I didn’t hear the scores of other games this weekend until today when I read a red card protest (remember the day Celtic fans gave birth to this concept?) occurred at Ibrox to demonstrate disapproval to any potential new owner who plans to liquidate Rangers.
It would be preferable to everyone if Rangers paid their bills, restoring a degree of dignity, although apparently no one is offering to do this. Publicly bidders for the club will all confirm their preference is to exit administration via a Creditors Voluntary Arrangement (CVA). Offering pennies in the pound for a company is unquestionably a great deal, for the buyer, but whoever is nominated as preferred bidder this week is likely to have a serious option to liquidate the club.
Demonising the liquidation option carries risks for Rangers fans. Short of raising considerably more money than they have thus far and paying their bills, there is little fan power can do right now. If liquidation is the best option for creditors it will happen, better to accept the reality of the situation. Whatever the resulting phoenix club is called, if the new owners inherit animosity from the start it will only diminish the potential of their new club.
We’re looking for articles for CQN Magazine again. If there is something you would like to write about email me, celticquicknews@gmail.com.
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Evening all.
Shwd mae Ed?
Nice to see you back.
Give me a Bluenose over a racist, misogynist neo-con any day of the week.
Dirtymac
The way I was hearing Jim Duffy was that he was trying to massage the fragile souls of the loyal who are terrified to loose their history ( god knows why, what a chance to ditch it) by telling them the history would remain with the club
paladin on 9 April, 2012 at 19:31 said:
He’s no a daftie. He knows that there will be few huns listening in tonight. He also appreciates that NL let him off lightly the other day. The huns who did brave it on tonight appear to have quite emotional voices.
Guys and gals, sorry to re-post this request from earlier…
I’m stuck for transport from East Durham on the day of the Rangers (IA) game on the 29th April. I usually travel up by car, but can’t on that date.
I know that there were, at one time, buses that went up from Redcar/Teesside and from Sunderland.
Can anyone tell me if they still run and, if so, put me in touch with someone so that I can organise travel.
Thanks for any help provided.
How old are you.
Story comin up …after pub.
Hail hail
Estadio
Good evening friends. Just back after a lovely day with Mrs Baldie in sunny (honestly) Peebles. A good long 2 hour walk through some beautiful forests has certainly blown away the cowebs from a weekend of celebration.
Stopped at traffic lights outside the Cross Keys in Wishaw only to hear the sound of a live band belting out ‘This Land Is Our Land’. Fantastic!
Jobo .
Off the Record ! as in, I don’t read the Daily Record because of its sh*t journalists on 9 April, 2012 at 19:25 said:
You may say I’m a dreamer, but you ARE the only one ….. Regrettably, this will not be the case …… Their crowds will diminish since too many of them have other motives for going to inbox every fortnight, I’m afraid …..sad, but so true …… They have brought the END upon themselves…
“Inbox” …..LOL……even my iPod rebels when I type that name …..l!!!!!!
paladin on 9 April, 2012 at 19:35 said:
Dirtymac
The way I was hearing Jim Duffy was that he was trying to massage the fragile souls of the loyal who are terrified to loose their history ( god knows why, what a chance to ditch it) by telling them the history would remain with the club
+++++
He’s right though, it will (remain with the club).
In the same way that Renton’s and Third Lanark’s history remains with those clubs. In the past.
:-)
But, yes, I know where you’re coming from.
I’d just like to say thanks to the many posters who have welcomed me back, too many to mention by name. I would say everyone of you follow the ethos of the original blog Paul67 set up. (btw Paul I doubt if you ever imagined back in the days of four or five posts a day it would turn into the CQN media that now exists)
btw lmao I just glanced out the window and the woman next door is leading a horse out of a horse box, nothing to do with football but for some reason it made me laugh. (nothing to do with football I’ll admit but how can you see that happen without a comment lol)
Now that at my level the signing and registration date has passed I hope to post a bit more often and enjoy arguing, debating, falling out with and making up with a lot of folk on here, probably the best football blog I’ve known.
POTY,
Where to start?
FF – Commanding and has made the big saves at the right moments. The pen save v Hearts made him realise he was an important part of the team. His performance in Udine was up there with Artur Boruc. Fraser, take a bow…..
Charlie – crikey. A true footballer. 9 goals from the back. Left back, centre back, midfield, assists, free kicks corners, nice guy, true Celt. Borderline legend.
Charlie, take a bow….
Vic – passing, positional sense, power and important goals. Great player.
Victor 67, take a bow….
JF – breathtaking. pace, goals, trickery, bravery. Will forever be remembered for dragging the team up by its bootlaces at Rugby Park to earn a draw. James, take a bow…
Guiseppe Ledley, workhorse, 9 goals. Look up honest in the dictionary, Joe is there. Josie, take a bow…..
Scot Brown(c). – Leader, skillful, energetic, goalscorer. Managers choice.
Scott, take a bow…..
For me it’s Charlie, what a player
TJ
btw before anyone asks I know it’s Ayrshire but the horse isn’t white
Genuine question asked of and replied to by Aussie Tourist Board Officials :
” Q: Do you celebrate Christmas in Australia ? ( France)
A: Only at Christmas.
__________________________________________________
Q: Will I be able to speak English most places I go? ( USA)
A: Yes, but you’ll have to learn it first.”
Cheerio for now. A fairly interesting day on CQN.
JJ
The Token Tim on 9 April, 2012 at 19:04:
What would you be setting yourself up for?…:)
Vhman Supporting Lenny!:
Sober tonight? You were in good form last night into the wee small hours my amigo…:)
Bloke_109:
I tried to open the link you posted, Snake’s I believe, no longer available as the uloader closed their account. Was it Snake’s?
Keep the Faith!
Hail Hail!
Hug
St Martins bhoy travels with Tyneside Emerald, they can be contacted at Irish Centre…
Things seem to be getting a wee bit boring now that we have secured the title and no news trickling from doomed SS Tihuntic. Seems some may have resorted to trading insults with fellow posters in order to alleviate the tedium?
Can’t say I know Edward but I am naturally suspicious of those that support Rangers.
I am of the opinion that it is an indisputable fact that a Hun is a Hun. The question being why would an intelligent seemingly urbane person support a team with a ‘proud’ history of exclusion, sectarianism and supremacy. If the tables were turned and Celtic FC were guilty of such anti-social crimes how many here would continue to claim to support Celtic? Partick Thsitle would have just won the league I venture.
Lennybhoy…. yes 5am on the blog …… party time innit!
Can the fat bhoys post re a meet up after the hertz game……. I dont get to see ye enough and need a bit o Glasgow craic………
V
Edward:
Did it have a number ‘4’ and the word ‘Broadfoot’ on it’s back?
And was she awa’ tae hitch it up tae a cert?
Not one word about Sally’s incredible behaviour during their home game last week ….. Ranting and raving. E.g… “F@/:ing Sh£&8@” …….. One rule for him……
Edward Ursus on 9 April, 2012 at 19:43 said:
btw before anyone asks I know it’s Ayrshire but the horse isn’t white
——————————————————————
Remember seeing a movie when I was young ‘The valley of the Gwangi’ is that near Ayrshire?
A STARTER>>>
“…..as for the unforeseeable, well it was out there waiting for me.
I headed straight into the setting sun and rode west at an easy pace
It was going to be a long ride and there was no reason to hurry.”
26th April 1961
The day that time froze.
I was eight and a half and every promise that had been made, every expectation set, every new dawn predicted lay shattered beneath the living room table, my refuge of contemplation; that evening’s specialist subject – the perfidy of adults and their worthless outpourings.
One of my older sisters tried to sneak in and join me, but my senses were well attuned now to that unique odour of ‘girl’ tinged with the unmistakeable but paradoxical je ne sais quoi of ‘sister’. Her whisper metamorphosed as it pounded my eardrum into a cry of a triumphant banshee, laying waste to some lost soul stumbling around in the dark and shadows of the gargoyle woods.
She knew what she was doing with her well practiced ten and a half year old feminine wiles.
My world, life and the future hit the buffers. Her mission accomplished she scampered out to the assembled reflective family sitting around the living room and with the affection of a shy caring sibling she pulled at our mammy’s skirt and whispered
“Mammy, the wee man’s greetin under the table.”
I could hear the snigger in her soul but turning to my ever-present invisible pal I made us both promise that ‘WE’ would have our revenge.
We would break her curse and as we all knew at eight and a half, a spell on the rebound gained a thousand fold in power and wreaked the havoc of an angry corner-shop owner catching a wean half-inchin an iced doughnut and a dry roll.
The fury of a woman scorned would pale to a mere breeze in comparison. I sniggered for two….me and my ethereal mucker…..he liked to keep his thoughts silent.
My plan formed in our shared minds and the future took on a slightly rosier hue. The world was about to regret this night.
***************************************************************************
June 12th 2010
“Name?”
I mumbled a response which years of listening mumbled responses had trained my interrogator to translate into something approaching correct. I kept my eyes on the security guards who made a choreographed drama of blending and appearing to do nothing. There cunning plan to avoid the attention of the pulsating mass of master criminals who frequented the establishment was designed to preserve their element of surprise as their secret weapon and unique selling point.
“Address?”
I mumbled another response, detecting that these were more statements than questions and that he already knew the answers anyway. I watched the security guards again. Their cunning plan was getting less and less cunning by the moment. It was clear now; they no longer appeared to be doing nothing, they WERE doing nothing apart from sweating and shifting from one foot to the other probably praying that nothing untoward would occur. After all, the three of them were of a kind, fat, unfit and verging on a coronary. Still they were a vital cog in the state’s apparatus and who could deny them their delusions of grandeur. Certainly not me, after all I was the one under the cosh of the relentless questioning.
“Date of Birth?”
I hauled my stare back from the ever more uncomfortable scene of security jobsworths as they began their personally designed scratching routines. Their eyes flicked from corner to corner, face to face, ever ready in the event of trouble to dive for the nearest cover or even to detect it early enought to develop a suddenly full bladder and head for the gents. I watched my inquisitor’s hand and pen hover. I knew that he knew the answer, but rules were rules and his credibility, status, power and conversation with his partner over that night’s reheated spaghetti bolognese probably depended on him maintaining his position of pre-eminence over his latest victim. But maybe he was the one in the camera being monitored; maybe he would be subjected to the perspiration soaked grip of the security if he as much as strayed into assumption rather than confirmation.
I glanced at his sheet of questions, tick-boxes, ‘delete as appropriate’ asterixes, transcribed names and addresses. He was a robot, unthinking, uncaring unaware that the apparent wastrel on the other side of the user friendly lectern was in fact a suave sophisticate of modern thinking, a brain of razor sharp perspicacity and oh so much more than a begging drain on society’s largesse.
I stared at his balding patch, his head still bowed, pen poised over the wee box that would see his absolutely key task in lubricating the cogs of the welfare state one more stage closer to completion, ready to split the universe in two, filing the completed document in the out tray and dispatching the faceless behemoth to a queue where he would eventually be seen by another ‘agent’ of the state to confirm all the information previously provided, answer the same questions, cross reference to the miraculously re-appeared document from the lectern investigator, and have its stamped ‘security checked’.
But I hadn’t made it past the lectern and unless I answered his latest question I was unlikely to make it through the security controls and get to sign in the wee box that said ‘well done, you now qualify for sixty seven pounds fifty pence a week, paid fortnightly’ broo money to keep the scavenging jackals of capitalist larceny from your door’.
All I had to do was answer the simple question “Date of Birth” and I was on my way back to the land of the living and the prospect of a pint or two in the following week.
I felt for the eighty two pence in my pocket. I felt worthless and alone. Even my imaginary friend had fecked off with an imaginary bird.
How the feck had I ended up here? What had happened to those dreams of 26th April 1961. What had happened to that eight and a half year old under the living room table?
Even worse what had happened to the plans of revenge? Why had that sickly smelling relation got off scot free, and why had I meekly submitted to a school life of getting her old duffle bags, stubby pencils, button swapped blazers, trousers made out of her old skirts and most humiliating of all – Freshly laundered or not….her gym slips
I could feel my tear ducts being primed.
************************************************************************
26th April 1961
I had been allowed to stay up as my uncles would be returning from Hampden with tales of derring do, heroic tackles, headers, saves, shots, goals, and ultimately the glory of how Celtic had won again the Scottish Cup and added another paragraph to the encyclopaedia of excitement.
I can’t remember now if the game was on the radio, I think at that time the ‘Scottish home service’ sometimes broadcast the game but we were more likely to be twirling the dial to try and pick up the commentary from Athlone. But as I said, I can’t remember that night, there’s a mental clot in my memorial artery.
They had promised me victory, celebration and a cup overflowing with laughter and song. But there they sat now, the fold up tea table with sandwiches and biscuits (reserved for visitors) talking in hushed tones. My dad got up and went to the piano. The music was a requiem, sombre and funereal. We had lost 2-0 in the cup replay. (The comments about Jock Stein that night are not repeatable.)
I was eight and a half and every promise that had been made, every expectation set, every new dawn predicted lay shattered around my feet in my refuge. I stopped ageing then as I contemplated the perfidy of adults and their worthless outpourings.
Because of them the rest of my life would resemble Chernobyl wreathed in a farewell poisonous cloud of lies.
But I cried dry tears – boys in Coatbridge out of nappies and over the age of 5 (whichever came first) – were not allowed to cry. In fact it is likely that under the pretext of a general anaesthetic at the dentist the gnarled old woman at the end of the street had secretly sneaked in and either removed all male tear ducts or stuffed the potentially waterworks with a hosepipe banning order. As I sat there the world dissolving into dry heaves, I consoled myself “Well at least there is a Santa Claus. No one can take that away from me”
One of my sisters came and joined me in the way that a comforting older sister does. She whispered in my ear.
My eyes bulged in disbelief “Nawwww, I don’t believe you…..” I nervously shoogled a loose milk tooth.
“An’ there’s no tooth fairy either” she sniggered her plan to demolish my emotional house of cards achieved.
My world, life and the future hit the buffers, whatever she had blocked my lachrymal tubes with began to dissolve in the face of the assault by acid tears.
“Mammy he’s greetin under the table.”
I would get her back. Of that you could be sure.
Just listening to Snyde on line for want of something better to do. The Stupid huns just don’t seem to get it. It’s comedy central.
Oglagh,
We , all of us, support our family…No matter what their shortcomings.
Celtic is my family.
Rangers is Edward’s family.
We are locked in to where we find ourselves in life.
Some things we don’t choose.
Hebcelt @ 18.53
Appears you are correct sir – I was looking at the date on the Email obviously. I dont know how I missed that – unless it had something to do with the Mega- weekend just passed.
Anyhoo going into a disciplinary meeting with agent Quinn now and can reveal he will not be reporting on any further Alex Thomson releases.
Lazy journalism indeed:)
Teuchter
Hugo z
I’ve lost their number but went up on a bus a couple of seasons ago, got picked up at scotch corner. You might have to drive down.
http://teessideanddarlingtonhoops.co.uk/
Ha ha kojo has been outed clocked that muppet after about 2days on the blog. Thought sidney tim was in his gang but estadio gave him a glowing report good enough for me.
voguepunter on 9 April, 2012 at 19:50 said:
Remember seeing a movie when I was young ‘The valley of the Gwangi’ is that near Ayrshire?
+++++
When I were a nipper, that was my most favouritest film ever.
That and Clash of the Titans.
Clash of the Titans, Valley of Gwangi and Jason and the Argonauts were my favouritest films ever.
And Blade Runner. And the Doctor Who film with the dinosaur type things beseiging some fortified city. I liked King Kong too.
But nah, Valley… was my favourite film when I were but a sprog. There was a catchy tune when they were riding through the (Arizona??) desert – can still remember it. It went: dih-dih-dihhhhh-dit, dih-dih-dihhhhh-dit, dihhh-ditttt :-)
Vogue…… pack it in now ….
Edwards probably seen more Celtic games than you ya f in armchair supporter.
The Token Tim on 9 April, 2012 at 19:31:
As I posted earlier same problem with Snake’s video.
Keep the Faith!
Hail Hail!
Kilbowie Kelt on 9 April, 2012 at 19:51 said:
Oglagh,
We , all of us, support our family…No matter what their shortcomings.
Celtic is my family.
Rangers is Edward’s family.
We are locked in to where we find ourselves in life.
Some things we don’t choose.
===========
Eh so if my dad was a fascist BNP supporter or my brother a skin head who got his kicks beating up people from the Asian community i would support them? -No i wouldn’t. Intelligence and the ability to differentiate good from evil is what separates us from the pack instinct of Animals (or Huns). To support an openly bigoted institution places one’s character open to question.
dirtymac \o/ on 9 April, 2012 at 19:56 said:
Catchy tune????????????
Bloody hell ,I canny remember yesterday:O)
Jason fighting the skeletons.Ray Harryhausentastic.
Link to Bert Kassies 2012-13 Champions League qualifier schedules, lots of gaps but in the 3rd round the Champions of Scotland, Belgium and Romania are joined by 17 winners in round 2.
The way things are shaping up we are a cert to be a seeded team in qualifying rounds 3 and 4 (if we dont do a Malmo).
http://kassiesa.home.xs4all.nl/bert/uefa/seedcl2012.html
voguepunter on 9 April, 2012 at 20:00 said:
Bloody hell ,I canny remember yesterday:O)
+++++
Neither can most on here :-)
badhangoverthoughCSC :-(
Vmhan
I used to like you,but you and yir lancashire arse can take a walk of a short pier……………………..thanks HT.
Vmhan Supporting Lenny! on 9 April, 2012 at 19:47:
I’m sure one of the Fat Bhoys will arrange something. Looking forward to it already amigo…
Keep the Faith!
Hail Hail!
Oglach
Sometimes things are not so set in the concrete of certainty.
http://enematic.wordpress.com/2011/09/09/242/
Hail hail
Estadio
Vmhan Supporting Lenny! on 9 April, 2012 at 19:56 said:
My mates down in Blackpool few day with his family. He was in a curry house last night with his young son,wee man had the hoops on. The guy started going on about winning the league long story short he was high up in the pleasure beach got them all in for nothing today. Was that one of your troops.