Posted on Monday, 8th October 2012 by The Match Reporter
Back to league duty then.
The three points were already a given in reward from the Scottish game for improving the coefficient with the midweek win over Spartak Moscow.
Still, over 46,000 turned out – in what surely is a world record attendance for a game live on Sky on a Sunday with a 12:45 kick off on the first weekend in September, when the moon is passing Uranus – for a forgone conclusion and Hearts set the tone with a guard of honor for the Moscow Maulers. Off course I missed this as my bladder needed emptied but I’m sure they gustily applauded us onto the field.
It’s us that makes the Scottish game attractive for the foreign players and owners. It’s nice for this to be recognized but jealously and bitter feuds still see work to be done on the pitch.
So, what happened?
We lined up in our new 125th Anniversary kit. A hark back to days when things were less stressful and the way off life was less frantic and the only worry was dysentery and a dead budgie in your work place. It was also the last time we had a level playing field when it comes to officials. Success breeds jealousy and our opponents are a perfect example of this.
The team was Forster, Lustig, Wilson, Ambrose, Izzy, Wanyama, Mulgrew, Commons, Sammy, Forrest and Hooper. Only Broonie was missing from The Tsars Of Moscow.
It’s a well known fact that Hearts stink. A smell so bad that it has discolored most of their maroon seats to a foreskin pink at Tynecastle. A team that suffer from 2nd city syndrome. Capital of Scotland by default but always in Glasgow’s shadow.
This is case is perfectly illustrated in the story of Greyfrairs Bobby. A story celebrated by the Edinburgers while the rest of the world laugh and point at a daft dug so stupid and sad it didn’t know it’s owner was dead.It sums them up.
Hearts the football club stick close to the motto: “Kick, punch, trip, flick, cheat and act like unendurable limp dicks”. It’s nice to see that they allow their players main service provider – Wonga – to sponsor their strips.
Their support usually take the limp dick part of their motto to heart. Yesterday, their usual twatness was surrendered early doors after their goalie collided with Charlie Mulgrew.
The sight of 45,000 Celtic fans rising to applaud their brave player warmed the cockles of their Hearts like so many others before them in our 125 year of unbroken existence which has been charitable from the start. As they folded up their Union Jacks and Red Hands you could see that they were appreciating that we are more than a football club and I’m glad to feel that the game saw us make some new friends amongst the limp dicks.
The hand of friendship didn’t extend to Craig Thomson who continued a recent trend of discrimination against Ginger Catholics with a performance that was worthy of him being the back end of a pantomime horse. No matter if a Huped player was rolling around in agony the decision was the same. Free kick to Hearts. His bias like his over use of Just For Men has no shame.
The game? Well, well……eh,……we scored and had some chances, I canny remember them having any chances. Truth is there was 46,000 in a bloody coma for 90 minutes at the blandness of it all. No one told me armageddon would bore you to death.I expected the Rapture, floods, fires and Zombies.
Seemingly the Hearts manager who is a testicle with a set of glasses said they deserved something from the game. If meant an asbo, a custodial sentence or taken into foster care then he is quite correct.
I returned home last night and watched our future opponents, Barcelona play their great rivals Real Madrid. The only thing we have to fear is that UEFA tell us that they need to win. They struggled against Ronaldo who certainly isn’t a Jamesy Forrest!
Godspeed and rest easy you winning Hupes!