Posted on Wednesday, 3rd October 2012 by The Match Reporter
Not since Rocky 4 has such a knock out blow been delivered from the western world to those in charge at the Kremlin. It was a result so devastating to the political stability of the entire Russian state that President Putin appeared live on Tv straight afterwards wrestling a Grizzly Bear to prove that Mother Russia wasn’t heading towards meltdown.
The UEFA memo said: “3 points to Spartak”. Though, we are a major influence in the corridors of Nyon we had been designated as ‘The Hapless Hobos’ of Europes Premier competition, which meant we suffered from severe travel sickness as soon as we entered the departure lounge at Glasgow Airport.
UEFA also wanted to ensure that the chimps with laptops had an angle to write about, to cast up on every away day, to ask the same question of numerous managers and to question the players mentality. They knew that the chimps couldn’t think for themselves. This result may lead to blank copy, redundancies, middle aged men eating crayons and screaming about WORLD RECORD ATTENDANCES.
So, what changed?
We lined up with: Forster, Lustig, Wilson, Ambrose, Izzy, Wanyama, Mulgrew, Broonie, Commons, Sammy & Hooper. We were dressed all in black. A uniform not seen round these parts since the retreat from Stalingrad and also in keeping with our recent desire to show our Provo leanings.
Our opponents? A club formed by the trade unions and a strip seemingly chosen to represent the people and have the nickname The Meats. They are named after Spartacus who fought for the oppressed and against the slave trade of the oilgarchs at that time.
This was a role reversal.
They faced the club born from oppression, who are here to teach the rich a lesson and we don’t need Spartacus when we have Samaras! Samaras has been known to wear a loin cloth and a crown of leaves in the quieter moments at Lennonxtown. Further performances like this will see him not just facing Barca but playing for them.
In the face of such foe they resembled a sorry bunch. If Benfica are the middle men in the human trafficking of South Americans to Europe then Spartak are the ones who receive those who have been living in basements of the rich as gimps. The Meats indeed.
The ragtagged expensively assembled collection of mercenaries were as wet as an otters pouch. Some Argentinians and Brazilians who could be labeled as deserters to their proud nations footballing traditions, mixed with an African who modeled himself on a Gremlin, a few Russians who played like they had been drinking meths fermented with potato peelings and a token Dutchman who they laugh at and whip with their towels in the changing rooms.
Of course they had Aiden McGeady. The Celtic missionary sent to spread the gospel of fruity flavoured alcoholic drinks and the soundtrack of Archaos. The wing wizard was has done the charitable work of our club well with reports of drink related blindness decreasing while the sales of shellsuits have increased. I hear a statue is planned for Red Square depicting a man puking into the gutter while his burd wanks him off.
When faced with such familiarity Celtic ensured that he did nothing. Like most of his team mates, though Brazilian Ari fully expected to score as his ‘Jesus Loves’ T-Shirt was clearly visible through the white panel of his strip. What ‘Jesus Loves’ wasn’t clear. I hope it was Pussy Riot.
The game was played on an artificial surface that was based on Gorbachev birthmark. This didn’t effect the Hupes. Gary Hooper made the claim that he is far better than anything than England have to offer with a lone front man slot that was worthy of it’s own Brut advert. Hooper is better than Defoe. He’s better than Crouch. And he certainly isn’t Bent.
Big Forster was possessed with the ghost of Marcus Hedman for their 2nd goal. Stay away from the Cocaine and whores big man! Other than that he was mono brow was unforrowed. That England cap is further away now. Probably behind Mansfield’s reserve goalkeeper.
The usual outcome swung on an episode of farce. And it comes as no surprise that it was French in nationality. The referees seemingly steely determination of a striking French farmer not to send off the cheating son of a pot bellied pig called Insaurralde threatened to bring the game into disrepute. After a few minutes he was instructed by UEFA to send him off. They couldn’t see one of their own be mis-treated.
Insaurralde retreated off the park. He took longer than it took Communism too fall. Spartak then were allowed to make a sub. This took longer than The Mayday Parade in Red Square. The French Ref was at this point going to add on so much time that we would have crossed two different time zones.
The Ref failed to take control of those blatantly flaunting the rules. He acted with all the Gallic self pity that has shaped his nation. There was no back bone. He surrendered to the bad guys. It’s in his genes.
We have 125 years unbroken charitable existence. In our 50 years of playing in Europe we have always played fair. But when faced with this affront to fair play from a team that has the financial advantage the size of Greece’s debt and a pitch so artificial it’s been used in a number of breast implants we accepted the challenge to regain the sporting integrity of The Champions League.
There was only ever going to be one winner. I fully expect that our glorious leader has been personally congratulated from Platini this morning for pulling the competition from the further jaws of ridicule. Liverpool will be looking on enviously at our Soccerball economics, after the team that McGeady paid for beat the team that he played for and this will be held up via numerous powerpoints over the coming months of how to run a football club.
Despite braking our image as useless losers on the road, UEFA won’t mind as we steamroll towards being the force we want to be in Europe. The problem we have is that we face Barcelona in the next round of matches. A clash of the Catholic Cartels two favourite clubs though they seem to be a bit more in vogue and we shouldn’t expect any favours like we saw in Moscow.
Let’s cool those Cules Hupes!