And Flo makes 30 Million down the drain

And so it came to pass that in the Under 19 international qualifiers, 6 Celtic players were the foundation of the successful Scotland side, and 2 were included in the valiant but sadly unsuccessful Irish team.(obviously not enough Celtic players)!

I Can't for the life of me find any representation from the £14m gingerbread cottage up the road there.

Do you think it may have something to do with the Management!!!!! AAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!

I will go and wash my mouth out with Sulphuric acid (or McKewans Lager)!

I do however gather that on receiving this news DM, as he is known to his closest associates and those who are too thick to remember his full name (Stand up Bazza and Boab - I blame Catholic Schools) considered this small hole in his Auchenowie strategy and CV!


The dying rays of the crimson sun shone low across the grass,
No sound was heard, no move was made, but the old man cried ‘alas,
This kingdom cost me so much gold, but the soil proved deid and dry’
And now the Tumbleweed just blaws o’er this desert in Milngavie.

‘Ten thousand fresh faced hopeful huns have tried tae pass the test,
We graded all and like Homepride we kept those who were best!
A hundred? Fifty? Mibbee five? Ach huv anither go!
Old Hubbard’s cupboard had mair bones…. 12 million less than Flo!’

‘We’ve tried the lot’ wee John Brown said backed up by Monkey Durrant,
‘At least there’s Boab, big FTP, and he’s a true bun Currant!’ (sorry about that!)
‘That dope! That erse! That waste of air, he couldnae cross a road,
He wance wis kissed by a princess fair who turned intae a toad’.

A million quid gets flushed away wae every passin’ year,
For all the talent that’s been honed it dis seem awfy dear,
‘Ah know ah said if Celtic spent a five then ten ah’d blow,
Ah come on lads, wis jist a joke, besides ah’ve nae mair dough.’

‘Ah’ve sold the shops, ah’ve sacked the staff, ah’m pawnin aw ma shares
Ah’ve conned the fans, the Rangers Trust, ah’ve caught them unawares,
They think they’re givin’ Rangers cash tae challenge Europes best,
The poor wee fools, ah’ve got their shirt, an’ they’ve ‘simply the vest!’

He wiped the tears that filled his eyes and thought of all his dosh,
‘That bastard Advocaat’s to blame, he talked a load of tosh,
He said the Tims would fall behind, their fate would soon be sealed
Alas alack, state of the Art’s been found at Barrowfield!’