Back to the Footture: E13
The joys of Scottish football often revolve around the winter break. A two week period where you can guarantee good weather and no fucking football, only for February to be grim as shit. At least we’re looking good so far.
I’ve reviewed my squad after the influx on January 1st and George Byers gets a move to Dundee as he’s now my 5th choice CM and I’ve still not forgiven him for getting sent off against Rangers. Twat. He joins up with Alan Stubbs’ home for deranged ex-premiership pensioners. I even manage to Keyser Soze Dundee United into giving me £1.2 million for Tony Watt after proposing an exchange deal in response to their initial £450k offer. Tam Courts has just been sacked and I presume recruitment is being outsourced to John Terry.
I realise a few days later that Tony Watt was merely a welcome present for the new manager…Neil Lennon. I laugh for 6 days straight up until our next game against St Johnstone. I’m still chuckling as we drive past Kinross services, reminiscing of transfer dealings past. I’ve managed to add one new signing in the fortnight — a 180k bargain from the Japanese Administrative D division…Arlind Ajeti.
Quite how he ended up there I don’t know. He starts to tell me a story of how his passport was stolen and some guy with a moonbase but I ignore him. I dont need him to do anything other than kick the shit out of Stevie May. He replaces Rodney in our only change as we face the Sand-Wedge-And-Long-Ball of St Johnstone.
It’s a grim first half as we end up back in a colourblind nightmare. St Johnstone open the scoring through Ryan Thomas, but we equalise through Enzo 10 minutes later and should be ahead but Scotty’s effort is saved by Zander Clark.
On the hour, we bring on Melker to try and break the deadlock and push Mikkel further forward. He nearly immediately obliges with a jinking run and shot that Clark claws away. As time ticks away, we bring on Dembele and Sinani — who both have shots saved as Melker follows up…but Clark saves again! A late flurry can’t save us as Zander Clark wins St Johnstone a point.
At least we have the ideal game to get back into form, as the Scottish Cup sees us travelling to New Douglas Park to take on Hamilton. Fucking Hamilton. The target of much of my ire in season one. I make a couple of token changes and await destruction.
Fucking Right.
Musonda even had two further efforts disallowed for offside. Absolute carnage at New Douglas Park and we leave the smoking ruins of our performance behind us as we travel back home to do literally anything else.
That anything else is transfer listing some more players as we get another very decent looking centre back in. Benfica only require 200k to sell us Branomir Kalaica — who looks very very good indeed. Unfortunately he rejects us but we sell useless Cameron Burgess to Sydney FC for 825k.
Even better, our next game is against the President of the Jim Davidson Society for complete fucking scumbags — Malky MacKay and his horrendous Ross County team. I decide to leave the wingers in an advanced position and look to turn them into some kind of disgustingly racist pate.
It’s a good game as our advanced wingers leave space for the visitors to have time on the ball. Ante opens the scoring with a ferocious shot from the D, before they get an equaliser on 45 minutes. Not a problem though as “Mr 45” Scotty Fraser heads in a cross from Ante for a 2–1 half-time lead.
We dominate the second half as they struggle to Brexit their own half. Eventually its the brilliance of Mikkel Dueland that adds a 3rd goal, finishing a slide rule ball from KD. We add a 4th through Ferguson — and despite a reply from County it should be 7–8 by the time we finish. In the words of Shakin Stevens, that is lovely stuff.
We don’t have much time to recover as we have the joys of a trip to the Spoon-Burning emporium that is Easter Road. Jack Ross greets me warmly and tells me about the new grouting he’s just put into his house, at which point I feign a stroke to remove myself from the conversation.
Winning the league is a fond fond dream. But this would be an excellent chance to confirm our 3rd placed status in the league by beating the current Scottish Cup Holders in their own backyard. Aapo comes back in for Jay in our only change. Easter Road is full to the brim as we enter the pitch, and I give the players a knowing look that we are in for a game here.
Enzo has a great chance early on but heads wide from a cross by Scotty, and we are punished when Jonathan Calleri gives them the lead 12 minutes in. We huff and puff for the remainder of the half with Enzo annoyingly profligate and Lewis Ferguson missing a great chance to level things up on the stroke of half-time when he opts to shoot instead of passing to Mikkel.
I withdraw the Lewis as he’s about as consistent as a tourettes tick, and drop Mikkel back to bring Robbo on behind Enzo. Kenny Dougall hits the bar in the first minute of the second half before a strong shout for a penalty is turned down, at which point I send Catts over to yell expletives at the 4th official until he gets sent off. The second half is wave after wave of attack for us with Hibs threatening on the break through Josh Doig. I get the feeling on about 70 minutes that we could play all day and not score…I’m right.
Choose Back to Rugby Park. Choose Pints. Choose Misery. Choose Hatred. Choose Crying watching Trainspotting 2 and choose passive aggressively tweeting Irvine Welsh. Choose being Fucking Shite. Choose punting balls off the Park Hotel roof at 3 in the morning.
Tremendously we then get the opportunity to play Motherwell, continuing on our tour of playing sides that we hate. I review the league table and realise that this is in fact every team in the league. Celtic and Rangers have also both dropped points of late so the loss to Hibs isn’t as fatal as it could have been. I shuffle things slightly with Melker coming in and Malaly getting a start ahead of Enzo, who has been a little off-the-boil of late. Malaly, whilst offering as much goal threat as a Ketamine-addled Bambi, at least adds a bit of chaos.
The first half finishes 0–0. I smash my head into the side of the dugout over and over again to try and forget what I have just witnessed and immediately push the wingers up and make a couple of changes with Robbo and Enzo coming on with my profuse apologies and promises of multiple pints being bought if they can drag me out of my coma.
Enzo gets the ball from kickoff, dribbles forwards and hits the bar from fully 35 yards with a dipping effort and then Robbo misses a clear chance from 12 yards after a cutback from Scotty. We have yet another penalty shout turned down (our 7th in the last 3 games, not that I am fucking counting) but then, Mikkel — the beautiful Lego man — puts us ahead with a cool finish. We don’t extend our lead despite multiple chances and we grind out a 1–0 in the end. But its 3 fucking points. Just what the lunatic ordered.
Next up it’s the League Cup semi-final vs St Johnstone. On a Wednesday Night. In Airdrie. Ohhhh the dripping prestige.
I give the players a couple of days off and review the team. We’re good but don’t seem to have been clicking as well of late. I think it might be time for a shuffle and Dujon gets his first start on the right with Scotty going central. This is a huge opportunity for us, especially given the Old Firm sides are both out already.
St Johnstone score in the 4th minute with a 30 yard wonderstrike. We equalise 3 minutes later only for it to be chalked off. I put my head in my hands and fucking scream. I hate this game.
Despite our appalling start and the SFA clearly mounting an Anti-Ayrshire campaign, we do eventually equalise through Enzo midway through the first stanza after a couple of scares. We then lose Mikkel to injury and my dark mood returns…an almost…black mood…BLACK!
Catts slaps me in the face as I pass out in a haze of Jonny Goodpainter sketches and tells me its 1–1at half-time. I tell him to yell at the team and get them fucking going. He tears strips off them, to the point for the first 15 minutes of the half they are scared of the ball and St Johnstone should be ahead but for the brilliance of Aussie Tom. Yet another penalty claim is turned down and I bring on Malaly for a touch of the absurd.
The absurdity appears forthwith as our defence parts to allow them a second goal, but Scotty replies instantly to make it 2–2 and send us into injury time. 10 minutes in and ping-pong free-kick is fired into the box and Malaly swings a boot at it….YES! 3–2! I run down the touchline and start a 16 man pileup on top of the crazy striker as he puts us through to a League Cup Final!
Yaldi!
Oh wait…last time we played Hibs in a league cup final this happened…
I barely have time to look up at the paper that I throw into my recycling every day and its Scottish Cup time.
The Opponents: Dumbarton. Piece of Piss. A whole host of changes, lets score 12.
Well, we get a third of the way there. Melker looks excellent and Robbo gets back into his stride. It’s exactly what we wanted and needed from the tie. Goals and rotation, an outstanding channel 5 game show concept as well.
We draw the enigmatic Hibernian at home, and I for one can’t wait for Jack Ross to talk me through the finer points of the different types of potato. I send him 5kg of Maris Pipers’ unbagged as a joke, and get an angry whatsapp from him as we are on the bus up to face Aberdeen.
Now Aberdeen seem to have entered some kind of arms race — signing £4m quid worth of players in January, including Daniel Bachmann and Sam Greenwood — who are both very fucking good. I suspect this will be a far tougher test that the last twice we’ve played them, and pick the strongest side available. Mikkel isn’t quite fit so I get Robbo back supporting Enzo and encourage him beforehand. We need a big performance.
I encouraged Robbo so well that he takes off in a sprint and injures himself 3 minutes in, meaning an early return to the Pittodrie turf for Lewis Ferguson. Its a very cagey game with no attacking endeavour of note until a corner from Charly Musonda is met by a leaping Finn, Aapo Halme thumping a header into the roof of the net. Two minutes later we double our advantage as Enzo gets up to nod home a Melker delivery. 2–0! It’s a stunning first half performance and the home fans boo their side off at half-time.
I tell the boys to keep it up an Kenny Dougall provides a classy finish just after the restart…into his own fucking net. It’s another quiet opening and Dujon comes on for Scotty with 20 minutes to go to shore us up a little. We pass the ball about nervously and Glover saves well from Benning, but disaster strikes 3 minutes from time…Ramirez steals into the box and knocks home a rebound. 2–2.
I’m so angry I tell the players to fuck off back on the train and take the bus back with the coaching staff myself.
I know we shouldn’t win the league, but fuck me — that result probably finishes it for us.
