Champions League perils for play-off seeds


The Champions League play-off round can be a horrible place for seeds against teams with lesser reputations.  Celtic drew Helsingborgs from a group of five possible teams.  Three of the other four were away from home in the first leg but two recorded wins.

Hapoel Kiryat Shmona lost 2-0 away to Bate Borisov while Maribor lost 2-1 away to Dinamo (no longer Croatia) Zagreb.

Romanians, Cluj, recorded an excellent 1-2 away win against our old friends Basel, while AEL Limassol beat Anderlecht 2-1 in Cyprus.  Maribor and Cluj will fancy their chances of eliminating the seed, while Limassol have a fighting chance.

In other news, HJK Helsinki are not going to drop to the Europa League group stage after we eliminated them from the Champions League earlier this month.  Last season’s finalists, Athletic Bilbao, hit them for six (first cricket metaphor on CQN?) last night.

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  1. BMCUW



    If he frequented the same pub as you he’d need to purchase a tutu to gain admittance!!!

  2. Green Lantern (((((0))))) on

    New comedy series called Hunderby starting on Atlantic Channel on Monday at 10.00 pm.


    Cannae wait!

  3. Gorgeous Giorgos with a short back and sides and no facial hair?!






    There would be uproar at CP!



    Just hope he doesn’t decide to go for a goatee!




  4. ……and I’ve never seen a tutu in Gorbals.



    Rutherglen? That’s a different matter!

  5. Lennon n Mc....Mjallby on

    “It’s bigotry that stopped Lance Armstrong using a motorbike!”



    -The Lance Armstrong Supporters Trust.

  6. Slabhoy



    Nah, no joke on this one.



    Due to a misfunctioning of my white blood cells, they decided to attack my brain cells rather than what they were supposed to be doing…going after the bad guys…bacteria and stuff.



    So I was put on a weird diet, banned from drinking, drugs and generally told to behave myself for three months +.



    Final tests have shown that in the battle of the immune system, my brain has triumphed and Saturday 1st September at 10.55am is the day and time they let me through the prison gates back out into the world….and straight down to Sharkeys for a couple of beers before the Hibs game.



    Due to my confinement over the last few months, I have become very well acquainted with the pigeons that land on my window ledge! Like pavlov’s dogs I have studied how an individual starts to adopt the same habits as his peer group.



    Talking keech and sh*teing on the window sill has become a little sort of routine for us all now, me an my pigeon mates, although I gather that none of them did this until they met me!



    hail hail




  7. Big Georges Fan Club on

    Looked in only to find some misguided discussion re: Big George’s locks…insanity!!!



    Such discussions are out of bounds – stop it, now!!!!




  8. Desmond Tutu came to the Gorbals once. Well I don’t know if that is true but Cleo Lane or maybe it was Aretha Franklin, I’m not sure to be honest, but one of them got knocked down by a taxi in Gorbals street. It might have been Tina Turner.



    Hail hail




  9. slabhoy - c'mon the Hillend Rockies on




    I am not in Glasgow or I’d join you for that pint, however, in my local The Hanging Gate in Macclesfield, I will be there and raise a glass to your new lease on life




  10. Latest from Leggo:






    We, Bomber and I, met Chaz in a darkened recess at the slag end of Annie Millers pub. We had a wonderful jaunty night of jolly guffaws and merry-making. It was enough to restore your faith in asset strippers the world over. Chazzer informed us that his life had encompassed some of the most vile aspects of human existence, including rampant alcohol consumption, sexual depravity, and financial impropriety mixed in with borderline criminality for good measure. Everything above board so far, we thought. Nothing out of the ordinary for a Rangers owner. He merely met the profile of all our gallant hero’s of glorious past. He was one of us, cankerous pustulating wort’s and all.



    You really have to make an effort to get your name thoroughly synonymous with evil and debauchery. It doesn’t just happen spontaneously. It takes a special kind of person to be up there with the best of them. Chazzer could be our Vlad the Impaler or a Rasputin. That would put Liewell in his place.


    Grigori Charles Yefimovich Greene was born in a small village in the shadow of the Yorkshire Dales, as peasant in 1948, which is not the kind of background that usually lends itself to great success in life. Despite the fact Chazza could barely read, he managed to rise to a position of nearly unprecedented power on the basis of personal charisma, evil genius, body odor, sexual profligacy, psychotic deviousness and his virtuosity with a switchblade. Nice work if you can get it. At our night in Annie Millers our man Chazza told us of chortling rip-roaring yarns of wide eyed sexual promiscuity, dabbling with the occult, political intrigue, financial fraud and insane alcoholic and drug addled orgies of feverish debauchery. Immediately Bomber and I were mesmerized by these tales of frantic derangement. It reminded us of ourselves. And we took him to our sweaty bosoms. All through the night of drunken excess Chazza was an enthralling storyteller, he was able to hold his audience spellbound. According to his daughter, the Black Virgin of Bradford (a purportedly miraculous Yorkshire icon) appeared to Mr Greene and inspired him to make the move from rural witch doctor to power behind the Imperial South Govan Throne. Although admittedly it was the last time the words Chazza and “virgin” would appear in the same sentence without the word “defile” in there somewhere.


    Firstly Chazza moved to Leeds as a brutal enforcer for a local upwardly mobile heroin tycoon named The Cleaver. Between his renowned personal magnetism and his reputed 13-inch penis, Chazza was a much sought-after sexual commodity in the Leeds underworld of psychotic Dorothy’s and violent perverts. Fortunately for the ladies and even many gentleman of Yorkshire, he was also a readily accessible commodity. Chuckles was liberal with his body, giving it free license and offering it up to any takers. He was biologically accommodating and generous to a man. He made a point of distributing the ‘wealth’. For a time he even found God. As a Seventh-Day-Adventist in Redcar. He wandered the streets preaching the quite sensible notion that in order to be properly saved one first had to sin prodigiously. He reportedly entertained somewhere between hundreds and thousands of women, from all walks of life, from toothless granny hags to teenage skanks. Although he told us of uproarious legends of wild and rowdy adventures in a most bouncy flouncy boisterous fashion, he was only able to think slowly and with difficulty and to reason with a certain pain. There were lots of things he couldn’t comprehend and failed to understand complicated things, but there was an incredible force of will inside him, some might say ‘demonic’. He was able to have people hanging on his lips, endless. He was able to fill people with enthusiasm. He had a tremendous endurance regarding physical pain. He was able to bear more physical pain than anybody else. He dislocated Bombers shoulder when he arm wrestled him. He chewed and ate a pint glass. And beat a man to death with his willy.


    He had a very strong perseverance. For example, if he was physically worn out, his mental powers could still force his body to keep going. He could eat more kebabs than Durranty, he could ravish more pasties than Ally, he could drink more punch of Bombers Special than the even its inventor. The man was a marvel of dissipation. He has almost no physical needs, except for illegal sex, homemade hooch, and financial irregularities. He told me that he had been depressed, felt cast out, clumsy, nervous, with little self-confidence and no friends…but the Govan opportunity was a chance to become inexplicably popular, to feel successful, worshipped as a charismatic hero by a mass of morons and half-wits.


    Bomber, myself and others have called for restaurants and pubs in Glasgow to named after our new hero- Mad Charlie. Bomber even suggested naming his fine Wine Alley cocktail, his unique corpse reviver, “Lazarus Charlie”. I’m even considering naming my Leverndale Liqueur the “Tonto Greene”. Ideas have been touted of a coup at Ibrox, with Griegs statue pulled down, post Iraq invasion style, to be replaced by a 50 foot statue of Chazza made from melted down sovvy rings of the adoring multitudes. For he is our Orange exemplar, our Champion of the Empires trailer trash, the new masonic hearthrob, a Presbyterian poster boy, our tea maker. I know he is my new found hero: I knew, I, Davidas William III of Ashgill Leggat, when I looked in his eyes, the eyes, like burning coals of hypnotic intensity, that were so seductive and wickedly captivating…and all I could hear was Boney M’s 1978 hit ‘Ra-Ra-Rasputin’ ringing in my ears and the words “Buy a Season Ticket!” echoing in my head.

  11. Reigning Scottish champions Celtic are close to signing a one-year loan agreement for Japan international Yuki Otsu, Sponichi reported on Friday.



    The 22-year-old spent most of last season on the outside looking in at Borussia Monchengladbach, making just three appearances. But he emerged rapidly in the 2012 London Olympics, scoring three goals – including the shocking game-winner against Spain – on the way to Japan’s unexpected fourth-place finish.




    “We’ve received an offer from Celtic and are in negotiatons,” a source close to Otsu told Sponichi. “Once we settle on the terms the transfer should go through.”



    The former Kashiwa Reysol man told his club’s website earlier this month that he expected to be loaned for the season.



    A move to Glasgow would draw inevitable comparisons between Otsu and Japanese legend Shunsuke Nakamura, who scored 33 goals in 164 appearances for the Hoops. Winger Koki Mizuno, once a team-mate of Otsu’s at Reysol, also spent two and a half years at the club, making just 11 appearances.



    The loan would also allow the youngster a chance to participate in the Champions League group stage, after Monchengladbach’s chances of progressing in the tournament were severely threatened by a 3-1 loss to Dynamo Kiev in the play-off stage.

  12. BMCUW



    You are quite correct when you say that all the proper Greek gods like ‘the big mhan’ Zeus and his siblings like Poseidon and Hades, all had flowing locks and full facial hair!



    Their street cred would be shot to hell if they decided to go for the clean-shaven look!







  13. Estadio



    A truly funny laugh out loud moment , have you got the pigeons on the old triple andrex yet?




  14. ExiledBhoy


    11:31 on


    24 August, 2012


    VOGUEPUNTER…do you by anychance drink in the Rutherglen Vogue





    Ask me a harder one.

  15. VP, I did too many years ago, hence the question, I used to go on the Vogue bus when we used to stop for stovies in Perth en route to Dundee It was the year that We won the league at St Mirren when hearts got turned over in the last game

  16. Lennon n Mc….Mjallby


    10:46 on


    24 August, 2012


    Hugh- “We all know drugs in cycling is wrong,we admit that but if we were to punish Lance Armstrong the effect on cycling would be devastating.”



    Gordon- ” I agree with Hugh and Darryl,if you punish Lance the Tour dies n what about all the wee shops on the roadside selling crisps n ginger? They’ll go out of business.”



    Genuine lol at that one

  17. South Of Tunis on

    A long running joke takes on a new form – way down south .



    In a bar in Punta Secca last night———– Newsreader reading out Europa League results in alphabetical order . Small group of student types at the bar . Newsreader reads out Hearts of Midlothian 0—— Liverpool 1 . One of the student types announces that he saw Hearts once when he visited a friend who lives in Edinburgh . He then added that he had also gone to a 5 Nations Rugby game at Murrayfield—.



    One of his mates then enquired ——



    ” Apart from the number of players and the shape of the ball -was there much difference between the 2 games ? “.



    Very hot —–way down south.

  18. ExiledBhoy



    Was on the bus then ,myself then…………well no myself ,you know what I mean.


    Where are you exiled ? Don’t say England ,that disny count. hh

  19. kdc


    11:48 on


    24 August, 2012


    get sammi’s haircut



    Let me guess,you have a chrome dome.




  20. Tim Malone Will Tell



    09:13 on 24 August, 2012



    Robert Tressel



    You haven’t quite got the scenario right. What actually happens is that a chancer like me buys Lance’s old bike, change my name by deed poll to “THE Lance Armstrong”, claim Lance’s titles and then demand that I get a slot in next years Tour de France.


    If anyone objects, I just call them a bigot. That’s how it works…






    I’m sticking with my own scenario!!



    With one modification. Wiggins buys Armstrong, his bike and all his fans, nice stuff he owns, ditches his mortgage and credit cards, puts Lance in a cupboard, tells every one he is Lance – takes all his sponsorship money but when the credit card guy rings he tells him he’s not ‘that’ Lance Armstrong.



    Either way seems to work…….

  21. voguepunter / ExiledBhoy



    Celebrated the league win in 85 in the Vogue , stayed in Clinkarthill at the time , never used the bus too many hoodlums ha ha.

  22. Slabhoy



    I will drink to you and be glad that I am no where near a pub called ‘The Hanging Gate’.



    It gives people ideas.



    I like pubs called ‘Welcome Inn’, ‘Rest a while’, ‘off course you can get my barmaid pregnant’.



    I’ve only found the last one on a torrential night somewhere in Glasgow—-



    I spied her at the end of the far bar corner as she returned from the tables with the used glasses. I headed straight for her. By the time I had crossed the floor, me and ‘Francesca’ (I decided that was her name) had had an intense whirlwind affair leading to a commitment to a lifetime of dedicated and mutual love.



    Woe heaped upon woe however. For as we devoted ourselves to helping the world’s downtrodden and needy, by becoming volunteers to untouched parts of the sub-continents’ desperate peoples, our conjugal bliss was shattered as ‘Francesca’ contracted a terminal dose of either beri-beri or Lassa swamp fever.



    (I kept my options open on that particular detail as I couldn’t remember which one was fatal, and I didn’t want to undermine the foundation of my epic by lack of attention to detail.)



    The disease unsurprisingly had been caught from the poor jungle people that we had decided to go and help as volunteers. We had only argued because I had wanted to pledge myself totally and unselfishly for her few remaining months, while she had wanted me to go and start my life again.



    The reverie only came to an end with the clunk of the sods of turf on the coffin-lid as all my loving relatives gathered round to comfort me.



    “Someone should make a film of that,” I thought.



    Tears welling up in my eyes as the emotion of my hormonal imagination got to me, I sighed as I touched ‘Francesca’ on the shoulder and whispered gently,



    “Excuse me Francesca, there’s a big puddle at yer feet, huv ye pished yersel’”



    “Fe*k off ya erse! First’ ma name’s no Francesca, secondly that’s melted ice frae ma double vodka which as it so happens, appears tae need refilling, Smirnoff none o’ that house p*sh! And thirdly whit the fe*k are you greetin’ fur ya big oxter”



    I hardly heard a syllable!



    I had only ever thought about my ideal woman from behind, the well turned ankle, tight bum, and kinky hair. That was enough for anyone.



    Here I was now face to face with what held all those bits together and without doubt the view from the front was as good if not better as that from behind.



    I didn’t see the mascara and foundation running with the soaking streaks of hair across her face; I didn’t clock the mud and grit splashed ex-white M&S blousette.



    All I saw was that ‘Francesca’s’ eyes flashing a moist Celtic green which in harmony with the tip of her tongue smiled in a face set pale with a hint of flushed rouge.



    The atmosphere warmed as the drenched bodies began the process of evaporating the collected rainfall from the earlier downpour.



    Both our minds turned to ‘Babies’!!



    That’s My sort of pub! can you imagine what might happen in one called ‘The Hanging Gate’!!



    Hail hail




  23. Chelmsford, its like ruglen but without the bams….



    I used to live in Princes Gate just round the corner, I dont remember a lot of the names, apart from Danny the ginger bloke who always sat up the back of the bus singin Roamin in the Gloamin…

  24. Exiled bhoy



    If my surname was ….’the ginger bloke who always sat up the back of the bus singin Roamin in the Gloamin’….I think I’d like to be christened Danny too! :-)



    hail hail




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