In these turbulent times, there’s only one thing to do. That’s right, panic. Or keep calm and carry on? No, it’s definitely panic.
“What do you think of COVID-19?” asked the sports editor as he sneezed into the crook of his elbow and missed. “Well, it’s probably better than Ryan Kent at No 14,” I replied while taking a swig of my contraband hand sanitiser/vodka cocktail to combat his splutterings.
The coronavirus and its associated knock-on effects has been moving faster than Jordan Jones on the M77 and has prompted the kind of unhinged panic-buying that led to Celtic paying three million quid for Boli Bolingoli.
But we shouldn’t get overwhelmed by the heebie-jeebies. In an effort to combat the crisis, the UK Government has essentially given the NHS the kind of war chest that David Murray used to unleash. And that turned out well didn’t it?
Over in the USA, meanwhile, the world’s biggest Orangeman, Donald Trump, has unveiled a $50 billion coronavirus relief fund. For the cash my President swore, sang the Ohio branch of the Gers Supporters Club. Or something like that
Sport is in lockdown. As one withering observer mentioned the other day, there is literally “no Old Firm”. And the Old Firm is off too.
Apparently, there has been a significant spike in interest about the construction of underground doomsday bunkers which are designed to withstand “any catastrophe.” They are more commonly known as the Rangers dugout …
ALL HAIL THE TOP DOGS ...
Woof woof. The annual celebration of coiffured canine competence reached its conclusion last weekend as Maisie the wire-haired dachshund was crowned champion of Crufts.
After scooping the coveted Best in Show award, the exuberant two-and-a-half-year-old deposited a little jobby on the floor of the National Exhibition Centre amid the joyous raptures.
Upon becoming Scottish fitba’s top dogs again – and by all accounts the prize giving ceremony will be tomorrow - the diarist is looking forward to Scott Brown cocking his leg on the Ladbrokes plinth when Celtic complete nine-in-a-row.
UP FOR THE GREEN CUP
Amid the environmentally-friendly frenzy, in which Greta Thunberg scowls, glowers and tut-tuts from her nerve centre inside a re-enforced blue wheelie bin, Finnish top flight club HJK Helsinki are doing their bit to bolster their green credentials.
In a concerted push to be carbon neutral by 2025, HJK have teamed up with recycling firm Kotkamills to help reduce their emissions.
“With the help of Kotkamills, we can discontinue the use of plastic mugs and plastic-coated cups,” said HJK chief Aki Riihilahti.
Apparently Steven Gerrard has already been in touch with HJK high heid yins. He’ll take any sort of cup to fill the barren trophy cabinet, after all.
GO ON MY SON ...
This is the kind of surging invention we'll miss as the Scottish game goes into a forced hiatus ...
— Out Of Context Football (@nocontextfooty) March 10, 2020
GREEN JACKET ON SHOOGLY PEG
The Masters,that shimmering, azalea-infused rite of spring, has been cancelled as the coronavirus sprays itself around like a high-handicapper shanking and slicing a bucket of balls at the driving range.
It’s 85 years since the great Gene Sarazen donned the green jacket in 1935. As the years progressed, the seven-time major champion explained to the then Augusta chairman, Hord Hardin, that he felt he was getting too old to be a ceremonial starter at the event and didn’t want to be “an exhibit in a museum”.
Hardin nodded gently and said: “Gene, the people don’t want to see you play, they just want to see if you’re still alive.”
Strangely enough, that’s what Celtic fans would often say about Marvin Compper.
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