We had our 11th annual CQN Charity Golf Open at Aberdour in Fife yesterday and it was another brilliant occasion. £2000 was raised for good causes, including a local Aberdour need, Tommy Burns’ Charity and the Celtic Foundation.
My thanks to the Joe Miller, who regaled us with tales of Maradona, Jinky and Sugar Roy Aitken. The buzz he got from playing for Celtic is clear. The day wouldn’t be possible without Taggsybhoy and BlantyreKev, but it takes an entire crowd to make special nights like this, so thanks to each of you.
This afternoon’s game against Rennes is an important step towards getting the players fully fit but the 90 minutes have to be balanced against the Champions League qualifier on Wednesday. I expect Ronny will ask the players the burn the flame brightly for a short period, before making lots of changes.
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Hibs sooooooooooooo bad even Kenny miser scores a double – 6-3 Sevco. 82mins played.
opp 6-2 sevco Sorry
How could 3 – 5 become 2 – 6?
Strange reporting going on here today.
Whit’s the score ffs?!
5-3, 6-3, 6-2…???
HH!!
Syd Negakev
14:13 on
25 July, 2015
How could 3 – 5 become 2 – 6?
Strange reporting going on here today.
==
Well due in the main to only glancing at the game every now and then. If one wants to be overly pedantic Hibs 2 Glasgow Barcasevco 6
Accuracy preferred to pedantry. :-)
2 – 6 it is.
COYBIG
Sky Sports have today clearly shown who their team is. On several occasions now, they have shown clips of Rankers lifting several Trophies when changing between news stories – including stories that have nothing to do with the Pre-season friendly currently being played out in Edinburgh.
It looked 5-3 but Hibs perfectly good third called offsdie by Gollum’s minion on the line. Then the freak scored to make it 6-2 and send the penny dreadful into ecstasy.
Full time Typical Hibs 2 – 6 Govan Galacticos.
FT Hibs 2 Sevco 6.
I have to thank the best manager since sliced bread for paying the bills this month.
Took them at 6s when Hibs scored their 1st.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
HH
HIBS looking for new goalie….
THE EXILED TIM
14:23 on 25 July, 2015
I have to thank the best manager since sliced bread for paying the bills this month.
Took them at 6s when Hibs scored their 1st.
Never look a gift horse in the mouth.
HH
———–
You still got your money on HIbs winning the league? ;o)
Typical Hibees.
Meanwhile, back at the MSM the ole circle jerk is in full swing.
Sack Stubbsy!
Bring back Tony Mowbray!
HH!!
So Hibs’ bottle crashes again, no surprise there. I said at the end of last season that I thought Hibs failure to gain promotion could see them in that division for several seasons. This season they will be playoff contenders at best and if they lose Allan maybe not even that. Both these teams are not in our league in more ways than one.
Petrofac Cup secured then.
More important game about to start soon! COYBIG.
Ambrose at right back …..
Why not Janko or Fisher
Sevco installed as joint favourites for boat race
the_huddle
Looks like I will have to revise that :-)
HH
Hibs will struggle to make the play offs if that is all they have to offer. Sevco took full advantage of an abysmal Hibs 2nd half showing.
Shocking management from Stubbs today.A big mealy mouthed dumpling.All the talk about Allan,then succumbs to the hype and does not play him,letting the Zombie followers have a field day.
Then plays a back three,whos sole contribution to the game was to kick balls out of play 15 yards from their goal line,and the manager lets them continue with this shambles for the full game.If Malonga is a footballer,Neganon is interesting.Hooked after 20 mins,should never have been started.Allan looked right up for the fight when he eventually came on.If he had been on the park for the first 20 minutes when Hibs were all over Sevco,and missed sitters,who knows.Shocking tactics from Stubbs.
Warburton to lead zombies into the final of the Great British Bake Off
Protest put in about Mary Berry judging as she has a Timmy sounding name.
Mark Warburton installed as favourite for next year’s Tour de France.
HH!!
Did Hibs not have 5 of their development squad on the park from kick off? And another 4 on the bench.
P
Some of the following may be true:
Lou Macari: Ten Hail Marys and a Glory Be…
I was sixteen and had enjoyed the Celtic away day experience in Aberdeen, Dundee, Edinburgh and the Southside of Glasgow. Interspersed with trips to Forfar, Perth, Ayrshire, Falkirk and other such salubrious venues around Scotland where the primary aim was to watch Celtic and the secondary aim was to have as much fun as possible. For the majority on the bus this involved drinking copious amounts of alcohol. At this time I was somewhat of a fitness fanatic and one of those huge pints with the strange tasting amber liquid seemed to take me hours to consume and very little time thereafter to get rid of. The older guys on the bus would rip it out of me and my pals, although a few of them were developing a taste for a cheeky wee south Devon red that they assured me was a tonic. They didn’t lie that’s what it said on the label.
A new away venue was on the horizon though and it appealed too many. The Bhoys were invited to play Manchester United in a testimonial for our ex player Lou Macari on Sunday May 13th. There was heated debate in the chamber of the bus as to whether we should reward Lou. Both sides were entrenched in their views as we watched from the spectator’s gallery of the back two rows. The motion was eventually carried: he didn’t deserve our money as he was traitor but it was too good a trip to miss and if anyone really objected they didn’t have to go to the game.
I understood in a confused teenager sort of way what had just happened, but the bus-in the main- seemed happy with the outcome and that’s all that mattered. One guy, Andy, still wasn’t having it. He appeared to immensely dislike Lou Macari (my maw taught me to avoid hate as it poisons you…). He wasn’t going no matter what. Over the following weeks names were taken and as the numbers swelled the trip grew arms and legs. As the game was on a Sunday, we were obviously leaving Airdrie on Saturday morning at 7am. A day out in Blackpool was planned, followed by an overnight stay; a stopover in Bolton on the Sunday and then over to Manchester for the game on Sunday afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?
The convener had secured 55 tickets, priced £3.40 each. The ‘laddies’ were given the back row of the bus and the next three rows on the premise it was three on two seats. This seemed really fair to us and we went about recruiting bodies. We reckoned we had ‘space’ for 28 at the back of this 52 seater. The convener was only interested in the tickets being sold, so he was delighted with our initiative. I wondered how many were going all in. Maths was never a strong point but on the morning of the journey I counted 75. Nobody seemed bothered and 75 might not have been accurate as there was constant movement ahead of us as the carousing accompanied by the symphony of cans opening set the scene for the weekend. Oh and the main dissenter Andy was there.
Now it’s important to introduce the main character here, my mother. I would describe her as the leader of the military wing of the Catholic Church and the only reason I was on this trip was that she liked the men who ran the bus. They attended mass on a regular basis and she was sure they’d look after the ‘laddies.’ Her weakness was Celtic and I assured her that I was only looking forward to the game. She got that and as her two favourite teams were Celtic and Manchester United-United a distant second to Celtic though-she thought it was too good an opportunity to miss. I was going.
I’d never been to Blackpool and in all honesty I didn’t fancy it however the Bhoys assured me we’d have a ball. The journey was a hoot with Webby, Thommo, Big Packy, wee Packy and Charlie all keeping the sing-song going and the jokes flowing. That tonic they were drinking sure appeared to be working. The bus was rocking and there was no debate about Macari coming from the chamber. That would come later but Blackpool appeared to be the main focus although I dreamily thought of Old Trafford. Well I had four suppressed slugs of the tonic before Gretna so everything appeared dreamy. There was great excitement when the ‘Tower’ was sighted and the noise ramped up as we entered the town:
“Hail Hail the Celts are Here, what the hell do we care now…”
Within half an hour I was in a lavender scented guest house along with nine others. Four of the laddies and 5 of the men fae the front and middle of the bus, the one’s my maw liked. They knew Blackpool inside out and seemingly they were regulars in this strange smelling house. Within one hour of spotting the tower we were signed in and ensconced in the CATHOLIC CLUB for the afternoon. I tried to envisage a sign like that surviving in Airdrie; the odds didn’t seem too high. About 40 from the bus spent the afternoon in the club and it was brilliant listening to stories of Celtic past glories and getting the pissed ripped out of us by guys who were far too sharp for their own good. I was nursing a few of those huge pints whilst the men were chasing theirs around the place with wee goldies.
Three hours in Lou Macari got mentioned.
The Young ones nervously shuffled in their seats as the big beasts of the bus got their well rehearsed arguments ready. Old Willie ran the debate with a skill the Common’s speaker can only dream of. The governing powers who had won the debate on the bus added nothing new to the debate however a few whippersnappers in their 20’s and 30’s were pro Macari and could understand why he moved. Pin drop stuff. Andy was playing the Sinn Fein role: he sat at another table with pals he knew from Blackpool, releasing a statement every now and again saying you know my position and I’m not debating at that table…
Cup final goals were recalled; The Quality Street Gang was dissected-this was beautifully handled by Willie bringing the debate back to Macari despite attempts to steer it onto Dalgish, Hay and the Daddy of them all George Connolly. These were debates for another day although both sides seemed to recall big George playing keepy-up around the Celtic Park track and his waltz around the Rangers defence at Hampden. We were enthralled. Back to Macari: after a couple of hours all the arguments were laid bare and the new policy on Macari was released by Willie:
“He was a great young player who should have stayed with us longer. We understand why he left; it was all to do with money and no way are Man U a bigger club than us. We aren’t celebrating him tomorrow but we’re there to support Celtic and do our club proud.”
Andy shouted ‘stickies’ from his isolationist table. The fun had really begun.
The rest of the day and night was a bit of a blur. The young ones eventually split from the main body who liked the ambiance and prices in the CATHOLIC CLUB. We explored the Blackpool nightlife, some appeared to be relishing the experience but I must admit to feeling like a nun with a charity box in the Copland road on match day. We all finally ended up in a club near the Tower after some adventures and misadventures in various drinking establishments. Big Packy led the way to the dance floor and proceeded to spend the evening asking girls ‘out.’ This was hysterical for about half an hour as the big guy who resembled ‘Shaggy’ fae Scooby-Doo was routinely knocked back but this didn’t deter him. Two hours later Webby exclaimed: ‘He’s pulled…’ Packy was slow dancing and it did appear to be with a young lady. Persistence had paid off and he’d defeated all odds. We all looked at each other and we reckoned there were about three slow dances left prior to the kebab shop. Shyness had to be ditched as Operation Tap on the shoulder was launched. I hated kb’s so I went safe and sure enough I was dancing or getting slowly pulled around the floor by a kebab shop lover to the strains of Spandau Ballet. As I peeked around her I could see most of the bhoys were ‘dancing’ with one or two experts or desperados gambling on ‘tapping’ with around thirty seconds of the dance to go. A fly move! The penultimate song-a Lionel Ritchie number as I recall- started and she didn’t let go…this was crunch time. My maw’s hazy face was just above her shoulder and doubts start to creep into my alcohol fuddled brain but that soon disappeared when yir woman smacked the lips on me with no warning. She tasted of Pernod and chips with a distant hint of juicy fruit. No my favourite taste sensation but I was undeterred. She kissed me all through the final tune till the lights came on. I was still interested and then she blew it:
“Do you want to come to mine?”
A bit forward but she was certainly not coming to mine with the characters awaiting in that guest house…
“My dad’s Scottish ?”
This immediately put me on the defensive:
“Is he? that’s good.”
I bet he’s a hun was reverberating around my mind but I was going to let this play out. As I looked around all the bhoys seemed to be having similar conversations, striking bargains and one was tapping money. God knows what was going on there.
“he’s a big Rangers fan, do you like football?”
“Look hen, I’m sorry but I’m not feeling too well, I’ve been drinking since 7 this morning.”
I thought this was the way to go to preserve her dignity and not to give her dad a coronary.
“That’s a shame, will you be here tomorrow?”
“Naw we’re all down for the Celtic game in Manchester.”
“Oh…(long, long, long pause)”
“Anyway great meeting you and…you know”
“It was. You got any chuggie?” (told you she was forward and I knew she hadn’t had juicy fruit for hours)
“I don’t do drugs” I replied. She didn’t laugh. I consoled myself in the knowledge that it would never have worked as she had no sense of humour and her dad would hate me. I was over it.
I lay in bedroom of the guest house wondering why the revolving ceiling wasn’t a tourist attraction it was amazing. Although by the noises and smells coming from my fellow inhabitants we had a lot of work to do to attract paying tourists. I was officially steaming and I didn’t like it one bit. Guilt swept over me: Buckfast, swearing, no chapel found for tomorrow, lager, kissing a girl whose da was a Rangers fan…I could go on but my maw’s Catholic guilt had taken hold. I’d be better tomorrow, honest maw. Thank God I blanked out.
Match Day.
Some of the older Bhoys had made it to mass, in fact most of the power drinking athletes had. I lay dying with the Protestants, Dissenters and non-believers. The kick off was 2pm but a stopover at Bolton had been arranged for refreshments. Dear God not again. I vowed to lie low and only drink one huge pint very slowly. The bus piled into the pub and I got a seat away from the bar near a small stage. Safe here. Big Packy, who never made it back to the guest house, produced one of the big pints again. The ‘laddies’ were looking the worse for wear but the drinking Olympians were back at the bar chasing away their hangovers. Then music and lights came on and the stage was filled with what looked like my kissing pal’s maw. A huge woman was gyrating about the stage and I noticed how all the seats were taken in this pub near the stage. We were gobsmacked. I wanted to tunnel out as my maw’s face appeared on a wall. This couldn’t be happening. Then my rights of passage moment arrived and a lifelong slagging was embedded in the folklore of the Bus. She came for me. Using my Celtic scarf she pulled me onto the stage. I couldn’t see anything apart from her huge, threatening but somehow welcoming chest. I was part of the ‘act’ for the next five minutes as she humiliated me further in front of the whole bus. I worried about sneaking my scarf into the washing when I got home. How do I explain baby oil and talc? My maw would grill the boys. I looked for them but they had seemingly suffered a group stroke going by their faces and were temporarily out the game. Finally she let me go to the rest of my life.
I endured the banter on the short trip from my Bolton hell to Old Trafford. I wanted the game to last for days as my maw’s wrath was surely waiting for me up the road. It was a ‘taps aff’ day as the sun blazed down on the 15,000 travelling Celtic fans. It was a glorious scene of green, white and shiny pink. The game finished 1-1 with Tommy Burns scoring for us to send us into alcohol fuelled delirium. As the crowd surged forward I saw Andy the dissenter cheering our goal wildly, he still wasn’t there for Lou though. The journey home was torturous due to tiredness, guilt and incessant slagging. However around about Hamilton, I hatched a plan though to get my retaliation in first- Confession. The priestly sort not my maw.
I kept the bhoys away from the house for a few weeks and my maw appeared to be in the dark about Blackpool and Bolton. I did go to confession and I received my heaviest penance ever: 10 Hail Marys and a Glory Be! I suspect the Rangers supporting dad was to blame as the mention of him elicited a deep Irish grunt from behind the curtain. Years later one of the bhoys grassed me in at a family party, chillingly she told him that she had known for years and that she was letting me stew…I still suspect that Priest.
turkeybhoy
14:33 on 25 July, 2015
———————————
I’m glad I’m not the only person who thinks Malonga is an imposter. He came out of the same mould as Amido Balde.
Can’t work out if am I allow my bias to cloud my judgement, rather than give Sevco credit where it is due but, for me, that was one of the most open and naive games of football I have ever seen!
Could have been 10-8!
First half hour Sevco were so open that a decide side could have been 5 up.
Both fullbacks bombing on, no holding midfielder and 2 slow centre halfs. A recipe for disaster.
Hibs tired and looked weaker once they lost Malonga and Forster.
They too have a terrible team shape tho.
Both sides need a holding midfielder ASAP.
In terms of individuals, Tavernier looked decent and Allan showed why we are not interested. Very good on the ball but lazy and unfit – indeed, not unlike Stefan before Ronny got hold. The difference is, I am unsure Scott has the desire to work as hard as Stefan did.
PF
Because, today anyway, the manager prefers Efe in that position 0:-).
I have come to the conclusion that I no longer understand football. I am an Efe fan but Fisher has looked much more like a normal full back as, indeed, has Janko in the time I have seen him. I am sure Ronny knows what he is doing !
JJ
PS Off to watch Le Finale in the Tour.Is Quintana going to fly? Is Nibali strong? Are Sky knackered? Is Froome drained? A relatively dull Tour has sprung to life in the Alps.
Sevco’s hot young old manager will be in great demand after this result. Will they be able to hold onto him? I think so!
guernica
Got to give credit to Sevco as they look an improved outfit under a Manager who despite his inexperience is operating professionally- something they lacked under previous Hun legend non managers….
That said – as I posted earlier it looked a lot like schoolboy football to my eye…
Mark Warburton to make Sevco into the Halliburton of Scottish Football.
Altho there will be no riches to made from Middle-Eastern Oil fields he does promise that there will be lots of slip ups.
New favourites for Americas coveted NBA trophy
turkeyboy
Why in a post about Stubbs and Hibs did you feel the need to have a sly dig at a Celtic post?
Turkeyboy
Poster?
No surprises from Hibs. I saw the man Warburton being interviewed last night on STV ,I think. Now, this may be heresy around these parts but so far he has played a blinder for his employers. He does not court controversy, answers questions ( admittedly some soft ball throws) and does not appear to be promising to deliver anything other than promotion.
If he has a nice big bonus built into his KPI,s which pays out double for promotion then he will have done himself a right favour and his employers at the same time.
He will build a side in his image, I understand one of the few criticisms he received at Brentford was that he had a plan and stuck rigidly to it: he likes 4-3-3 the way Ronnie likes 4-2-3-1. At championship level and with the built in advantage they already enjoy over the dross in that league, they will win the league at a canter.
However remember that McMullets team made Hibs look shite and they were promptly pumped by a fitter stronger side more used to playing big boys football.
C’mon the Hoops.
Quiet at Celtic Park today.
Good to meet Cowiebhoy and Leftclicktic outside.
Assuming EC67’s absence indicates his morning round has gone to a play off.
Guy walks into a pub, asks for a pint of Guinness……….and a mop
Hahahaha…..SKELETON