Victoria v Toronto Celtic

I said at the beginning of the season that in order to witness the beautiful game in its purest example, you would be better off tuning in to Toronto's TSSL division 2, than watching the boring World Cup. Given the pitiful amount of goals so far in South Africa, in comparison to the 9 goal thriller contested between Victoria and Toronto Celtic on Tuesday evening, my statement holds true! And, by the way, no amount of unnecessary red cards will make up for the lack of goals in South Africa.

Carry on reading >>

Sierra Stars 0-1 Fionn MacCool's Celtic

There is that old footballing cliche, that says a team can look back over a grueling fixture list, and pin point a game where the season was decided. And, often that particular game is against your fiercest rivals, which is usually the first game you circle on the calendar.

For Celtic, after a patch of barren results, last weekends game against Sierra Stars, was where the season's fate would be sealed. Win, and you live to fight another day, hopeful of being touted once again as title contenders. Lose, and the season ends in premature disappointment.

There may well be plenty of more action still to come Celtic's way, as we are only about halfway through the TSSL season, but the stakes couldn't be higher. And with a game with such huge ramifications, time seemed to stand still, Canadian Geese delayed their migration and people fornicating in the bushes, looked on impatiently, as Celtic took to the field in front of a full capacity crowd. Basically, a picnic bench, a couple of subs, and an intimidating Sierra Stars entourage, but use your imagination.

Curley, keen to make up for the previous weekends misfiring, kicked off the first half for Celtic, sporting new footwear, freshly imported from England just moments before the game commenced. However, the presence of the outrageously coloured boots, which Nike claim to be orange, but I would more accurately describe as salmon pink, were to be short lived. Such was Curley's vanity, that multiple layers of socks and sole inserts would not be enough to save the doomed cat walk, and sensibly Curley was soon on the bench changing back in to his more familiar, reassuringly bland footwear.

For the first time it what seems like an eternity, Celtic were almost at full strength, giving Tibby a welcomed selection headache, and a chance to observe matters from the side lines. Monaghan had made a miraculous recovery from the "golf ball" sized injury to his brow only a couple of weeks earlier, Teague was fully fit and Celtic had the luxury of the formidable defensive partnership of Mercier and Stuckmann once again.

So, with an embarrassment of talented riches, Celtic soon got into there groove, confidently knocking the ball about, patiently looking for an opening, while Sierra looked predictable as all there play would go through the talented number 10, that McCallum had in his pocket all day. I always enjoying seeing personal battles develop on the field, and McCallum with sheer dogged determination was winning this particular one, demonstrated by the numbers 10 constant appeals to the ref.

At the opposite end of the field, Celtic's number 19 (who could that be I wonder?) was doing more than his share of referee harassment, and such was the gobby and at times idiotic behaviour, that Tibby threatened to withdraw the striker if the petulance persisted. What can I say, Sierra brings out the best in me!

The first half would end 0-0, but Celtic looked comfortable, and capable of pushing on in the second half in order to get the results they craved. And with the restart, Celtic almost broke the deadlock moments in to the second half. Teague anticipated an awkward pass across the Sierra back line and duly robbed the centre back as he hesitated in possession. Still some 35 yards from goal and with the covering defender closing in, Teague's second touch dragged him wide of the goal and leaving too much work to do. Unfortunately the final shot lacked power and the accuracy, but it was definitely a warning sign to Sierra.

With the Sierra attack still looking relatively toothless, Celtic continued to press for the elusive goal, and next it was utility man Chisholm's turn to test the Sierra resolve. Chisholm latched on to a neat chip over the Sierra defense, and from a tight angle, unleashed a stinging half volley, but the Sierra Goalkeeper was equal to it, and parried away.

Celtic were not to be disappointed though, and eventually all of their hard work would be rewarded. After some good work down the Celtic left wing was brought to an abrupt end, the referee finally saw sense and awarded a rare freekick dangerously positioned on the corner of the Sierra box. The freekick was whipped in to the danger area, and Curley, with his shooting boots back on, effortlessly plucked the ball out of the air with his back to goal, pirouetted and ruthlessly smashed home a priceless goal in front of the ecstatic crowd.

The joyous scenes, however would soon turn in to utter despair. Not long after taking a much deserved lead, Celtics game would be turned on its head. A hopeful punt forward by Sierra enticed Fourie off his line, and out of the security of his box. With the ball bouncing, and unable to use his hands, Fourie was forced in to a sweepers roll, but could only head a short distance, where knowingly the Sierra striker was waiting to pounce. The Sierra striker picked his spot, and lobbed the ball towards the top corner.

What happened next would have even the Question of Sport pundits baffled......

With Fourie now helplessly looking on, caught in no man's land, Mercier scurried back towards goal, and with the ball dipping towards the top corner, took the law in to his own hands, leaped like a salmon out of water and majestically tipped the ball over the bar. Such was the height and stretch of the leap, it looked like Mercier had cleared the bar. Which, was soon to be Mercier's only line of defense, as the ref fumbled around for what we all had feared. The red card was brandished and Sierra were given a life line.

After the custom Sierra squabbling, a penalty taker was eventually selected, and the player who apparently never misses a penalty confidently stepped up. For Fourie, this season it had become second nature facing penalties, but he decided against the usual Grobbelaar wobbly legs and opted for another Liverpool legend's tactics in Jerzy Dudek's star jumps.

The decision to emulate Dudek paid off, as Fourie dived the right way, proving once again, that beating the Durban stopper, from 12 yards is by no means a full gone conclusion. The game pivoted on this moment, and for all the decision that had gone against Celtic, justice was finally served, which sent the much relieved onlooking bench into raptures.

Despite surviving the penalty, Celtic still had another 10 nervous minutes to endure with only 10 men on the pitch. Sierra failed to take advantage of their numerical difference though, and remained impotent in front of goal, never fully recovering from the penalty miss.

This was to be Celtic's day, and they deservedly clinched a huge 3 points against a previously unbeaten Sierra Stars. With Celtic delivering the much needed win, they will not lightly rest on their Laurels, as next week produces a double header in the shape of Zoomer, and a chance of revenge for Sierra.....tickets are selling fast!!

Morton 1-1 Fionn MacCool's Celtic

Following the previous weekends first league defeat of the season, where the football on display was as absent as the non existent match report that didn't follow it, Celtic, travel sick after the last minute venue changes, courtesy of the "Garbage" (Rubbish) strike, were under the cosh to get back to winning ways. It was a weekend littered (outrageous pun) with events, which would ultimately end in the unfortunate trip to Scarborough's finest casualty ward.

Despite Celtic possessing possibly the largest squad in the TSSL Media League, the season so far has been riddled with player injuries and absenteeism, once again calling in to question the possible need for reinforcements. Balancing a squad with the talent and ego's of Celtic's stature is a tumultuous task, and adding to it will be calculated, methodical process we come to expect from Tibby the technician.

Injuries and absenteeism aside, another element beyond the realms of Celtic's control are the wonderful little people dressed in smart black uniforms we affectionately call ref. And, while my documentation of the dictators empowered by the all conquering whistle in trusted upon them, has been quite extensive, this episode trumps all before it -Including, any game at any level.

You may recall the harrowing critique of the first female referee I, and I am sure many others, were blessed with a few weeks back. After a 40 minute drive out of Toronto, to the suburbs, the last thing I was anticipating was the sight of being graced with her presence once again. Luckily, she was only summoned to marshal the byline, but more worrying, or should I say disturbing, was the family of ref's that would officiate the game. Lord of the manner, the husband was the ref, his wife the lineman, or should I politically say, assistant ref and, barely legal, the daughter completed the family line up on the opposite wing. How, any sane farther can subject his teen daughter to what was bound to be a barrage of screaming expletives is baffling, especially given Morton's bullying tactics.

So, with the Adams family (thanks Jude!) eagerly bringing a start to proceedings, Celtic took to the new unfamiliar surroundings with the untested front line of Fitzpatrick and Imnaishvili. A front line that would see almost everyone playing a role in at some point, such was the lack of attacking depth, with Teague still injured and Curley taking care of family business.

The new attacking formula though, wasted no time at all, and marked their intent with the first attack of the game after barley 5 minutes had elapsed. Monaghan scurried down the right wing and squared the ball at pace to Fitzpatrick, who unwittingly flicked the ball into Imnaishvili's path. Imnaishvili looked like he had the goal at his mercy, only for the Morton keeper to smother the opportunity.

Chances between these two sides are usually few and far between, and Celtic looked impregnable in defence with the much hyped pairing of Stuckmann and Mercier. Stuckmann was dominating the Morton number 4, making the ample 6ft Englishman look like a midget with some towering headers.

With the scores level, the first half came to abrupt and premature end, after an aerial battle between the Morton Goal keeper and Monaghan left both players flat on the deck. A cross was floated in from the left wing, with the trajectory falling perfectly between both players, giving the illusion that both were favourite to win the ball. The reality though, only accommodated for one player in that much air space, so with both players bravely putting their head on the chopping block, a collision was imminent. We now all know what it sounds like when a human head thuds into another human head, and the resulting horrific injuries that follow.

After the sickening sound of heads clashing, initially first concerns were for the Morton Keeper, who landed heavily and immediately began screaming, a sound I was all to familiar with a couple of weeks earlier. However, and with so often the case, its the person that remains quiet and relatively motionless, which is where concern can go over looked. Monaghan, dazed, was left with a nasty cut to the brow and a brusie that was comparable in size to that of a golf ball. The ambulance was called and that would be the last action Monaghan and the Morton keeper would see, although the keeper remained on the sideline.

After a lengthy delay Celtic eventually started the second half in a subdued mood, as thoughts were still very much preoccupied with the concerns of Monaghan's injury still fresh in the mind. The injury meant more shuffling of the pack by Tibby, which saw Bredin in the unfamiliar roll of left back, while McCallam debuted in attack alongside Prior.

While this was McCallam's first taste of a striking roll, he had already threatened before the end of the first half with a neat turn and shoot effort which whisked past the post. McCallum continued to make a nuisance of himself, and half way through the second half burst in to the box only to be checked by the Morton left back. The challenge looked shoulder to shoulder, but McCallam's testimony clearly stated that the Morton defender had deliberately obstructed him, while he was at full tilt. The Morton defense were livid, and while they argued pointlessly to the anal retentive ref, I noticed a cheeky call from Celtic Goalkeeper, Fourie to manager Tibby. The substance's of the call was at first not obvious, until I realized Fourie was actually running towards the penalty spot. With Celtic still muttering between themselves as to who would take responsibility, the nod had already been granted to Fourie and he was eagerly lining up the ball.

Fourie, feeling invincible following his compatriots epic battle with the British and Irish Lions, which culminated in a monstrous 53 metre match winning penalty by Morne Steyn, looked to emulate the Bull's fly half albeit by considerably closer range. With an unorthodox starting position, that looked like Fourie was about to unleash a toe poke, we waited nervously for the ref's whistle. Eventually, after the ref finally explained his reason for delaying the kick, Fourie's moment of reckoning was here. Fourie focused and poised, began his canter towards the ball, picked his spot and confidently drilled the ball straight down the middle, while the keeper dived incorrectly to his left.

With Fourie's successful conversion, it will be a battle to see who gets the next spot kick, an enthusiasm which can only be a good thing for the Celtic Squad. However, if Fourie has any aspirations to take future penalties, he will need to work on his goal celebration, which resembled a hyper active dog let off its leash for the first time in a park, disobediently running aimlessly away from anyone. here boy, here boy!

After we manged to catch the runner way Fourie, and bind him to his rightful place between the sticks, it was unfortunately only moments later that he would himself be facing a penalty. After all the constant moaning and appealing for apparent hand balls spotted from the length of the pitch, the barrage had finally warn the ref down, who was itching to even up the score. In what was a carbon copy of the Celtic penalty, a Morton player was obstructed/shoulder barged except that the force was not strong enough for him to go down. However, the ref still judged that enough contact was made, and happily awarded a penalty.

The big Morton number 4, stepped up and scuffed his penalty which ended up bobbling over Fourie's hand, who had dived the right way. It was not the most convincing penalty you are likely to see, and the Morton player may need to confide in the Celtic Keeper before he takes another one.

Before the ref brought an end to the game, there was still time for another bizarre twist in an eventful day. Stuckmann, who had an excellent game, reacted to a challenge by the tricky Morton number 7. Both players squared up in a contest comparable to David and Goliath. And, much like the the biblical tale, Goliath ended up on the floor. The Morton player's push to the chest proved to be Stuckmann's weak point and embarrassingly he theatrically collapsed to the ground, a textbook manoeuvre straight out of the Jurgen Klinsmann book of diving. The Morton players rightfully ridiculed the act, but the ref, who must have thought he was in charge of a Premier league game, whipped out a straight red. Ironic that you will see far worse, career threatening challenges go unpunished on a weekly basis, only for straight red's to be issued liberally for hand bag shenanigans.

Off the back of defeat, Celtic steadied the ship after facing a tough Morton side with many players out of position. The draw, puts added pressure on next weeks game against the talented Multinational, as Celtic will need to get back to winning ways to keep their title challenge on course. I am open to suggestions for man of the match??

Fionn MacCools Celtic 1-0 Morton

If the previous game against Hooligan was a war, Sunday's TSSL League cup game with Morton was the Atom bomb. Going in to the encounter, with absentees, injuries and a general Sunday fatigue feeling, Celtic knew it would be a physical encounter but this surpassed any prior expectations by a good twisted limb or two.

At 6.15pm, location Eglinton Flats South East Field, where Celtic have enjoyed many a cup victory in glories years past, the black clouds rolled in and a dark sinister mood swept through the Celtic squad as they prepared for battle. Final good byes to loved one's were emotionally embraced, as a return from the field was no guarantee, and Celtic took to their trenches ready to lock horns with the enemy.

Celtic's defense, while absent of the much needed commanding presence of Stuckmann, had a ready made replacement in the returning Mercier, able to step up to the plate and refortify the back line. Also, Celtic were graced with the defensive presence of Chisholm, whom had gone AWOL on Saturday following a rumored heavy drinking session the night before. The antics were heavily documented by both kiss and tell cougar's and the Saturday Tabloid papers, making Nicklas Bendtner look like a light weight in comparison.

While the storm brewed overhead and threatened ominously, Celtic drew a line in the sand (yes there was actual sand on the bobbly pitch) and dug their trenches, looking to gain and protect territory at every opportunity. However, Celtic's reserves were soon tested, as little over 10 minutes on the clock, Cetlic medics had to deal with the first fallen comrade. Teague, who naively tried to show some finesse in the proceedings by turning an opposition player, was rudely brought crashing down to earth, proving there was no place for fancy tricks as far as Morton were concerned. A twisted knee was dished out to Teague for his trouble, which left the Striker on the floor screaming like a girl in sheer agony. The initial pain, which could probably have been heard from Eglinton flats NW pitch, may not have caused as much damage as first feared, but it will be a race to be ready for the next league fixture.

If the Morton tactics were not already abundantly obvious, they were now crystal clear. Instead of playing anything close to eye catching flowing football, Morton reverted to hard nosed tactics, kicking lumps out of players, not ball, suffocating any decent Celtic play. Celtic kept their discipline though, and didn't lower themselves to the Morton standard, patiently looking for openings with the now rotated front line of Curley, Imnaishvili and player Manager Tibby.

The First half ended with both sides only managing one decent effort on goal. First, Monaghan whipped a ball across the face of the goal after great work down the right flank, then, at the opposite end a Morton set piece struck from all of 30yards threatened to creep inside the post, had it not been for the alert Fourie who tipped the effort expertly around the post. For all the Morton possession, their intimidating one dimensional tactics (I'm not bitter eh?) were failing to yield any significant return, which only served to motivate Celtic during the half time interval.

Celtic, steadied by the calming words of manager Tibby's half time speech, were confident that if they stuck to their game plan, opportunities would come their way and Morton would only grow in frustration. And, the second half proved just that.

Both McCallum and Bredin were finding plenty of joy down the Celtic left wing, mostly due to the gaping space their gobby right back was leaving, as he spent much of his time camped in the Celtic half. Between the Celtic pair, on at least two occasions dangerous balls sped across the six yard box, with Tibby unfortunate not to apply the finishing touch to one of them. Had the crosses favoured his right foot, surely the Albion fanatic would have had his second goal of the season.

However, any feelings of a missed opportunity were soon dispelled, after Morton failed to recognise the danger the Celtic left wing was proving to be. Chisholm, deep in the Morton half with his back to goal, took one touch to pivot and then with his second curled in a lush cross right in to the danger area, which was just begging to be put it to the back of the net. Bredin, who had been threatening to score all weekend, duly accepted Chisholm's exquisite invitation nodding the ball past the helpless Rooney look-a-like, Morton Goal Keeper.

Morton were physically shell shocked, and while they still enjoyed a fair amount of possession, looked incapable of mustering up the kind of opportunity that was going to threaten a second consecutive clean sheet for the hoops.

Eventually a ceasefire was called by the diplomat with the whistle, and Celtic came off the field buoyed by a first leg victory. Morton will be looking for revenge in the return leg, and Celtic will once again have to step up their game if they wish to keep their defense of League Cup intact. YNWA

Fionn MacCool's Celtic 2-1 Globe and Mail FC

It was not a game for the purist's and fans of total football, but Celtic did what was necessary, rolled up their sleeves and got the dirty work done to claim all three points and a third straight victory. Sometimes, for its own mortality, the beautiful game has to be politely ignored and kept in a safe place, while the ugly hammer out a result.

The early morning 9am kickoff ensured that a strict curfew was imposed on the Celtic squad the night before, which had the sole purpose of keeping blood alcohol to a coherent, legal level. And, what better way is there of clearing the pallet and avoiding the breathalyser from an opposition player, than a Tim Horton's double double?

So, with the senses heightened by a cheap dose of caffeine, Celtic began to congregate in the state of the art changing facilities lavished upon them by the hospitable Eglinton flats. Which, basically consisted of a room the size of a shoe box that wouldn't have been out of place latched onto a wing of Fort Knox. Catering for a nearly full Celtic squad in the small quarters, after the welcome returns of the likes of McCallum, Monaghan and Roberts, verged on the claustrophobic, but demonstrated Celtic'c continuing pursuit of professionalism, on and off the pitch.

In the TSSL's effort to promote woman's right, Globe and Mail kicked off the half, officiated by the unusual honour of a female ref. First they get the right to vote, then equal pay and now they get to boss around 22 grown men, in what can only be described as a relentless pursuit of repressing the vulnerable male population. Next they will be running for office, or driving articulated lorries, is their no end to this feminist juggernaut?

I will be honest, I bitch and moan at ref's regardless of their gender, race or sexual orientation, probably way more than I should. So, I can safely say that when it comes to lamenting the decision's these whistle blowing totalitarians make, prejudices takes a back seat, their is no escaping my, and many others wrath. Unfortunately for the high shorts wearing lady, basking in her 90 minutes of command, frustration grew through both sides as play was stifled by the constant use of the whistle. Clearly, the whistle would take a pivotal role throughout the match.

With that said, the piecing sound of the ref's whistle could not be put to blame for all of the untidy work on display at the Eglinton flats venue. With the ball bobbling around on the hard, but greasy surface, early chances were few and far between. Celtic were missing the artificially enhanced surface of Cherry Beach, and so was my decision to wear indoor footwear instead of studs.

After a good 20 minutes or so of unadulterated scrapping by both sides, a freekick was awarded to Celtic just inside their own half, down the left channel. As both sides jostled for the most strategic position, Globe and Mail insisted on a high line, looking to play the offside trap. The problem with the offside trap is that it leaves a gaping space behind the back line, which can be exploited should in not be executed in a coordinated fashion. And, unfortunately for Globe and Mail, that's exactly what happened. Teague hugged the defensive line, while Carney chipped over the freekick into the acres of space behind the now redundant offside trap. The Globe and Mail defensive line stood like statues, expecting the linesmen flag, only for it to be non forth coming, leaving Teague through on goal, with only the keeper to beat. With the ball bouncing towards the edge of the box, and the cries of off-side now in vain, Teague took fall advantage lobbing the ball audaciously over the keeper, who was caught in no man's land -1 nil to the hoops, get in!

The goal may have been the first real chance for either side, and you would have assumed that it would give Celtic a good foundation to build on, however any signs of an easy stroll for Celtic were put in to perspective when the referee made a ballsy decision in awarding a penalty against Mercier for handball, 10 minutes from the end of the half. It was one of those types of handball's that are sometimes given, and are other times blissfully ignored. But on this occasion, and with the referee looking to stamp her authority on the game, there was only going to be one outcome.

So, for the second game running Celtic were up against a penalty, which gave Fourie another chance to bring out the rubber legs. However, the Globe and Mail striker kept his focus, and coolly finished from 12 yards, giving Fourie no chance.

Celtic will have felt a little hard done by, but their spirits showed no signs of being dampened moments after the equaliser, when Stuckmann drilled in a curling effort from the edge of the 18 yard box, only to be denied by the girth of the post. On closer inspection the foundations of the goal post looked to have been physically shaken, such was the power behind the Giant Germans effort.

The Second half began with the score level, but it was Globe and Mail who showed early promise and initiative. Celtic were miss placing far too many passes, and were welcoming pressure from their opponents. So, it came some what against the run of play though, when Celtic were given a life line. Tenacious midfield Chilean, Gonzalez managed to dig out a shot inside the box, only for it to be blocked by one of the many bodies occupying his route to goal. However, the ricochet fell kindly to Teague, who was on hand to grab his and Celtic's second, forcing the ball under the keepers body from just outside the six yard box.

It was a bitter blow to Globe and Mail's efforts, but they showed great resolve and continued to dominate much of the play despite trailing for the second time in the game. If it were not for the heroics of the ever present Fourie in goal, Globe and Mail would have surely got themselves back in the game. First, and again after another freekick was awarded, Globe and Mail had Fourie at full stretch, after what seemed like a shot destine for goal was tipped around the post. Next, a cross from the Globe and Mail Left wing turned into a dangerous shot, but Fourie was alert to the danger, and again at full stretch tip it over the bar. This was turning out to be a day for the camera's for Fourie, who must have been wishing McGroarty was there to capture what was developing in to a man of the match display.

At the opposite end of the pitch chances had dried up quicker than the greasy surface being played on. Such was the scarcity of opportunities, Curley decided on taking matters in to his own hands by inexplicably checking an opposition player in the centre circle. Such was the velocity of the collision, that it sounded more like a car crash than a tackle. Curley walked away from the incident without a scratch, while the opposition player rolled around on the floor like a salmon out of water. Clearly the sound was worse than the impact. And fortunately with only 10 minutes left on the clock, the referee was lenient on the sleep deprived Curley, no doubt after a few charmful whispers in her ear, deciding the robust challenge warranted a yellow not a red.

With the final minutes on the clock rapidly ticking away, Celtic were under heavy pressure and desperate for the final whistle. Fourie cemented his man of the match accolade with one more match winning save right at the death. Celtic were unable to clear their lines effectively, and their striker was left with a golden opportunity to claim a draw, only for the striker to blast his shot directly at the well placed Fourie. The danger was desperately averted, and this time the referee's whistle did bring an end to the game and not another freekick, much to Celtic's relief.

It won't go down as the prettiest spectacle ever witnessed, but Celtic dug deep and managed a win, when perhaps in previous season they would have dropped points. Its ugly games like this that can have a huge bearing on outcomes come the end of the season. Manager Tibby will want to play down any premature talk of title credentials, given how early it is in the season, but Celtic have shown signs that they can win, and win ugly when they need to. Hopefully in their next fixture against the some what inappropriately named Hooligans Filmworks, Celtic can get back to some pretty football. It will, however, be a stern test given that Hooligans have only conceded two goals so far this season.

Next game 13th June Hooligans Filmworks v Fionn MacCool's Celtic 9am, venue Eglinton flats (NW)

A Weekend of 2 Halfs

A Catalogue of goals, errors and double headers. Following last weeks record breaking exploits, Celtic picked up where they left off, writing history in the process against minnows Trinity Park, before the sobering clash against Premier opposition, DV Hawks in the TSSL Cup.

Fionn MacCool's Celtic 10-1 Trinity Park FC

Where do you start? Trinity Park, whom allegedly switched from the Sunday league to the Media League, in search of more hospitable pastures, continued their woeful underestimation of the Media League for the second week in a row, by succumbing to a heavy defeat at the hands of Celtic.

Looking at the score line, which resembles something that would be more familiar at the New Road cricket ground, its hard to believe that Trinity Park actually took the lead in this one sided encounter. From the moment you heard the shrill blast of the referee's whistle, Celtic dominated possession and territory, pinning Trinity firmly in to their own half with no feasible escape route. Had it not been for Celtic's insistence, in attempting to walk the ball in to the goal, which, considering the fight being put up by the entrenched opposition was not completely unrealistic, the scoring would have taken a predictable path.

However, as so often you see, a side dominates only for one aimlessly lofted ball by the opposition, to cut through the defense like a moment of genius attacking clarity. After 20 minutes, Trinity awoke form their sedated state, scoring against the run of play, after what seemed like another routine punt, evaded the Celtic back line, leaving a one on one with the Keeper. Fourie, fresh and alert to the danger after intensive sessions down the gym, did well to cut down the angle, and even managed to get a piece of the ball, was ultimately unable to save Celtic blushes -1 nil Trinity.

Before the kick off I had advised against complacency, as we had in the past, so often conceded points to lesser opposition. A fact that Fitzpatrick was quick to cross examine, reeling off countless victories against such weaker teams, in a robotic vidiprinter like manner. The statistical tongue lashing put me firmly in my place, but almost came back to haunt the scot, before reality finally kicked in 5 minutes after Trinity took the lead.

Temuri Imnaishvili, deployed as a striker instead of his preferred specialised left wing slot, came off the bench to pull Celtic level, after some tricky footwork opened up space in the box allowing a clean sight of goal. A collective sigh of relief was exhaled throughout the Celtic ranks, as the ball nestled in the net, and now it only felt like a matter of time before they would take the lead.

The equaliser though, only seemed to add more unneeded urgency to Celtic's hurried play, and it took the unlikely combination of the two Worcestershire born boys to put Celtic in the driving seat. Manager Tibby, who had previously stated his reluctance to be utilised on the pitch, came off the bench to score his first goal of the season, slotting home after being put clean through by Teague.

Before the half was up, Fitzpatrick added a third. And it was his first since that memorable goal in last years cup final, which every Celtic player, and anyone within a mile radius of Fitzpatrick, knows of as they have been subjected to a count by count rendition of the winner in forensic detail.

The second half continued in much the same vain that the first had finished, Celtic dictating play like an arrogant rogue totalitarian. The hoops had now earned the freedom to nonchalantly knock the ball around at will, and toy with Trinity, like a cat playing with a ball of string.

The feline qualities were unrelenting, the flood gates were now well and truly breached, and Celtic were adding to the score line quicker than the referee could scribble them down. Prior scored with clinical accuracy from the edge of the box after some great approach play by Celtic, proceeding goals by Curley, the returning Gonzalez and Mercier who dedicated his goal to the Celtic back line.

The over worked referee would have been forgiven for bringing a premature end to proceedings, given that both sets of players had lost track of the scoreline but ultimately he proved unforgiving allowing Celtic to reach double figures and a record winning margin.


DV Hawks 4-0 Fionn MacCool's Celtic

Unlike the previous result, this scoreline didn't tell the whole picture. Celtic, thin on numbers, due to injuries, players taking unauthorised vacation (when are you back Seamus?) and other unacceptable commitments, (Sheriff's take note) put up a brave fight against DV Hawks, who normally earn their scalps in the Premier division.

After a physical first half which saw DV Hawks 1 up, Celtic started the second half, aided by the strong Eglinton cross wind, knowing that an equaliser would have them right back in the fixture and would put the pressure back on DV Hawks. It would, however, be DV Hawks who first threatened to add to the score line, after Carney unceremoniously ended a darting run by their brummy forward inside the box. Carney will have felt like he had no choice but to bring the player down, and the referee was equally left with little option, and duly pointed to the spot.

At 12 yards, and against premier opposition, you would have betted on DV Hawks putting the game beyond doubt, but when you have the "Grobbelaar rubber legs" of Fourie in goal, mesmerising the forwards distracted eyes, anything can happen. And, just like Bruce and Jerzy before him, Fourie's tricks paid off, after the striker buckled under the torment, ballooning his effort clean over the bar. Cries of the now trademark "justice" bellowed out from the burly South African, and Celtic were off the hook.

However, Fourie's heroics were short lived. The pacey brummy forward again exploited the ball over the top, and no amount of wobbly legs were going to break his concentration this time, as gleefully he converted to make it two nil. This knocked the wind out of the Celtic sails, and despite some legitimate claims for a handball in the penalty box, that went unnoticed by the bewildered referee, who's performance was saved the scrutiny of video replay, Celtic could not fight their way back in to the game.

The final score ended 4 nil, which in truth flattered DV Hawks. They may have reached the next round of the cup, but they will not forget this bruising battle against the hoops too quickly, and the scars will serve as a reminder should their memory lapse.

For Celtic, their are bigger fish to fry, and attention will now quickly be turned to the League. On a weekend that served a record win and a deflating cup loss, Tibby will look to settle the ship, starting at home (Eglinton Flats NW corner) against Globe and Mail FC on Saturday 6th June, KO 9.00am

AS Rosso Roasted

AS Rosso 2-5 Fionn MacCool's Celtic

Due to overwhelming pressure, I have decided to take some time out from talking nonsense about the holy grail that is the Premier League, and instead turn my attention to whats really important -Fionn MacCool's Celtic season opener. The writing however, will pail in comparison to those of Celtics favourite pundit, Mark Knipe, who's comedic poetry is still sorely missed by many of those who would open their inbox on a Monday morning in eager anticipation, desperate for a distraction from the working week that looms large.

After the conclusion of winter campaigns at the docks which saw both Celtic teams narrowly miss out in the final of their respective divisions, a new era beckoned for Fionn MacCool's Celtic. Courtesy of hard work behind the scenes from Jude Bredin and Mike Carney, Celtic were ready to compliment the Summer season with a new strip, ensuring a cohesive uniform instead of the rag tag of multiple brands and sponsors, usually witnessed. In addition to the new fashion statement, Celtic welcomed back long serving Desmond Tibby in to the fold as Manager, who takes on the monumental task of controlling the swollen ego's, that are only eclipsed in propotion, by that of a Premier League Squad.

While Celtic came prepared for the fixture after a grueling pre-season, which saw them pit their wits against Premier opposition, AS Rosso showed all the signs of a newly formed team, enthusiastically pacing back and forth across the pitch followed by comprehensive stretches. As the bare bones of the Celtic squad began to arrive at drip drop pace, nervous glances scoured over the unknown quantity of unfamiliar, sizable opposition.

With just enough players kitted up and ready to kick off, Celtic took to the perfectly consistent, fast paced astro turf pitch, resistant to the harsh realities of a Canadian Winter. Under the baking summer heat that disturb many a recluse from their winter hibernation, both teams tentatively sussed each other out, posturing and waiting for someone to make the first telling move.

10 minutes or so in to the game, and with the score still 0-0, tardy reinforcements arrived in the shape of Jimmy Evangelou and Raymond Curley, who were impatiently ordered to kit up and get ready to be introduced to the action. Such indiscipline's that wont go unpunished in the future, after Manager Tibby looks to reaffirm authority with the introduction of the designated "Sheriff" whom will dish out serious financial penalties for improper conduct.

After 15 minutes the deadlock was finally broke in bizarre circumstances. Curley, came off the bench adding some zest to the forward line, spread the play wide to Teague who appeared to be occupying innocuous territory down the left wing. Teague, on his weaker left foot, sliced a cross in to the box which despite being condemned mid air by the articulate commentary, "oh shit", swung towards the far corner, evading the keepers desperate reach. Due to the mid air admission, celebrations were muted given the fortuitous circumstances.

Minutes later, Celtic doubled their lead, after good work down the left wing saw Curley square the ball across the box, with Teague on hand to stab home ahead of Tibby who was loitering with intent at the back post.

With Celtic seemingly in control, after creating a 2 goal cushion, complacency set in with half time soon approaching. Unfortunately, AS Rosso managed to nick one before the half time whistle, after finding space down their right wing, the winger crossed the ball to the striker who finished admirably from an acute angle.

The second half kicked off and Celtic looked to regain their 2 goal advantage. Debutant Colin Prior looked a great acquisition, working tirelessly, setting a great standard in midfield. And the hard work soon paid off, after Mark Fitzpatrick silenced any concerns over his long term future with the hoops, by curling in a great cross from the right wing, which was met and dispatched lethargically by Curley.

Again, with Celtic seemingly in control, AS Rosso unsettled the nerves with their second goal of the game to make it 2-3. A softly awarded freekick down the Rosso left wing, was firmly met by a familiar head (forget the guys name, but I have definitely seen that country man before) leaving Fourie with no chance.

Any signs of a Rosso equaliser were soon squashed, as Celtic began to expose space on the counter attack. Bredin added a fourth after a neat 1-2 exchange on the edge of the box with Curley, left only the keeper to beat. Bredin was happy to oblige, and coolly slotted the ball in to the bottom left corner, leaving the Rosso players to plead in vain to the linesmen for offside.

Before the final whistle, their was still time for Teague to wrap up proceedings by clinching a hattrick. Again with Rosso committing men forward in search for a life line, the ball over the top left Teague though on goal, only for the trailing defender to tug his shirt before the sniper made sure he went down to claim a penalty. The penalty was dispatched, making the final score 2-5 to Celtic.

So, for the first time in their history, Celtic managed to open the campaign with a victory. With a strong squad, competition will be fierce as Celtic look to build on this positive start, by going one better than last season, and pushing for the TSSL Media League title.

In all its glory here are the highlights......