A Rant in F-ing Major.

28 January 2011 13:47
Parental Advisory Material. I don’t see much point in beating around the bush so I’ll just come out and say it; I don’t have a whole lot of confidence that we’ll win the league this season. I hate admitting this, but it is the level of pessimistic realism that haunts my day-to-day life. Whilst no trophies are handed out in January, it’s fair to say a consensus exists whereby one can assess the merits of the title contenders during the generally crucial December - January period. The satanic levels of snowfall have skewed the odds slightly but whichever way it’s tarted-up one flaccid fact remains; Celtic’s form exceeded our own during the festive period. From 1st December to 31st January they played eight league games, winning six, and drawing two (twenty points). Throughout the same period, we’ve played seven league games, winning four, drawing one and losing two (thirteen points). The notion that Lennon was always going to fail because he’s a) a rookie b) ugly vermin and c) a borderline sex-offender was always a dangerous one upon which to rely. As is often referred to within footballing circles, Celtic’s hatred for us far outweighs their affection for their own club and as such, every ounce of their dribbling fervour is being channelled into derailing our quest for three in a row. But what exactly are our problems? Why is the little ginger gremlin even being spoken about in the same breath as Walter Smith when in a footballing metaphorical sense he should serving our manager soggy chips in an acne-ridden quest to obtain another gold star for the cracked badge stretched wearily over his man-boob? Sadly, we are the architects of our own downfall more often than not; a recent Capital-mugging at the hands of Jefferies’ pretend title-contenders being the only result we can feel genuinely aggrieved about; other dropped points coming from our own ineptitude or terrifying penchant to start games at the pace of James Beattie racing up Treacle Mountain with a pre-cancer John Hartson on his back. Hibs have mustered two wins from fifteen games under Colin Calderwood and sit eleventh in the SPL table, yet they somehow came to Ibrox and stuffed us 0-3 at a canter; a result arguably sparked by another error from the increasingly wobbly Allan McGregor. We’ve also managed to stink up Ibrox with a dismal 1-1 draw against Inverness and the scarcely believable farce against Celtic, who barely broke sweat as they toddled to a 2-0 win with a weakened side which included a homeless guy ‘playing’ as a winger: presumably for some sort of comedy bet. Our slow-starts have almost been addressed in recent weeks as we noticeably start games higher up the pitch with an increased tempo, but we still display an alarming knack of dropping out of games once the going gets good to average. There still appears to be an air of caution about our approach at times, as highlighted by the continual withdrawal of more creative players such as Vladimir Weiss and an almost inevitable switch to 4-5-1 as we enter the final third of the match. We’re all acutely aware of our miniscule squad but continually fail to make use of our substitutions, even where games are in the bag. Should we really be clinging on to a one-goal lead at home to Inverness? I’ll confidently predict Beattie and Kerkar will be this season’s Gow and Buffel; neither getting any game time even where starting eleven colleagues are carrying their severed limbs around the pitch after another ‘meaty’ tackle from a typical SPL shaved-ape like Dods or Tokely or Canning; all against the backdrop of continual griping about our “small group”. It doesn’t matter whether it’s Bertie Bombscare playing like his mum or Bob Malcolm playing like his deaf, blind wheelchair-bound gran; managers should have the stones to drop any player who isn’t performing. There’s no point naming names as it’s been done to death and tends to draw from fans the sort of hysterical screeching normally only associated with blobbing vegetarian women, but needless to say the team is in desperate need of freshening up. Kenny Miller’s departure was inevitable as soon as he was offered a net wage of around £2.6m per annum, compared to the rough £400,000 we ‘tempted’ him with. I’ll hear a lot of words against Martin Bain but he had his hands tied on this one. It wasn’t so long ago that Darrell King and Derek Johnstone were telling us we’d be setting a wage cap of £15,000 p/w; a prediction that, sadly, appears to be coming to fruition, what with the offer to Miller and alleged pitch to former sheep-worrier Kris Commons, who’ll now be prancing down the wing of Celtic FC; presumably the homeless guy previously in situ has now been kicked to death by Peter Mullan’s NEDS. It’s a worrying tend of ours over recent years to target players with all the studied precision of Harvey Price at a roulette table. Beattie is looking like Sebo without the goals, Foster hasn’t convinced, Kerkar possibly doesn’t exist, Weiss is quality but was bizarrely second choice behind Tommy Smith and now rumours abound about a move for stinking, rat-faced former Celtic loser Derek Riordan; possibly the only man in Scottish football more deviant than Neil Lennon. Weiss is often criticised for not tracking back from his unfavoured wide-left position, indeed during the recent match at Easter Road word from the Rangers dugout was that the winger was playing “too far up the pitch”. This ranks alongside gushing over Kenny Miller’s defensive work from the striking position and extolling the virtues of Davie Weir’s delivery from set-pieces but in any event; how much tracking back is Riordan going to do? Do we really want to pay him five figures to keep Wylde out the side? There’s a slipshod randomness about Rangers these days but despite this, we are capable of good football. The home tie against Valencia was thrilling from both an attacking and defensive perspective and all the more impressive given the quality of opposition. Equally, daft dropped points in the ‘bread and butter’ league games serve only to infuriate; case in point being drawing 1-1 at home to Inverness after an excellent 3-1 victory away to Celtic. We’ve had two big tests so far in 2011 and have failed them both without scoring a goal. Thankfully, we quickly have the chance to put things right, with an upcoming home tie against Hearts and then the enthralling double-header against the Offenders XI. Such is the nature of football if we win all three of these games we’ll all be back laughing at Lennon’s pan-faced gingerness, Brown’s forehead-heavy grunting and Gary Hooper’s facial uncertainty but similarly, lose any, some or all and we’ll be forced to hit the panic button in a menopausal strop. I’m going to completely contradict myself and suggest December and January’s significance pale in comparison to the gargantuan month of February, where I feel one side will take a significant lurch towards the title. We’d like additions to the team but barring an injury crisis, we are good enough to retain our title, but the stark warning signs of the first half of the season must be heeded if we are to cast the Ginger Philanderer back to the bog he crawled out of.

Source: FOOTYMAD