The Orchid…
“Whatever you do, don’t water the orchid”, she said.
I heard the word “water” and the word “orchid”.
So of course I watered the orchid.
Champagne Football? I’m not so sure….
There’s an article in today’s Irish Independent which begins thus…
The drink culture in Irish soccer is woven into the fabric of our players — and successive Irish managers have had to deal with it.
This article has come about since Irish manager Giovanni Trappatoni revealed he had an altercation with Andy Reid at the Republic of Ireland team hotel in Germany after the World Cup qualifying game against Georgia on September 6th. This was just days before Ireland played Montenegro in a vital World Cup Qualifier. A game in which we drew nil-nil.
Trappatoni, however, insists the dispute, which arose out of a number of players staying up beyond a 1am curfew, has not been a factor in his decision not to play Reid.
According to Trap, Reid was one of 10 players to break a curfew and stay in the bar of the team hotel until well beyond midnight. “It was two o’clock. We had a game in three days’ time and the table was like a pub with all the beer on it,” Trappatoni is quoted as saying. That, I must say, amazes me. I thought that kind of behaviour was all in the past.
It transpires that Reid was playing guitar and, the manager alleges, declined to call it a night, despite repeated attempts to persuade him to do so. How ridiculous is that? Trappatoni, a manager who has had such an illustrious career not being listened to by an overpaid, overweight Premiership player? For such disrespect Reid deserves to be left on the bench as he has been. In fact he’s lucky to have since been called up at all.
It’s interesting to note that both Richard Dunne and John O’Shea had gone to bed by that stage. Two players who consistently play at a higher level and command greater respect than Andy Reid.
There was also a piece in Monday’s Irish Times which gives an insight into the drinking culture that is obviously still endemic in professsional football. It relates to former Manchester United player Gerard Pique who was sold to Barcelona earlier in the summer. Piqué has since slotted nicely into a side that are currently top of La Liga. The article describes how Pique failed to understand the diet of his United team-mates. “There were some incredible things happening. Everyone was allowed to eat what they wanted and one must remember that the English diet is just like people say. Every two weeks we had to be checked out on a machine that measured the amount of fat we had in our bodies. It would be a surprise that none of the players broke the machine because of the amount of hamburgers and beer they had.”
I find this astonishing. In this era of professional football where there is so much at stake that players still drink so much, so often. They don’t seem to know the value of a good diet and the importance of proper nutrition for their conditioning. How can players be so irresponsible given the vast sums of money they are paid every week? It’s crazy.
Even the usually reserved and understated Roy Keane has spoken out about this recently. He said last week that Irish and Scottish players must improve their lifestyles if they are to match the fitness levels of football’s top nations. “The English lads don’t seem to be too bad,” said the Sunderland boss. “The French and Spanish are good. But the players with the biggest problem in terms of changing their mentality are certainly the Irish and the Scottish players.”
Keane has obviously played at the top level for Man United, Celtic and Ireland so he’s quite qualified to speak out about this issue. “You can’t be tiring after 45, 50 minutes, not in the Premier League. You can’t do it…. Nobody should really throw that at you if you are a professional sportsperson, that you are not fit enough.” And he’s dead right. Also is it any surprise that Andy Reid is among the Irish contingent at the Stadium of Light? He’s a very talented footballer but he needs to get his act together if he can expect play a part in guiding Ireland to, or even playing at, the World Cup in South Africa in 2 years time. If a half a game every few weeks at Sunderland is the height of his ambition well then good luck to him. But he’s better than that.
And players have to let off steam I know. But they also have to make sure they are in prime condition and dare I say it, fit? I enjoy a social drink or two myself and don’t want to seem like I’m on a moral high horse. That said, I’m not an athlete representing my country abroad in the hope of qualifying for the Holy Grail that is the World Cup in 2010. We have a real chance of qualifying for South Africa. That chance will evaporate, however, if the sing-songs and booze culture continue to prevail.
Every little piece of your life will add up to one…
This only happens me every once in a blue moon but you know when you hear a song, for the first time and you instantly connect with it? Seems to capture a moment perfectly, a place, a time. Almost like it somehow takes on an extra dimension of meaning.
I felt such a connection to one such song in recent days. From the first few bars of angular guitar and snappy drums, it somehow encapsulated a mood I had been feeling quite often of late. It seemed to become a soundtrack of sorts to what was happening in my life over the course of a few days. It counterpointed various emotional moments.
“Keep a light on those you love, they will be there when you die”.
So go the first words of the track.
The song was on a compilation CD a good friend put together for me. It contained tracks he thought I might not have heard but might like. Most of the tracks were new, to me at least. And this one stood out a mile.
The tracks weren’t labelled but I have since discovered the track is called The Weight of The World. by Editors. It sounds very Interpol-like with a dash of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs thrown in for good measure. I think it’s a cool track.
The chorus goes thus:
“Every little piece of your life will add up to one,
Every little piece of your life will mean something to someone”
It struck a nerve with me. Had meaning beyond the mere words and melody. Some music real life fusion mongrel hybrid type shit goin on! Anyone got any similar instances of this?
Give it a listen, let me know what you think.
When Sperm Whale met The Crying Game…
I recently changed phones and had some issue with transferring contacts from phone back to SIM and onto the new SIM. In the end I had to manually re-type all my contacts into the new phone. Pain in the hole if truth be told. Anyway what struck me most about the whole thing were some of the bizarre names I had assigned various friends. They include:
Sperm Whale
The Crying Game
Wonder Weasel
Freddy Hotwire
Paddy Swayze
Steely Dan
Papa Le Shak
FlexiTom
So tell me… is this unusual?!?
Anyway most of these crazy dudes are friends I went to school with or grew up with in deepest, darkest suburbia. And thankfully they’re still friends, even with such ridiculous nicknames. There’s a whole load of us meeting up in Kilkenny this weekend for some pintage. Should be the craic.
Beyond Thunderdome…
I spoke yesterday of a new world-disorder and such like. A bit gloomy perhaps but generally I’m not too much of a pessimist, I hope. But that all changed this very Winter’s morn as I sat at the back of the bus and looked up. My cheery demeanour was shattered, my joie de vivre plundered, my half-full-glass drained… you get the picture.
The reason for this unforeseen loss of faith in humanity…..
An ad for Killinascully, Season 5. It’s out now on DVD apparently.
That pile of shite has survived five seasons? FIVE FUCKING SEASONS?!???!?How in the name of Jeebus? I think I’d rather be pillaged by Somali pirates then have to watch 5 seasons of that witless crap.
I think I need to lie down.
The world is broken…
This morning I read a post by Darren over at the Mighty Pound. It’s a bit doom and gloom, which is fine, but it certainly provides food for thought. As does a particular comment by Jo which goes a little something like this….
We continue to work on ourselves and mastermind our own evolution…. I don’t think we’ve got much time left.
All of this set me thinking. About humanity. And, of all things, about our existence . You see I also just finished The Road by Cormac McCarthy which hasn’t helped. It’s a profoundly affecting yet miserable aul read. Stunningly savage and beautiful. It describes a journey taken by a father and his young son over a period of several months, across a post-apocalyptic landscape. Civilization has been wiped out and, apparently, most life on earth.The attention to detail and imagery evoked are remarkable. It sets you thinking. As does Darren’s post and Jo’s comment.
Plus yesterday I saw on the news that a Saudi oil tanker had been seized by Somali pirates off the coast of Kenya. Madness. “The world has never seen anything like this,” Andrew Mwangura, co-ordinator of the East African Seafarers’ Association, told Reuters. And according to FoxNews, Admiral Michael Mullen, the U.S.’ top military officer in the region said he was “stunned” by the reach of the Somali pirates. “I’m stunned by the range of it, less so than I am the size,” said Admiral Mullen. The pirates are “very good at what they do. They’re very well armed. Tactically, they are very good,” he said.
I wonder are we going to hell in a hand cart? I have visions of a Waterworld / Mad Max-type post-apocalyptic dystopia.
But I’m reminded of an Après Match sketch. The one with U2. “The world is broken. Bono make it better”. Have a look. To lighten the mood. Forget about post-apocalyptic dystopias and Somali pirates for a moment.
Bless me Father….
… for I have sinned. It’s been 6 days since my last post, and 12 since my last real one. And time has not been my friend Father. All go go go it seems of late. And you see, I’ve been the victim of a broken laptop Father. It appears she didn’t like various liquids being spilled all over her. First tea then water. And no amount of cajoling or rehab could save her. So that didn’t help the posting situation.
Before that it was all credit crunch this and recession that. And that was just fine with me. Then that lad from Moneygall disturbed everything father. Suddenly it was all “historic” this, “seismic” that. The interweb was heaving with hyperbole and cliché. It felt only right to take a break after all that. Readjust. Even over at the mighty Pound there has been a slowdown in posts. Maybe we’re all just taking stock?
Perhaps like Michael Stone we should all just “Make Art Not War”? Are you listening Buffalo Cane?!? And K8 the Ir8? Put the fucking lotion in the basket! Or Cuthbert Cannon will kick all our asses.
An End to War?
Word is reaching us across the wires of a victory in the short-lived war between MaxiLand and the State of Cackaloo. The Cackaloons have been victorious it seems. No images reach us yet. And we’re not sure if it is merely propaganda. We hear there is much rejoicing in K8opia. Celebratory sambuca is flowing freely.
Will Maximus Caneus fall on his own sword? Or will he be humiliated in public and hung by the goolies from a tree? I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.
Updates will follow when available.
War, huh, what is it good for?
War has been declared by the State of Kackaloo (aided by General Beardy Von Smoke) on the benign dictator Maximus Caneus (aided by his Ministry of Intelligence, Corporal Crabling). This folks is serious. Literally, the bomb. Who has the heavier artillery is not yet known. Both sides are frantically recruiting with a variety of tricks on display. Intelligence reaches us of a strippers grotto with vast resources of Jagermeister. Smoke and mirrors everywhere. It is believed Obama is seriously considering his future in the wake of these developments. His foreign policy manifesto could not have predicted this new world disorder.
On behalf of the citizens of the Liberated Secular Republic of NaRocco I have declared neutrality. An unashamedly flexible, DeValera-esque, neutrality. MiniRoc have informed all warring factions that bribes and such like will allow for a variety of wartime favours for either side. We will, for example, gladly accept rendition flights and the like. Payments, as ever, are negotiable. However, at NaRocRoc Island we shall set up anti-weapon of tampon destruction devices on our shores and we shall house prisoners of Maxi war in accordance with Guantanamo ideals. We shall not go down with the rest of you bastards!








