Cometh the hour, cometh the crap talking moron.
The season is months away. The transfer window is not yet open. The last campaign is still not finished, with Scottish Cup ties still to play. Football might kick off on schedule and it might not. More to the point, clubs have no idea where they stand financially, with Celtic best placed to survive this crisis and Sevco named as the club most vulnerable to it.
So, of course, this is the right time for people to be making predictions, right?
Oh yes. Only a complete fool would do so. Enter Kris Boyd, friends and neighbours, the village idiot who got lost on the way to his primary residence and somehow wound up in a newspaper office in front of a typewriter. And oh what drivel he’s coming out with now.
Hagi, he believes, will make the difference and allow Skintco to challenge us.
Maybe it’s just me who wonders this; if Hagi is such a genius and if his signing is such a game-changer, why that wasn’t evident in the months he’s already spent at Ibrox on loan? Weren’t they dropping points against all and sundry from almost the moment he arrived?
Furthermore, why, after signing him for £7 million not that long ago, were Genk prepared to let him leave for less than half of that, paid in instalments as if he was a used car? It’s just not sufficiently clear that he is capable of living up to all this hype.
Nothing stops Boyd. He’s the kind of guy we saw in action during the holiday weekend just past; the kind who is quite aware that the air ambulance has already been out to the beach twice in the course of the day to spirit away people who thought it was a good idea to leap from the cliffs into the sea … and nevertheless decides to have a go himself.
With the predictable results.
Boyd, like Alex Rae on Clyde last week, seems to find some perverse attraction in looking like a fool. He finds it irresistible. He has to, or he wouldn’t do it so frequently. This is the kind of thing he is known for now, rash and stupid predictions flatly contradicted by the evidence.
Let him and Rae and others continue to make fools of themselves.
What’s it worth at the end of the day?
There’s no trophy, and not even the “prize” of a single point.
All it does is let the deluded supporters of the world’s most delusional club wallow in their supremacy.
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