SPL Sunday February 1st

Partick Thistle 0

Celtic 2

0:1 Sutton (7); 0:2 Sutton (33)

Att: 7,119

MIB: Kenny Clark

Celtic: Hedman; Valgaeren, Balde, Laursen; Agathe, McNamara, Lennon (Healy 87), Petrov, Smith; Larsson, Sutton

You just can't beat a Maryhill Safari for sheer experience. This time around it was a trip through the arctic wastes of the SPL to see the Harry Wraggs attempt to scrape out a pitiful footballing existence in soccer's icy nether region, a.k.a. Firhill.

Thistle looked like seal pups; all watery eyes and flapping about barking, as the good ship Celtic landed its big men with clubs to batter them into submission. With Sutton and Larsson restored to the attack, the culling took all of seven minutes to complete.

From the refrigerated comfort of the hut that passes for a stand, in the West End's answer to the Ice Hotel, the ball appeared to ping-pong through a blizzard. After what seemed like several minutes of this goal mouth pin-ball, Sutton slotted the ball past Arthur to open up Celtic's account. This didn't go down well with the locals, who were either incandescent with rage or had found a hot spring. Hissing steam and bubbly water droplets, not unlike spittle, showered the air, as the Jags fans barked for off-side. Not even MIB Kenny Clark could ignore the fact that the Thistle defenders couldn't shift their arses to clear their lines if they were paid (I know they are paid to shift their arses but you know what I mean).

With nowhere to hide in the snow, the Jags defence ran around like headless chickens as Agathe began to terrorise them with his pace. A clueless clearance from one Jags clogger, following an Agathe cut back, only found Sutton who made it 2:0. A Larsson free kick from all of 25 yards could have made it three, but it hit the outside of the post with the keeper stranded.

The second period was more subdued as Celtic mopped up and prepared to go home. Lennon and Jackie Mc Namarra looked accomplished as they strode around the park, while Laursen continued his improved form. Thistle offered nothing. Henke had another chance to add to Celtic's lead, but managed a mis-kick in the box after a neat run from Laursen. At least the sun came out before the final whistle and the Jags melted away into the West-End to drown their sorrows in Chardonnay and Bailey's with ice (copyright L. Amadiddy, 2002).