Whatever happened to the Blues Brothers?

No triumphalist parades in SW6 and G51 for another season, and the super-rich and their flunkies can rest easy that Monaco won't be littered this coming August with empty buckfast bottles (made by monks), discarded union jack boxer shorts (Made in China) and renditions of not so popular folk classics (made up on the Shankhill Road).

What with it being Chelski, R*ngers and 21st century professional football - with its gaudy commercialism and fast buck mentality - the marketing peeps in the Blue Zone have went with the short term view that though not every trophy cabinet can have silverware, every cloud should have a silver lining and, with that in mind, have already rush released the 2007/2008 season's commemorative mementos represented below.

Depending on which side of the blue bed you get out of every afternoon, you can go for the Dave Weir figurine represented on the left or the Frank Lampard special that is slouching on the right.

The figurines are made out of the shoddiest materials to properly represent the personalities of your modern day footballer, and they are tastefully dressed in funereal black to mark another season of abject footballing failure. As is fitting for a season that has gone up in flames so spectacularly, the clothing that Mini-Dave and Fat-Frank are sporting is made out of 100% polyester because it was felt that that was the most flammable of man-made materials.

The jackets have been fitted with long sleeves to hide the questionable tattoos and, with summer approaching, both players have specially bolted on sunglasses to both hide their deadened eyes and to help them avoid the blinding glare of a world where the sun is permanently shining.

As an added touch, ugly scowls have been scarred onto both players' faces and you'll be pleased to note the manufacturers, with an acute eye to authenticity, have specially moulded their wee plastic hands into angry balled up fists.

The manufacturers want R*ngers and Chelski collectors to be rest assured that there are plans for other players to be featured in the series but the design department are currently experiencing teething difficulties with the John Terry figurine: they can't get it to remain upright in the box.

Glasgow Celtic SPL Champions 2007/08

Too emotionally drained (and physically drenched) to write anything intelligible at the moment. Aberdeen proved me wrong. Thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU, Aberdeen. Celtic were nervous . . . and I'm thinking of renaming Reidski, 'The Nostradamus of New Cross'.

Nice touch with Strachan going up to the winners' podium with a mug of tea in his hand. Only the third Celtic manager in its history to win three titles on the trot. I hope the boo bhoys will take time out to think over that particular stat.

Just as importanly, that air of superiority that R*ngers had previously had with Walter Smith at the helm is now floating down the River Don. It'll still be difficult next season for Celtic but not as dangerous as I once thought.

I still think Riordan should have played a part.

Gone Wishing

Apparently there was an inconsequential soccer game that took place in Moscow last night. Ho-hum, whatever: who gives a shit. The eyes of the world will be on the the game of consequence, tonight, at Tannadice, and it starts at 7:45pm (GMT).

We've been here before in 2003 and 2005, but this time round the title's there for Celtic to snatch from the jaws of what was seemingly defeat only a few weeks back. I can't write too much. Just off to Manhattan to watch the Celtic/Dundee Utd on a big screen in a bar where I'll be chewing my knuckles in between listening to out of tune renditions of Fields of Athenry sung at high volume.

Now's not the time for pre-prepared excuses, but let's not piss about here. Celtic may have got seven points out of nine so far this season against Dundee Utd but they have got the more difficult game. Again and again, Dundee Utd have shown their true worth as a decent side this season and they have the added bite in their step of knowing that they were hard done by the referee when they played R*ngers a few weeks back.

Aberdeen, on the other hand, have form this season of losing big time at Pittodrie against better opposition. My fear is that if Kris Boyd starts he'll stroll rampant. That swine can score goals for fun whatever else you think of his old round play.

Maybe I'll blog about the game - and the park kickaround in Moscow from last night - when I get back from Manhattan but it may be the case that I'll either be too euphoric or too disconsolate.

What I will say now is that if he's on the bench - and if Celtic are in a title clinching position - I hope that will Strachan will play the sentimentalist card and give Derek Riordan a run around towards the end of the game.

If Strachan is intent on selling him at the end of the season, maybe it's idea that he gets Riordan off the bench . . . if only for a few minutes. I'm no expert in football matters by any stretch of the imagination but I understand that buying clubs are not that keen on paying over the odds for players who have seen less mobility in the last two seasons than an under the weather Steven Hawking.

What's was that old David Brent/Ricky Gervais joke . . "Steven Hawking's football boots"? I bet they've seen more action than Derek Riordan's football boots in recent memory.

Could that swine Reidski be right, after all?

In the words of the poet, Ian McNabb, 'You must be prepared to dream'.

Amber means pause for 'Gers celebrations

Just woke up, and my mind's too cloudy to properly focus. Just a marker to say that had the caffeine had time to kick in, I would have rejigged and recycled this old post.

Come on the 'Well!

PS - possibly the worst post title I have ever come up with.

Going down the dip with you

What can I say about the galloping major that hasn't been written a thousand times before? (one thousand, eighty hundred and forty seven if you include the writings of Brian Glanville.)

The sweetest left foot. The fulcrum of the best team never to win the World Cup. Playing in that game that every male Glaswegian over the age of sjxty claims they saw in person. That wee jink and move to turn Alf Ramsay inside out for that goal against England in '53. Oh and someone is using his name over at the Guardian Sportsblogs to fuel the conspiracy theories in anticipation of R*ngers end of the season run-in:

"You're aware who currently manages Aberdeen?

Tango and Sash will make sure Rangers secure any necessary points at Pittodrie next Thursday.

Having said this Bob Malcolm FTP won't be trying to hard this weekend to upset the orange, I mean, apple cart.

Hence Celtic's greatest hope lies at Love Street on Monday - bugger." [Rangers' treble triumph in the hands of McGhee's Motherwell men]

Conspiracy theories to the left of us, conspiracies to the right of us. A future R*ngers domestic treble staring right back at us.

This doesn't happen in the movies

Temporary Autonomous Motherwell Fan Zone

I've been here before and it didn't work then, but one can blog and dream about these things.

Though they weren't out to do us any favours, it was a bit of a result Sunday when the High Bees took two points off of R*ngers. I still refuse to go Bhoy Doolally like Reidski ('cos, apart from anything else, I know Celtic are just as liable to phuk things up at their end), but the fact that Celtic are still in with a shout at this late stage of the season is one of life's more pleasant surprises.

Oh, for Motherwell to have this bloke in their starting line up. I'd even wear that T Shirt walking down madison if 'Well were to do a Hibs tonight.

One burning question about all things Motherwell, though? Did any decent bands ever come out of that fair town?

Scrambling . . .

. . . jittery and probably too late, but Celtic are still applying the pressure on the unmentionables.

Is it too much to ask that Hibs do us a favour at Easter Road tomorrow? Plastic Paddy solidarity and all that snagcheol.

Mutu let me down Thursday night. Is Steven Fletcher ready to step into the Albert Kidd role?

Pringle sweaters for goalposts

I can see where Barry Glendenning is coming from:

"I don't buy this stuff about players being tired. When I was a kid I used to play football from after breakfast in the morning until it got dark at night every day during the school holidays, taking occasional breaks only to eat, or play tennis and/or golf. What's more, the standard of football we were playing was a lot higher than that of most SPL games." [From his minute-by-minute report of Celtic's victory against R*ngers in today's Guardian.]

It's an old joke and it's fitting that he got it out of the mothballs for this special occasion.

Tennis, golf and breakfast. I think Mr Glendenning was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

Still too dazed, heady and in a dreamlike state to cough up a few comments about the game - now would be the perfect time for me to try and get my head around dialectical materialism - but I thought I would post a link to the Guardian's minute-by-minute report as part of my ongoing blog project of constructing a shrine to my once fading memory. No I don't know what that means either, and I just transferred the words from my head to the keyboard to the screen.

Press publish.

In Place Of A Post-It Note On The Fridge Door

Bear with me. Currently listening to 'Super Popoid Groove' on the tinny earphones that cost me $2:17 from the local 99 cents store. (That can't be right.)

A daft and joyous slab of bubblegum pop off of Win's 1987 album, 'Uh! Tears Baby (A Trash Icon)', that in a just world should have sold 247,317 copies. Sold diddly squat but if New Labour was at all interested in preventative healthcare in the 21st century, it would be piping the tune over tannoys in town centres across the country. Cheaper than putting prozac in the water supply.

Where was I? Wait up . . . 'Shampoo Tears' has kicked in. Godlike. The Sound of Aging Scotland can take a running jump. Win were better than the Fire Engines. Somebody slip a mixtape in Quentin Tarantino's breast pocket so that Spam Valley can catch onto Win twenty years too late.

Half-watched the footie on the telly today. Had to. The other eye was on the Celtic match on the BBC website. Of course, they had to try and balls it up against Aberdeen.

Poor old Reidski: Millwall getting turned over by Leeds Utd on the same day that Celtic forget to read his script. They eventually nicked it with a Samaras goal but it doesn't bode well for next Sunday's game against the unmentionables. But I'm contractually obliged to type that.

In fact, Celtic will win 4-1 with Barry Ferguson scoring a brace of own goals. The shame will be so great that he will be banished to his home town club of Hamilton for next season's SPL, and they will be relegated quicker than it takes me to come up with a witty line that includes the words Barry Ferguson and Academical in the same sentence.

Of course it was the Man Utd versus Blackburn Rovers game that caught my eye - though Antoine Sibierski nearly had my eye out with that miscued shot of his after he came on as a sub in the earlier Wigan/Tottenham game.

Couple of observations about the Man Utd/Blackburn game:

The ref, Rob Styles, bottled it. Not that unusual a thing to type when pontificating about Man Utd and referees. The novelty this time was that he bottled the big decisions against United. They should have got a couple of penalties and, if Chelski go onto win the title, Ferguson will be pointing the finger at Mr Styles.

Scholes is past it. He was a passenger for most of the game. Too many mishit passes to go unnoticed and he contributed to Man Utd playing below par on a day when they had to be on their best to overcome one of their hoodoos. His frustration at being bypassed got the better of him, and some of niggly tackles he was guilty of betrayed a truth that he was out of sorts. It turns out that he is red hot Oldham Athletic fan. He should do the schoolboy dream stuff and play out a couple of years with them.

Tempted to say the same about Giggs but it was less about him and more about the excellent performance from his half time replacement, Nani. He was the class act on display for United. A tricky beguiling winger who threw the Blackburn Rovers defence into a state of panic. Nani stepped up when Ronaldo had one of his off days and when Rooney and Tevez were taking it turns to fail to hit the cow's arse with the studio banjo.

Friedel had a brilliant game in the Blackburn goal, but all the naysayers who rattle on about Rooney's lack of clinical finishing in front of goal were taking a lap of honour after yesterday's game. Up until now, I've been looking too close at the stats and not looking too much at the actual games. Rooney might be getting a goal every other game but it doesn't tell the whole story. There hasn't been such a profligate striker since Jimmy Hoffa filed his expenses claim after the 1963 Teamsters Strike. Okay, I made that last bit up. I meant to write . . . ' when Andy Cole was playing for Man Utd'.

Despite Simon Hattenstone's daft piece in the Guardian a few days back, where he sought to draw favourable comparisons between Ronaldo, Tevez and Rooney and Law, Best and Charlton, I wouldn't be surprised if Fergie breaks up the current triumvirate come the summer. Yep, even if they do retain the title and win the Champions League. I'm not convinced that he will continue to accept the current scenario of 'When they're good they're brilliant, when they're bad put John O'Shea on as an emergency striker . . . '. He's nothing if not unsentimental. The alice band on display at Old Trafford next season will be Berbatov's. Tevez will be sucking his dummy on the bench.

I still have Utd down to retain their title, but they won't clinch it at Stamford Bridge next Saturday. Chelski will lose at St James on the 5th May after the deflated comedown of losing to Liverpool in the Champions League. (And when that happens I will promise to stop referring to Will by his full name of Will Makem for ever more.)

What was I thinking?

Never knew this quip was going to come back and bite me in the arse. Couldn't bring myself to drag my carcass out of bed to make it through to Manhattan early morning 'cos I knew what was going to happen.

When you think of the stick that Strachan gets from sections of the Celtic support when he's winning, you can only imagine what'll be like if and when Smith & McCoist's roadshow win a clean sweep come the end of the season.

Whatever I think about his mistreatment of Riordan's Celtic career, I don't take any pleasure in offering the opinion that the clock is now ticking on Strachan's time at Celtic. I'm sure he'll be there next season, but if he doesn't deliver the title then both parties will want him to move on.

And of course the inevitable happened with ". . . McGregor, Barry Ferguson, Christian Dailly and Lee McCulloch all . . . . [returning] from injury after missing Scotland's friendly against Croatia in midweek." Wankers.

Looks like the Brooklyn Knights for me, after all. Though after watching Man Utd sublime display against Aston Villa this afternoon, I do sometimes wish I was a Man Utd supporter. If only I'd been born in Cornwall.

What would Terry and Bob do? (this time)

Bastards. The horn of a dilemma.

Celtic are scheduled to lose to R*ngers tomorrow morning, thus losing the SPL title in all but name, and I was contemplating making the trip through to Manhattan to experience the misery first hand via a Setanta big screen.

But now I've discovered that the Fox Soccer Channel have plans to replay the game in its entirety on Sunday evening 7pm (ET). Could I really go 30 hours without knowing the result? Do I really want to put myself through that much potential pain, when the real pain with regards to Celtic is watching them fuck it up live via satellite?

On the other hand, do I really want to have the same experience as last time of some Irish bloke screaming in my ear for about hour about what a shower of orange c*nts the Rangers players are? (Trust me, it loses it comedic charm after about 37 minutes.)

I need to think about this one.

The case for "Unscientific Socialism"

I was just about to scribble off a post about how I'm tearing my hair out at the thought that Celtic were going to surrender their title to lowly Gretna (saves me penning a similar line when Celtic surrenders its title to R*ngers next Saturday), when MacDonald goes and restores my faith in the power of whinging prayer by scoring a goal.

It takes 43 minutes to score against Gretna? Christ, they're not even on win bonuses. Get it bastard sorted!

Nice Surprise

Hibernian 0-2 Celtic

A really nice surprise. I thought we were definitely going to get turned over at Easter Road, cue much gloating from the Scottish Patient and the Championship race all over bar the shouting. Samaras really is doing his bit with the goals, and maybe R*ngers will start to get a wee bit nervous with Celtic refusing to slip up at this point in the season. Fingers crossed that whatever happens in Barcelona won't have a negative after effect in the domestic campaign.

I guess it's too much to ask for Aberdeen to get a result at Ibrox this afternoon?

Tangerine Nightmare Celtic sign Eric Stoltz

Further to this old post comes the news today that, subject to a medical, Barry Robson has signed for Celtic.

You can't really blame Robson for jumping at the chance of signing for the big club. It's a nice turnaround for a player who started his career at R*ngers but never really made the grade at Ibrox. And it's a canny bit of business by Dundee Utd: buying a player for £50,000 in 2003 and selling him for £1m five years later.

I'm not going back on my previous post. I'm still pissed that Celtic and R*ngers continue to cherry pick the best players in the SPL, thus ensuring their grey dominance of the SPL.

It was a pleasant surprise to see Dundee Utd and Motherwell doing so well this year, but it looks like it was a one off. Wait another 20 years before a club other than the Auld Firm wins the SPL.

I just hope that Robson's Celtic career doesn't go the way of Riordan's, and it begs the question of whether or not Scott Brown will still be at Celtic this time next year.

Tangerine Robbo

Depressing to read in tomorrow's Guardian that Celtic are looking to sign Barry Robson in the New Year.

One of the more heartening developments about this year's SPL has been the strong early showing of Motherwell and Dundee Utd, and it pisses me off that once more Celtic and R*ngers will cherry pick the better performers in the SPL to be little more than squad members for the next twelve months, until the signed player either gets shunted back to the club they came from or, the more likely scenario, is sold onto some middling Championship League club in England, who just happen to have a Scottish manager that particular month.

You can't really blame Robson for being tempted by the possibility of a decent wedge so late in his career, but when one thinks how Riordan's career has stalled these last two years, you just wish sometimes that the likes of Strachan and Walter Smith would just do well to leave matters the fuck alone. Promising careers go awol, promising teams outside of the dance of the ugly sisters go southwards tablewise in the second half of the season and, come May, another year has passed since the 1984/85 season.

Motherwell for the title.

"We should have won . . . "

. . . but you didn't. And Brewster wasn't even playing.

Motherwell for the league.

The Twelfth Man

Apologies for the last post being so garbled. (I've since polished it up a bit.) I wrote it in a bit of a rush as I was heading out to catch the Celtic/Rangers game at Jack Demsey's in Manhattan.

The game was a bit of travesty and, in truth, Celtic didn't deserve anything out of the game. Brown seemed to disappear in the second half, with Jarosik and Sno being nothing more than the squad players that they are. The first goal from Novo - Phil Neville lookalike with a suntan, anyone? - was a gift via keystone cops defending, and apart from a couple of long range Jarosik shots and Donati's header in the second half Celtic never looked like scoring.

However, despite the fact that Celtic didn't deserve anything out of the game, there was no excuse for the partial, biased and bullshit referring from McCurry. Until the handbags at four paces in the last few minutes of the game between the players, their agents, their extended families and their classmates from primary school, it would have taken a Rangers player to headbutt Dame Judi Dench whilst simulataneously stealing a crust of the bread from the mouth of a blind orphan before it would have even crossed McCurry's mind to possibly book a Rangers player. And even then he would have taken it under advisement from the Rangers bench. Shocking that the bloke's piss poor performance pushes me in the direction of being one of those paranoic Celtic fans who thinks that everyone is out to get them.

I'm away for a lie down.

Jukebox Fury

What the hell? Hearts play Hard-Fi's 'Living For The Weekend' after every goal they score at Tynecastle? Christ, I like that song as well.