They Don't Write Them Like This Anymore!

Proper sports reporting from the past.

QFT

The "Honest Mistake" Files from lovethesfa on Vimeo.

Match fixing, anyone?

Question

Is finding a young fox sound asleep in your garden a sign of good luck?


I'll know the answer later today.

Update: Apparently not.

A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Words

Created by cartuja at Kerrydale Street.

A belated Happy New Year to one and all.

Dutch Deflated

The Dutch are on fire right now, but I can't see them winning the tournament. Teams that come out the blocks so quickly have a tendency to burn out in the knockout stages.

Damn I'm good!

The above quote was me, a few days ago. Tonight Russia eliminated Holland in a game that made a mockery of the odds on offer.

I had a very small bet on the Russians at 9/2 on Betfair, and when they scored, I decided to experiment with my first ever lay off of a bet, which came good when Ruud van Nistelrooy snuck in at the back post with a few minutes to go.

Another tool added to the betting locker. Guaranteed winning is good!

The Russian's were just too good in extra time, and Guus Hiddink's record as an international manager just keeps getting better.

Calm Before The Storm

In a slightly surreal place today. After six months of hard grind the mega project I've been working on passed it's final development cut-off today at 2pm.

Green for go. No more IT Iron Man for me.

Which meant a comparatively leisurely afternoon in work, and a generally satisfied feeling inside, coupled with some unease about the impending go-live.

I amused myself thumbing through a brochure on drugs that had been distributed to every desk.

It's supposed to be a guide to parents on how to deal with discussing drugs with their kids. High production values, glossy pictures, details of drug types, nicknames, modes of usage, side effects, etc.

If anything I thought it looked just a bit too glamorous.

Given that at thirty seven I'm the second oldest person on the team, and the average age is under thirty, it was receiving a less than reverential reception.

Many comments along the lines, 'There's a fault with this catalogue. They forgot to include the order hotline number, or website address.'

It should be fortuitous timing that Saturday is supposed to be a lads day out - drinking commencement scheduled for 1pm, with an end date likely to be some time in the wee small hours.

Unfortunately mega project is deployed into the production system at 10am on Sunday morning, and my attendance is required. No all day session for me.

We bed it in on Sunday, roll it out to the users in time for the Monday morning call surge. I'm anticipating a couple of days of frantic activity whilst hoping for a swift return to a more rational lifestyle.

So I'll need to content myself with a few afternoon beers and an early night. Partying can wait for a little while.

Contentment tonight came in the form of Euro 2008. The protagonists Holland and France; the football sublime; the atmosphere rocking.

The Dutch are on fire right now, but I can't see them winning the tournament. Teams that come out the blocks so quickly have a tendency to burn out in the knockout stages.

Another highpoint of the tournament is finally getting some value from my Sony HDTV system. Much as I could merrily strangle John Motson, the picture on the BBC HDTV broadcast is fantastic.

Ultra clear, vibrant colour, no smearing, and there's an appreciable depth to the picture. Just a pity there's so little HD content available right now.

No doubt that will be changing over the rest of this year, and with many more people gaining exposure to HD during Euro 2008, there's likely to be more demand for additional content as the difference in quality becomes obvious to non-geeks.

Happy Thoughts

Work has been killing me recently, so there's been little time for much else.

By this Friday, I'll have worked 19 straight days, and often a fairly extended working day. I feel like I'm running an IT Iron Man competition.

Which isn't great for family life, especially when I get home after E is in bed, and it's pretty wearing in general. On the plus side, I work on a day-rate, so the Div family coffers are swelling.

It's a grind though, so tonight I thought I'd post a couple of small but happy things...

Firstly, remember this bet? Turns out it wasn't so bad after all.

Secondly, happy birthday to Kylie, who turns forty today. Forty!!

The newest pop princesses are all well and good, but as late thirties loom, it's nice to know there are women older than me who I'd still like to do scandalous things to.

Be honest, you would, wouldn't you?

Hate To Say I Told You So

Back in February, commenting on the forthcoming conclusion to the Scottish Premier League, I wrote..

Will we see more examples of dodgy decisions over the remainder of what looks sure to be a tight run in? You betcha!

If there's one thing about 'The Establishment' it knows how to close ranks in an hour-of-need.

Look for more invisible hand balls, mysterious offsides, debatable penalties, and more subtle influencing - such as the amazing Aiden McGeady booking count - as The Establishment attempts to fend off three-in-a-row for Celtic.

Today, after the Rangers v Dundee Utd match in which Dundee Utd were denied a blatant penalty, had a goal incorrectly disallowed, and TWO Rangers players escaped from red card offences, the Dundee United manager, Craig Levein, had this to say..

I said to him that we were as well not turning up. What was the point? We were as well going home.

Mike could have phoned me this morning and said: `Look, Rangers are going to get the three points today - just tell your lads to stay in the house.'

Today's referee. Mike McCurry. A man who has made an awful lot of big mistakes this season. A high proportion of which have advantaged Rangers.

As I said of Bobby Tait previously, at what point does dodgy refereeing cross the line into match fixing? I'd love to see that question answered in the courts.

Simple Pleasures

I was in the pub last year regaling my pals with tales of the disastrous stag do in Liverpool, and my run in with the guys who prove there's more than one cunt in Scunthorpe, when one of them remarked that I'd likely carry an intense hatred for Scunthorpe FC around for the rest of my life.

He was right. Which is why this gave me a great deal of pleasure.

Couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch.

Bobby Tait - The Original Mason In The Black

This little article appeared in the local free newspaper that pops through my letterbox each week. It's one of those pieces that leaves you unsure whether to laugh or cry.


The event is a Freemason organised night. The guy in the middle of the photo is ex Scottish football referee Bobby Tait. A man who infamously requested that his last ever game as a Grade 1 referee be at Ibrox, as Rangers played Kilmarnock, in the midst of a historic battle for the title between Celtic and Rangers.

With Rangers desperately needing a win to maintain their chances of winning ten league titles in a row - thus beating Celtic's previously unassailable nine-in-a-row record - the game was of monumental importance. Victory in the title race would hand bragging rights to the dark half of the city for an eternity.

With the game heading for a draw, Tait decided to add an incredible five minutes injury-time at the end of the match.

On top of his previous performances that season - including more timepiece malfunctions that cost Celtic a win at Tynecastle - one could only conclude Bobby Tait valued Rangers wins above his own reputation for honesty and integrity, and would do anything to see them win the title.

Alas for Mr Tait, Kilmarnock had other ideas and scored a last minute winner that crushed Rangers push for a new record.

He must have been devastated. What a way to end your career!

Since retiring, the Celtic rumour mill has been rife with reports of Mr Tait's after dinner speaking. With boasts about never having awarded a penalty against Rangers at Ibrox being the supposed highlight of his act.

Given that he generally speaks at Rangers supporters events, Freemason events, or, allegedly, Orange Order events - in truth almost interchangeable as bastions of Protestantism and Rangers - it's hardly surprising he is a popular guest. Though presumably he focuses on earlier highlights of his career.

There you have it. A supposedly impartial - unimpeachable if the Scottish press are to be believed - figure who openly boasts of his pro-Rangers bias throughout his career. What would Donald McVicar make of it all?

I also wonder what the bookies and fraud squad would make of it. After all, isn't match fixing - which appears to be what that Ibrox penalty boast hints at - a crime?

Articles on the Freemasons and Orange Order are ten-a-penny in the Scottish local press and nobody bats an eyelid.

To be fair they can be a source of great amusement. Check our the 'surprised' eyebrows on the dude middle-back in the above photo. Does make one wonder where Bobby's left hand is!

But there's a more serious point to be made. The Orange Order in particular is a closed club - Protestants only - with an anti-Catholic agenda.

Yet it receives the same polite and sympathetic coverage in the local press that a bowling club might expect.

Imagine visiting Alabama and picking up a local newspaper with similar coverage of a KKK meeting. Or visiting Dagenham and seeing equally sympathetic coverage of a BNP event.

After a fine lamb dinner and some excellent red wine, those present were in full agreement with guest speakers who stated immigration was a blight on the nation, and those annoying blacks should be sent back to where they came from.

£200 was raised for charity.

There would be outrage. Sky News and BBC24 would be on the scene in hours. Questions would be raised in parliament. The tabloids would be foaming with righteous indignation.

Never mind the charity money. Listen to what those loons are actually saying!

Not so in Scotland. Another example of that not-so-secret shame.

Speaking of charity money, am I the only one who wonders how a night that features three 'esteemed' guest speakers only manages to raise two hundred quid? Seems more than a little on the cheap side to me!

I wonder how much was spent at the bar?

More Fun With Donald McVicar

In the early days of this blog I had an entertaining correspondence with Donald McVicar, SFA referee-in-chief.

The basis of the correspondence being that referee Stuart Dougal had inadvertently confessed on the SFA Whistleblower website to wrongly awarding a penalty against Celtic during a game against Inverness Caledonian Thistle, when the actual aim of the article was to justify the decision.

Here's another interesting example from the same site.

Last season - Celtic player Jan Vennegoor of Hesselink scores a late winner against Inverness Caledonian Thistle (them again!), celebrates with crowd, and is booked by referee Iain Brines - which is effectively a red card as it is his second booking of the game.

Utterly and indisputably correctly, according to both Mr Brines and Mr McVicar.

Not the unerring certainty of the words. The complete lack of any scope for interpretation of this rule...

Iain Brines: "I had no option to show the card....instructions over the past three seasons have been perfectly clear. The player ran off the pitch and over the track to the terracing boundary where he was surrounded by spectators..."

Donald McVicar: "Clubs, managers, players and all those closely involved in the game are aware that spectators should not be encouraged to run down to the perimeter wall or fence. This is a proactive measure to reduce the risk of injury to fans who might fall or be trampled in the rush.

If anone[sic] is in any doubt about the serious[sic] of the instructions they need only contact any of the Police Match Commanders at games or the club Safety Officers, all of whom have clear views on the need to be preventative. It is most unfair for those in the media to brand referees as killjoys in such situations. They are only carrying out instructions."

No scope for interpretation. It must be a booking. Fair enough them; no complaints.

But wait, what's this I see...


Hmmm, looks to me like wantaway Rangers striker Daniel Cousin celebrating with the crowd after scoring today against Gretna. Either that, or he spotted a tunnel in the Broomloan Road Stand that he hoped led to Fulham.

No matter, a booking no doubt. After all, as Mr McVicar says that is what referees are instructed to do. Mr Brines ASSURED us there was 'no option'.

Except, of course, there was no booking.

It seems today's referee - Calum Murray - doesn't know how to follow instructions.

Will we see an apology on The Whistleblower? Don't count on it.

Will we see Mr McVicar accept the decision was wrong? I doubt it.

Will we see more examples of dodgy decisions over the remainder of what looks sure to be a tight run in? You betcha!

If there's one thing about 'The Establishment' it knows how to close ranks in an hour-of-need.

Look for more invisible hand balls, mysterious offsides, debatable penalties, and more subtle influencing - such as the amazing Aiden McGeady booking count - as The Establishment attempts to fend off three-in-a-row for Celtic.

Get Me Mike McCurry On The Phone

OK, so the language is definitely NSFW, and it should be 'Mein Führer' not 'Mine Fuhrer', but that's just splitting hairs.

This had me crying with laughter. Put's the average British sitcom to shame.

Bliss

As a pasty faced Scotsman, who can barely recall what warm sun feels like on his back, I have to say that this...



gives me almost as much pleasure as this...



Eleven hours to take off.

That's Why They're Champions

I've got a lot of time for people who conduct themselves with dignity, and display some self respect in their actions.

So, hats off to Adriano Galliani, Carlo Ancelotti, Clarence Seedorf, and AC Milan in general - with the obvious exception of diddy Dida - for their reaction to last night's fiasco at the Celtic game.

It's not as if the three points are insignificant to them. With Shakhtar Donetsk winning again, the group is wide open.

I'm sure Milan will expect to qualify, but it's not guaranteed yet. For Milan to be so forceful about their lack of desire for a replay or points deduction for Celtic shows a degree of class that many in football wouldn't even aspire to.

That's the joy of being in the Champions League and competing with the true giants of the game. It takes more than great players to make a club great.

As for the arsehole who tangled with Dida, the papers are reporting that he has handed himself in to the police. Possibly the wisest thing he's done in a long time since he will probably be safer in a cell, than on the streets at present.

I'd love to know what the police and stewarding bill was for last night, and whether Celtic will be getting a discount.

What a farce that someone can meander across the pitch, get involved with the opposition keeper, then melt into the crowd without a single uniform laying a finger on him.

OMG They Killed France

Scotland should play France at football more often...

Last time we beat them, I managed a good night at The Stanley.

Almost a year later (!) we've done it again in even more unlikely circumstances. Unreal.

Meanwhile I was helping myself to a decent return online.

As I've said previously, the national team doesn't really float my boat when it comes to football; but I'm still delighted with that amazing result.

I made one mad Frenchman pretty depressed at the weekend. I suspect millions more will be feeling both madder and more depressed tonight.

Quelle Suprise!

So Glasgow Rangers are under investigation for corruption.

You'd expect this will come as an embarrassment to them, but it's hard to spot a red-neck through a sunbed tan. Just ask Tommy Sheridan about that!

Most will assume this has to do with dodgy transfers, but maybe it's internal affairs catching up with Andy Davis at last.

That Liverpool Trip

Weekend over, brother successfully married off, and chugging away at average chips in the Mansion $100k guaranteed, so time to do a quick catch up on that Liverpool weekend.

To catch up on the full weekend in detail would probably be more worthy of a Truckin episode than a blog post.

Friday was unmitigated drunkenness, both on the trip down, and once arrived in the city. I stayed sober for the first part, since my job was to do the organising and planning.

Once in Liverpool and ensconced in the first pub, I rapidly caught up, courtesy of double JD and coke chasers.

The whole night became a blur, though I can vaguely recall noting that my suitcase had been disturbed, before collapsing into bed at around 4am. It was only next morning, in a severely befuddled and hungover state, that it dawned on us that our apartment had been visited by a sneak thief.

We were now minus a couple of iPods, mobile phones, some cash, clothes, and other sundries.

Extremely pissed off as we were, it didn't stop us heading off to the Tranmere v Scunthorpe game. English football is very branding/marketing driven, which means that the English League One is really their League Three - the more senior two being labelled The Premiership and The Championship.

Consequently I wasn't expecting great football, even though Scunthorpe were league leaders and champions elect.

Sure enough the ball must have been black and blue by the end of 90 minutes, as Scunthorpe ran out deserved 2-0 winners.
What amazed the Scottish contingent among our party was the amazingly lax policing of the game. Despite the party atmosphere, there was an element in the Scunthorpe support who were clearly bent on trouble.

The hardcore probably amounted to no more than about 15 'casuals', with their numbers swelled by hangers on, or less organised neds.

In Scotland any trouble in grounds is swiftly dealt with. Indeed disorder within the grounds is now almost non-existent.

Conversely at Tranmere there were numerous incidents in the first half that saw punches traded between stewards and fans, with the police response ineffective and generally confined to dragging a few miscreants to the nearest exit and chucking them out.

Still I wasn't too fussed as I waited outside the ground after the game, chatting to Joe, whilst we awaited the arrival of the rest of the group. Directly to my right was a police CCTV unit, a couple of mounties were nearby, as well as about a dozen uniformed police on foot spread over about 80 metres of the street.

My relaxed attitude changed, as totally out-of-the-blue I was knocked sideways by a blow square on the jaw.

wtf!? reeling from the shock I tried to get my guard up, expecting more punches to follow, but after a few seconds I realised the action was already over though I had no idea who had punched me.

Joe was staring in amazement. One of the guys we'd seen being chucked out of the game had smacked me on the jaw as he walked past. I hadn't seen him coming, and I had no idea where he'd gone.

With so many cops around I was expecting an immediate reaction, but they all seemed to have been struck blind, and the attacker and his mates had already disappeared into the small crowd around the supporter buses.

Still, I was fuming, and stomped over to one of the uniforms on foot patrol. The conversation went something along the lines:

'One of those idiots just walked up to me and smacked me in the face. What you gonna do about it?'
'Would you like to make a complaint sir?'
'Get him fuckin arrested!'

Which is how Joe and I found ourselves accompanying a couple of cops to the entrance of a Scunthorpe supporters bus, to pick out the guy who attacked me.

A few of the guys on the bus were giving us verbals, making crybaby gestures etc. and one guy was leaning off the bus and calling me a 'grass'. I wasn't for holding back and was giving plenty in return along the lines 'Does he think he's a hard man, sneaking up on someone and hitting them when they aren't even looking? Is that all he's got. He not even a good hooligan, he couldn't even knock me down. He's got nothing.'

About now it started to get comical. Everyone we spoke to was obviously a bit bamboozled by my Glaswegian accent, and from the look on his face Mr Grass clearly hadn't expected to get back more than he was giving on the verbals front, and certainly not from a Billy Connolly soundalike.

The local police obviously weren't expecting it either, and quickly ushered us away from the bus, but not before we'd pointed out the guy to the cops.

At this point there was quite a delay while a fairly young copper took a statement from me. It soon became apparent that the local police were not willing to make a stand.

The young cop - who had the decency to at least seem embarrassed by the ineptitude of the operation - explained the inspector in charge of policing wasn't willing to commit enough bodies to ferret the guy off the bus.

The other guys on board wouldn't co-operate and they didn't have the manpower to do it by force. So, we've got a crime, a witness, a suspect, but no will to arrest and prosecute.

I was mightily pissed off, and went off on one about how useless their tactics were. What's the point of being there if they can't maintain order, and can't arrest those who cause disorder, etc..

The cop seemed genuinely apologetic, and even mentioned they were short of cell space so even if they arrested him, they'd have nowhere to put him.

'Well, I suppose sending him back to Scunthorpe is punishment in itself', I responded.

Once I'd calmed down a bit, I was ready to head off alongside my brother and a few of the other guys from our group who'd appeared by now.

At which point I noticed the guys on the bus were watching, and there was some jeering and sarcastic waving going on.

Ding! I stomped over to the bus, and could see the assailant about 2/3 of the way back. The rest of his crew had opened the emergency door and were shouting abuse through the half opened exit.

If only there'd been a tape running at this point! I pointed at the attacker then pointed at my jaw. 'Is that all you've got? Get down here and try again!'

He went, as we say in Scotland, mental. Eyes bulging, nostrils flaring, trying to hurl himself at me as I stood beneath the door of the bus. His mates holding him back, whilst themselves frenziedly hurling abuse back at me. My brother mentioned later that they looked coked up to him.

I couldn't make out a word they were saying but the general sentiment was clear. From the corner of my eye I noticed a copper closing in on me. 'Get your CS gas ready', I told him, before returning to the serious business of giving the guys on the bus, and the one in particular, pelters. 'wankers, fucking morons, scum, etc...'

They were incandescent, like a baying pack of hounds, but none of them was willing to get off the bus. Which was maybe just as well for my general welfare, but in the heat of the moment I'd totally flipped and was ready for anything.

The local coppers were aghast, and eventually under threat of arrest I was ushered away by my brother and shoved into a taxi back to town.

The whole confrontation at the bus door probably lasted about 50 to 60 seconds maximum, but I was laughing about it for the rest of the weekend, and still am now.

These guys like to act the part, but in reality they are nothing. Hitting people without warning is hardly iron man stuff - to me, it's on a par with mugging old ladies - and when someone flips and squares up to them they are all piss-and-wind.

Not much else to add about the weekend, except to mention a bizarre occurrence on the way home.

The train had a 50 minute stop scheduled at Preston, which fortuitously coincided with the kick off time for the Kilmarnock v Celtic game. Someone suggested we might be able to find a pub with Setanta Sports, so we could watch part of the game.

Rather surreally, the first pub we found in Preston turned out to be a Celtic bar. Complete with hooped drinkers, Henrik Larsson and Pat Bonner posters on the wall, and a Wolfe Tones concert advertised for the next week.
So it was that we got to see the first half of the game where Celtic formally - and belatedly - clinched the SPL, albeit the league has effectively been over for months.

Then it back to the train, where we were soon joined by a grungy student girl and her vile dog, which stank out the carriage for the remainder of the journey home.
If we weren't in such a good mood - having drained the onboard beer supplies as news of the late winner at Kilmarnock arrived - I might have been tempted to have a word, but decided to let it pass.

Partly because of my mood, and partly because I was at a loss for what to say. Somehow 'gonnae stop your dog farting' just didn't sound like a realistic request.

Wattie, Justin , and Jambos

Just kicked off a big weekend with a few beers, a family size pack of Walkers Sensations, and another winning session on Tribeca.

I called it a night early, as I've had a bit of a frantic week at work and could feel fatigue creeping in. Plus I've got other stuff to do tomorrow so need a decent sleep.

It's always nice to post a relatively short 100BB+ session without ever being significantly down, or feeling under any pressure.

I suspect my win rate suffers slightly from an unwillingness to make 'big calls' with decent, but far from the nuts, hands.

I'm sure I'm letting a few players pinch a cookie or two, either deliberately or simply from a lack of awareness that 2nd pair top kicker is not a long term winner.

However I am getting better at controlling pot sizes, which helps to reduce variance and enhance my edge over weaker players.

This style is also better suited to my temperament, and any EV sacrificed is probably compensated for by the more stable bankroll progression.

That said, it's something I am monitoring through PokerTracker and note taking to see if I can push up the win rate without sacrificing stability.

Clearly I wasn't playing against Justin Timberlake tonight. Would anyone seriously contemplate playing that boy for money at cards? With his luck he'd probably hit a straight flush on every hand.

From Britney in the cute'n'sexy pre-trailer trash mom phase to Cameron Diaz at well, any phase, to (if rumours are to be believed) Scarlett Johansson. wtf!?

No wonder the press over here call him Justin Trousersnake.

As we say in Scotland, jammy bastard!

Saturday is housekeeping day. This week I've been on something of a blitzkrieg against the accumulation of household junk, and tomorrow much of it will be off to the dump.

There's also some shopping to be done - including a widescreen LCD TV scouting mission...

The clear out is part of a wider change we are planning presently, of which I expect to be posting more soon.

The other big news this weekend is the return of a couple of past heroes to scenes of former glory.

I'd imagine many Celtic fans will be rubbing their eyes in disbelief as Steven Pressley takes to the field at Tynecastle clad in the famous green-and-white hoops of Celtic - possibly as captain!

The inevitable vitriol that will pour down from the foul inhabitants of that miserable stadium will probably do more to cement Pressley's status within the Celtic support than anything he could do himself.

Much as there's been many misgivings about the signing of a previous foe, I'd expect most Celtic fans will be relish rubbing Jambo noses in the dirt. I'll probably be cheering them on from the local pub.

The other big return is that of Walter Smith to Rangers.

An eloquent and persuasive article over at eTims admirably dissects the hypocrisy and bias within the Scottish sporting press that has characterised their coverage of Walter walking out on the national team.

Much as this coverage gets up my nose in the short term, just like in poker there's a longer game to be played. One in which I welcome the continual fawning and grovelling of the Scottish press at the feet of Sir 'Dodgy' David Murray.

Was he really knighted for services to Celtic!?

The longer the press allow Murray a free ride in the papers, the further ahead Celtic will surge. Leaving our previous rivals as mere wannabes scrabbling to catch up.

All of which inspired me to seek out a precious clip from Walter's previous managerial reign at Ibrox, in which he snaps under questioning from the nonentity that is Chick Young, when asked to explain another Rangers humiliation in Europe.

Cheer up Walter. Never mind justifying losses to the likes of AEK Athens. This season it's more likely to be Motherwell spanking you.

Finally, a big up to Andy Ward - whose articles on SNG and tourney strategy are always instructive reading. He jetted over from rainy England and took down a WPT Event in Tunica.

Nice work if you can get it.

Site Admin and Donald McVicar

I've been tidying up the blog template recently. Much as I'm a techie to trade, HTML isn't one of my core skills so I enjoy pottering around a little for a change of scene.

A while ago I added an RSS news feed for Glasgow Celtic, using the facility available from The Scotsman newspaper.

The Scotsman is, in theory, one of the 'quality' papers in Scotland. However a recently published front page article and opinion piece had me so fuming at their blatant institutional bigotry and shoddy journalism that I decided to drop their feed.

I've replaced it with one from that paragon of journalistic integrity, The BBC.

My old sparring partner Donald McVicar was also in the news recently, after referee Kenny Clark admitted on The Whistleblower website that he had wrongly denied Celtic a blatant penalty that could have put them 2-0 up in the recent Rangers game, which was subsequently drawn 1-1.

I think it's important to recognise the positive aspect of this. Referees are only human. They do make mistakes. What bothers me is they usually refuse to admit them.

So, it's good that Mr Clark has been big enough to own up to his error - even if he was the only person in the ground not to have thought it a penalty at the time. Indeed, so blatant was the trip, Stevie Wonder could have spotted it.

What continues to bother me is Donald McVicar insisting that Kenny Clark had a good game overall.

Oh really? In the first minute he missed a deliberate stamp by Alan Hutton on Aiden McGeady, as he lay prostrate on the ground. At least a yellow and possibly a red card offence.

Early in the second half he missed a brutal and blatant assault by Charlie Adam on Lee Naylor that left Naylor bleeding from an ankle injury that needed five stitches after the game.

This sort of wild tackle from behind is a straight red in any major competition. In the more lenient Scottish arena, it should still merit at least a yellow. Clark didn't even give a foul.

Adding insult to injury, as Naylor lay in obvious agony, he chided him for apparent time wasting or play acting. Since when did football players start carrying theatrical blood capsules in their socks?

So, applause to Donald and Kenny for owning up the most heinous error, but a return visit to Specsavers for them both, to help them spot their other deficiencies.

Resting The Eyelids

Earlier this week I commented to a co-worker that I'm beginning to feel like the Phil O'Donnell or Darren Anderton of the IT world.

I manage a fleeting appearance in work, before being struck down by some mysterious ailment that limits my presence, return feeling fine, put in a couple of decent shifts, until being struck down again, repeat until end of contract...

Which is how I came to miss out on an entire Friday night of poker. Feeling a little zonked after work, I mentioned to the Mrs that I was planning on having a 'short nap' before returning to the tables.

Almost twelve hours later I awoke to the sounds of a baby needing a morning nappy change. Huh? Who stole Friday night?

So it was that my gaming this week was confined to tonight. Which was fine, since I made a decent profit.

Despite some pretty wild action between other players, I had a remarkably boring session.

No suckouts for or against. Just straightforward poker, and hitting a couple of legitimate draws.

The one interesting hand was against a very LAGish player who I'd actually been giving a little respect to, since he hadn't shown down any unreasonable hands, and was taking a lot of pots on the flop or turn with big bets.

He had a big stack when I arrived at the table, and it was still growing.

He was also getting away from quite a few hands on the flop, showing that just because he raised pre-flop, he wasn't married to the hands.

Clearly he was a possible double through candidate, but not a racing certainty.

Sure enough we tangled when I limped T9s, and he made a big raise from the BB into several limpers.

I called to see a T9x flop with two of another suit. So a good flop for me, but laden with drawing opportunities. Not a time for slow playing.

With that in mind, and knowing his hand range is huge here, I chose the overbet approach to his continuation bet, and pushed all-in to his bigger stack.

His unexpectedly quick call had me thinking I might be dead to a set, or facing a monster draw, but when the cards were turned he was drawing extremely thin with AJo.

Two overs, no flush draw, and only a backdoor straight draw.

All of which suggests I'd been showing him a bit too much respect! Not to worry, as my hand held up and I took a nice chunk out of his profits for the night.

Tortoises and hares anyone? A nice return to action.

Time to round up the Champions League gloatfest with a couple more clips from the game. Both shot by Manchester United supporters.

Why they'd choose to actually post these is beyond me, but they gave me a good chuckle anyway. The sound and dialogue is priceless, though picture quality is poor.

First up, Louis Saha's penalty miss.

Secondly, a more complete video of the Ronaldo freekick and lead up to the Saha penalty.

Back to SPL action tomorrow, and much as I'm delighted with the Champions League qualification, I have to say the better than 5/1 available on Hibs to beat Celtic looks like a value bet. Not that I'll be taking it.

I did have £20 on Celtic to beat Manchester United at 100/30 which was nothing but the icing on that particular cake.