I shall briefly give a match report from the Scottish Cup Semi Final played yesterday at Hampden Park Glasgow.
"The magnificent Glasgow Celtic were thwarted by a combination of lazy ball boys and Ross County and plummeted out of the last available competition for them this year with two fluky goals in a game that they otherwise dominated."
True story was that Celtic were dreadful, awful, abysmal and Ross County played us off the park.
I've never seen so much anger at a football match and it was quite frightening to witness the depth of despair that this appalling, lack lustre and toothless displayed produced. The vitriol rent forth was foamsome.
Kev K's Uncle Frank agreed with me though about the lazy ball boys at Hampden Park. I was distracted throughout the game by my blogging obsessional plan to dress Kevin up in a tiny blue strip and have him sit reading a paper with his feet up while a ball (likely dispatched to the touch line by a mistimed and misdirected Celtic pass) trickled by - untroubled in it's path by urgency or anything resembling move yer arseness.
Also big up to those valiant men and women of the Green Brigade who kept us entertained with their endless chants and dances. It was however despite that, a cheerless occasion.
I became detached from my fellow Celtic fans and stood bemused, realising that I had no idea about the direction that I should take to make a planned rendezvous at the Hampden Bar in Govanhill. I've lived in this city for 17 years and my capacity for getting lost still confounds and irritates me.
So I decided to follow the irritatingly nice and gracious Ross County fans through a traverse to their awaiting carriages of dispatch i.e. the coaches. Fearing I may be lost to my friends forever I nevertheless continued on deciding that my best option was to follow the sun and see what happened. Anyway, suffice to say, no more than ten minutes later I emerged into a familiar vista of Queens Park and Langside Road which would propel me forth to awaiting and loving friends who would no doubt have a cold one waiting for me.
After I got myself three drinks from the bar (thirsty), I joined my despondent friends for a jolly afternoon of drinking, dissection and speculating about who the new Celtic manager would be.
I've never seen so much anger at a football match and it was quite frightening to witness the depth of despair that this appalling, lack lustre and toothless displayed produced. The vitriol rent forth was foamsome.
Kev K's Uncle Frank agreed with me though about the lazy ball boys at Hampden Park. I was distracted throughout the game by my blogging obsessional plan to dress Kevin up in a tiny blue strip and have him sit reading a paper with his feet up while a ball (likely dispatched to the touch line by a mistimed and misdirected Celtic pass) trickled by - untroubled in it's path by urgency or anything resembling move yer arseness.
Also big up to those valiant men and women of the Green Brigade who kept us entertained with their endless chants and dances. It was however despite that, a cheerless occasion.
I became detached from my fellow Celtic fans and stood bemused, realising that I had no idea about the direction that I should take to make a planned rendezvous at the Hampden Bar in Govanhill. I've lived in this city for 17 years and my capacity for getting lost still confounds and irritates me.
So I decided to follow the irritatingly nice and gracious Ross County fans through a traverse to their awaiting carriages of dispatch i.e. the coaches. Fearing I may be lost to my friends forever I nevertheless continued on deciding that my best option was to follow the sun and see what happened. Anyway, suffice to say, no more than ten minutes later I emerged into a familiar vista of Queens Park and Langside Road which would propel me forth to awaiting and loving friends who would no doubt have a cold one waiting for me.
After I got myself three drinks from the bar (thirsty), I joined my despondent friends for a jolly afternoon of drinking, dissection and speculating about who the new Celtic manager would be.
I can highly recommend the Hampden Bar. Myself and r J got chatting to the proprietor, a cultured and wise man by the name of Peter. This marvellous man provides free soup to his customers, inspired as he was by his visits to Spain where free Tapas is customary as an absorbing accompaniment to alcohol. The free soup was on but Peter had also made a great big pot of macaroni cheese with something meaty through it. We tucked into our free meal and tried to think of alcohol drinks with sugar in them to cheer ourselves up. Kevin brought back this leaflet from a chemist on the way (I borrowed his Guiness for artistic value).
The pub was awash with bonhomie. One local punter bought a large table of Ross County fans a round and we all settled in to watch the Grand National. Sorry but I think hitting horses with a whip to make them run faster with a little leprechaun on their back is cruel. No more to say on that.
It was on this day that I discovered my new hobby, taking photos of random things and people whilst a little bit drunk.
It was on this day that I discovered my new hobby, taking photos of random things and people whilst a little bit drunk.
I was delighted then to find three discarded sofas next to this sign for No Fly Tipping whilst on the hunt for some cigarette papers from a shop. "Now if that isn't a statement about the disposable nature of our consumer society, I don't know what is!", I thought to myself whilst handing over my money. I raced back to get r J to tell her about my find and we ran back to discuss the photo shoot.
"A statement about the disposable nature of our consumer society"
R J was as enthusiastic about this find as me and on closer inspection, we noticed two discarded banana peels and a nightdress strewn over the sofas, "zoom in, zoom in!" J shouted. So I zooms in thinking, "this is art!". The absence of any photographic evidence of my zooming serves as testament to the wisdom of r J's decision to buy me a "really good camera" for my birthday.
I also found some new ball boys for Hampden park. I briefly joined in their kick about when their ball found it's way towards me. I danced to the right and sent an unerring pass back to them with my right foot, thankfully evading some nearby women with prams (with children in them no doubt). R J's eyebrows raised and admiration flowed. It was without doubt the best piece of football of the day.
Until El Grand Classico that was. Lionel Messi, you genius.
Until El Grand Classico that was. Lionel Messi, you genius.
