Nobody Died. Just. (Celtic V Braga – Review)

It’s been discovered this week that Portugal, or Braga in particular, is not as developed as Kanus or Moscow, which made it virtually imposable to cover a premier (sic) football match in the biggest club competition in the world. I’m sure the insurance costs were high to send valued reporters to a country so lawless that millions travel to it on holiday each year.

I hear it’s based next to hell. A small right turning before hell that your average sat nav might miss. Celtic missed the turning. We got burned but nobody got killed.

It was a tale of three streams for me, all as bad as each other and all had me wishing that I was courageous enough to download Veetle and not worry about some Egyptian Mummy porn corrupting my hard-drive.

So, in-between, the stop, the starting and the jumping the fair on view was difficult to, really, give a fair appraisal too. It was like watching loads of coloured dots trying to be shaken together to make a beautiful butterfly but instead ending up a splattered mess.

It was difficult to tell the players apart. I wished at one point that our midfield had dressed up as the Village People, with Efrain Juarez being the cowboy obviously, and Glenn Loovens a panda so I could tell who was who. It seems that Loovens and Mulgrew are predictable scapegoats, which is no surprise considering Mulgrew used to be a toothpick.

The only thing that was clear to make out was the Serge Gumienny was out to be the centre of attention. His whistle went so often I thought it had an attention deficient hyperactivity disorder. He also had a look of a man that progressed through the ranks of the Hitler Youth and got the title of Commander In Chief Bastard.

Braga? Bland, boring, average with added despicableness that these South American tinged teams have. Their danger man, Alan, had all the look of a session trumpet player in UB40 not a samba star. Maybe, it’s a sign how we have fallen that these teams, who struggle to rate above average can beat us with ease and instantly forgettable ‘stars’.

The match was terrible. Both teams look like they had just been introduced to each other before kick off. Celtic couldn’t get used to the alien shape shifting technology that Braga had used on the pitch. This technology caused the pitch to change dimensions every time Celtic passed the ball causing it to go out of play.

I stopped short of phoning Doctor Who to report this phenomena. I realised that it was just our normal European away performance which causes, seemingly, decent players to become purposeful as sparrows spew.

Both teams looked bored by their ordinariness in the second half and the three nil scoreline certainly was a surprise to this watcher. One nil seemed a bet after about 15 mins of that second period.

I recently watched a documentary on the Making of Jaws. The only reason that film ended up looking the way it did was because the 25ft mechanical shark kept on breaking down causing Spielberg to rethink.

Celtic are that 25ft mechanical shark and Lennon is Spielberg. The movie hasn’t yet started to be made. I reckon we won’t need a bigger boat.