Majstorovic: Hero, Journeyman and Die Hard. Saints Review.

This was the game when we were meant to forgot about Sunday. A game that victory would see us erase Sunday from our minds like the X-Factor fans (our brainless c*nts, as I call them) have done with poor Gamu. We are fickle you see.

But, no. That 90 minutes was like watching Rick Waller doing a duet with Diva Fever of ‘Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me’ as a big screen played a montage of Gamu’s deportation, torture, then long painful death in the background.

Off course watching Celtic is not close to being deported then being tortured to death but sometimes it comes a hell of a close. Especially if Glenn Loovens plays. Loovens seems desperate to represent the values of the fag end of Strachan Celtic’s until he is carted off in a box.

His attempted Dick Van Dyke, in Mary Poppins, up amongst the chimneys, hitch kick, flick for the first goal – watch it again and hum an old style music hall farce tune along with it –  last night had no comedy value whatsoever, unlike Dick himself. It was another time when his body seemed possessed by an eejit.

In the second half, Colin Samuel, him with the Lennox Lewis pony tail but with all the sting of a dead wasp, shoved him off the ball causing mass panic in the grey matter in-between Loovens ears. His legs went one way and his body tried to got the other. It was like Inspector Gadget having a malfunction.

Still, thank the little man in the clouds for Danny Majstorovic. Last night was the type of night that you won’t send a cat out in.  I reckon if a cat was out last night, Danny would have stuck it out for a corner.

The second half seemed like it was just one long corner to St Johnstone. We would clear, sorry Danny would clear, and the ball would go out for another one. A training session in corners for our backline.

Danny charged around being a one man defence. Left back, right back, Loovens back he was there taking the notion that if a job is worth doing right then it’s worth doing yourself to a new extreme. Diving, tackling, heading, humping, bumping. Nothing got by him.

Did someone have his kids? It was a performance worthy of Bruce Willis in any Die Hard film. An all action hero willing to go to extremes to highlight the short-comings of others round about. He knew the reality of the situation, others didn’t.

But, like all superheroes he has his weaknesses. Like Superman had Kryptonite, Danny has just his journeyman past, in medium leagues in Europe, to nullify his powers. He has failings of every player that has played to that level.

Why St Johnstone didn’t notice this and kept on with their primitive style is anyones guess. They took of Samuel, who has a bit of pace – if you are walking backwards – and brought on a guy called Haber, who looked like Billy Memhets idiot half brother if his mother had a drunken one nighter with Frankenstein.

Though, the other night when he couldn’t save the day he found an able partner in Fraser Forster, an Al Powell to Danny’s Jon McClane if you will. Problem is this can’t go on.

Our manager called it a learning curve and it’s going to be a steep one. I’m just glad we are not going back to St Johnstone anytime soon.

Awww, bolloxs.