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Barmy Braindead Brown Blows Bubbles As He Talks Bollocks About Brendan

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Shortly before I published my last article, someone emailed me to ask if “Brown is back on the wine again?”

I knew who he meant at once, as I knew the wine wasn’t a Littorai Thieriot Chardonnay but something in a green bottle with an orange/yellow label.

I asked what he meant and he sent me a video clip.

It was, of course, our pal Der Bomber gibbering like a child that’s had too much sugar at a party.

The subject? Brendan Rodgers and Celtic.

And I wondered for a minute, “is Brown obsessed or what? What’s he doing talking about us?” Because that’s the standard argument these days when someone from Celtic mentions Sevco. I’ve often wondered whether or not we should use it too.

Then I remembered that it’s moronic and I actually listened to him.

Then I started laughing. Quite a bit. I’ve just stopped although if I were to watch it again I’m sure it would have the same effect. Like Dumb & Dumber, some things are so funny they just never get old. This may well be one of them.

Der Bomber, in his usual sneering way, with a face that could haunt a house and his snarling demeanour right out of a bad gangster film, told Sky he believed Brendan Rodgers had been appointed Celtic manager because we’re afraid.

Afraid of what, you might ask?

Afraid of them. Sevco.

The club whose manager is currently AWOL and who has a poorer record than that of the man we replaced Rodgers with. The club run by a tax crook, permanently skint, whose directors are deranged, unhinged, paranoid lunatics straight out of the psych ward, convinced that the voices in their heads are Scottish football fans urging them to self-harm. The club that will be in court for the next 100 or so years, until they discover that it’s not a good idea to piss on the shoes of the guy who was keeping on your lights.

That club, right?

Well, yes.

Der Bomber is sure of it.

I love this guy, I really do.

When you consider that they made him an ambassador it kind of boggles the mind.

Not since Caesar sent Marc Anthony from Gaul to sit in the Roman Senate has a decision on representation seemed like such a calculated snub to the rest of the world. Not since Caligula elevated his horse to the same body has a choice like that been so reflective of the Peepil who made it.

And they gave Chris Graham a seat on the board for good measure.

Imagine being in charge of hiring for a multi-national corporation and deciding that at the front of the house, in the entrance to their headquarters, behind the reception desk, you were not going to put a smart, handsome man or a sophisticated, beautiful woman but a snarling, spitting, grunting psychopath covered in gold and in a badly fitting suit ….

That’s kind of what this is like.

Whenever Brown speaks, people automatically listen hard.

You have to or it makes it hard to work out the words as his lack of proper sentence structure is legendry.

But when you get through to the core of what he’s actually saying … well it’s never really enlightening stuff.

John Brown thinks Celtic won’t do ten in a row.

I’m not surprised to hear that at all.

The notion that it ever entered his head that we might … it’s too terrifying for him to even contemplate sober.

It would be like making a six year old sit up with you one night to watch The Exorcist on the telly.

He simply wouldn’t sleep in his own bed.

This guy … he makes me laugh uncontrollably, all the time now. From the moment he stood on the doors of Ibrox, addressing a baying mob of goons, he’s been their poster boy and that’s done as much good to them as Harold Shipman would have in a similar slot with the BMA. This is a club that just can’t see itself from the outside, and here, in Brown, they have the perfect specimen of a guy who can hardly see straight.

It’s a marriage made in Heaven and I thank God that we don’t attract such desperados to our own cause.

David Hay is the urbane epitome of how Celtic sees its place in the world.

Der Bomber is the perfect encapsulation for how the world sees theirs.

More power to his big fat gob!

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