Someone, somewhere, at some time we know not when, pitched to a newspaper editor that Kris Boyd had something to say. That what he had to say was important. That it mattered. That it would be taken seriously. That person undoubtedly exists; Kris Boyd writes a column for a national newspaper, albeit one you would only use to clean dog-shit off your kitchen lino. There is no doubt that this person is responsible for Boyd’s media gig.
Well as The Magnetic Fields once wrote, “You must be out of your mind, son. You must be out of your mind.” More than that, you ought to be sacked.
Anyone who looks back in 100 years and wants to know why our media died on its arse will have to look no further, at the dumbest person in sports media since Frank Sinatra decided he wanted a job in the sportswriter’s room of the Jersey Observer, heard one of their journalists had died and sat himself down in the dead guy’s seat, on the very same day, and started a story without as much as applying for the damned job.
(True story that one; he was a delivery boy for the paper at the time but possessed even then of an almost unbelievable brass neck. In that case the editor threw him out of the building, and endured his insults and those of his influential mother forevermore; The Record would have brought him a desk and given him an anti-Celtic story to write.)
In the last few days, Boyd has been crashing against the bars of his cage trying to get attention. Someone ought to give him a banana and shut him up for a while; the worst thing about this is that I actually agreed with him earlier in the week when he was banging on about Ryan Jack not deserving his Scotland call-up, and McKay can make all the excuses he wants about thinking he can play at right back; the decision to select him in the squad is a joke.
But Boyd gets no extra credit because he hit the mark with that one; everyone who looks at this selection dispassionately knows it is unsupportable. Nobody should be trying to defend it, and that McKay actually has to beg fans not to boo a selection he and everyone else knows is frankly ludicrous tells you everything you need to know.
Boyd has since decided to pontificate on Ryan Christie, a kid with about 1000% more talent on the pitch than he does, a player who’s at the start of his career whilst Boyd hangs onto the fag end of his. Christie will go on to big things, in this Celtic team. Boyd will be remembered for the goals he’s scored, yes, but for how unimportant he was to the Grand Scheme of Things in football in Scotland and beyond. His record is an illusion.
He is, and always was, a waste of space.