of their talents.
Celtic were more than willing to get a Satsuma put in their gubs and a bag over their heads. The team gagged as if they were getting deep throated by a giraffe when they got in – undeservedly – front. It was a quiet strangulation with no post death boner to get excited over.
Frankly, we were as poor as at anytime under Neil Lennon. R*ngers record, or more Smith’s record, demanded us to be respectful but not too respectful that we tried to mirror image them.
Both teams in the first half retreated so deep when they didn’t have the ball that I was expecting BBC News to have 36 hour of non stop coverage of the rescue of stranded midfielders, smothered defenders and lonely forwards. Passing was something that is only seen on Tv as both teams resembled. giants throwing rocks at each other.
Our goal came after we got excited that we had won a corner kick. We were that poor. Hooper proved that one chance is all he needs and I really thought that his Davina McCallesq call to arms that he is coming to get you, Kenny was not a flight of fancy.
Kenny Miller. He does what he always does against us. Scores. Bastard. I don’t hate Miller. It’s hard to hate someone with no morals, who is butt ugly and despite him scoring a few goals still hasn’t quite grasp how to celebrate without looking like a burglars amphetamine crazed assistant running to open the front door after sneaking in the slightly ajar bathroom window.
Not one player stood out yesterday for them or us. That is unusual. If it was a colour it would be beige. They lacked an unlikeable element. They didn’t need to be harry hunt’s. McCulloch’s booking rendered his game useless. Even Sons Of Satan need some quiet time. Lafferty is a pipe cleaner and Naismith a peroxide gerbil who can work the wing a bit.
But, they are better than us. That is a worry but only temporary.
Of course if you keep sane thoughts then you may point to that we have new team and that our unbeaten run was an over-achievement at this time in our evolution. We had to many variables for us to be favourites and our optimism was misplaced as well as being sucked from every orifice, making big loud POP noises as it leaves, by a Dyson called reality.
Previous to this result I said that my opinion on the merits of Neil Lennon wouldn’t change. He is a rookie manager making his mistakes in public. We have made to much progress to throw the baby out with the bathwater.