There Will Be Cake…

February 18, 2009 at 1:49 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , )

I twisted my ankle last night playing football. Thankfully nothing broken. Except maybe pride.

I was clean through on goal too when a rogue tackle and my trademark Messi shuffle combined to make me crumble in a heap of man pain on the astroturf. And now I hobble like, like, like something that hobbles a lot (note to self… insert mindblowingly apt analogy here later) and my ankle looks like something you should need planning permission for.

What does all this mean you may well ask?

Well kids I am lined up for some Soundcheck Blog Off action in Spy tomorrow night and now the Har Mar Superstar-styled dance routine will have to take a raincheck I’m afraid. Just think of what might have been.

Anyway, those fine folk also vying for blogger imortality:

Nialler9
Jim Carroll
Rick O’Shea
Ian Wright (Thrill Pier)
UnaRocks
Sweet Oblivion
Raptureponies
Aoife McIndieHour
Bluebirds Are So Natural
Dublin Streets

It promises to be an eclectic affair. There have even been threats of Prefab Sprout. Lord help us and save us.

soundcheck

First blogger up will be hitting the decks at 7pm. Admission is free before 11pm (and then a fiver thereafter). Drinks promotions on the night and Una has made promises which involve cake.

So let the games begin.

war2

One thing I can guarantee is that I won’t play any Beyoncé. How many times can one woman say “If you liked it you should’ve put a ring on it” in 3 odd minutes? No wonder he fucked off and didn’t put a ring on it you whingey aul sod.

So shine on you crazy diamonds. I hope to see you there. I still might wear a mask.

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Roy Maurice Keane…

December 4, 2008 at 12:30 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , , )

Word is spreading like wildfire that Roy Keane has left Sunderland. What a complicated, complex character Keane is. It’ll be interesting to see where he goes from here.

roy_keane_manager

I saw this piece here this morning and thought I’d share it with you…

Roy Maurice Keane: My True Story*

Stand up. Mirror. Staring. Can I do it? A moment…NO. I’m ready. Get the dog lead. Get the wallet. Focus.

“Will you be going to the shops or not then Roy?”

It’s the wife. Hands me the shopping list. On a post-it. Yellow. Like a card. Not red. Going for the ball.

“I’m not going to those f****** amateurs in Tesco again,” I tell her. “Do you think Felipe Scolari’s doing his shopping pushing a trolley with a busted wheel?”

I’m angry now, running it back in my mind…last time, the trolley, the big stack of baked beans half price, the wobbly wheel, children crying, losing control. Beans.

I’m sitting on the floor in the hall. The wife’s standing there. “Just get a pint of milk from the corner then, love, ” she says.

I get up. She comes at me. I kiss her, hard. On the cheek. The cheek was there (I think). “Take that,” I think to myself.

“Take what?” she asks. I go out of the house.

Corner shop. Corner. Defend it. Zonal. I TOLD YOU TO PICK HIM UP – THAT WAS YOUR MAN.

Milk. Milk. Focus on the milk.

“Morning Roy.” It’s Mr Patel.

“You’re a f****** crap newsagent and you’re a f****** crap person,” I say.

“Okay,” he says.

I turn and look for the milk. Stuff, money, bag. Walking again. Blind man. Dog. Stick. Can’t he see? Why can’t he see? Can’t he see that was offside? What is he doing?

I’m in the kitchen. Wife’s unpacking the shopping. She’s not happy. Teacups?

No. Shaking head.

“What’s all this stuff, Roy?”

I don’t understand. Stare.

“Roy. I’ve asked you out for a pint of milk. You’ve come back with four packets of rubber gloves, a Sodastream – I didn’t know they still made them – six biros, not one but two copies of New Scientist, a case of Doctor Pepper and 400 Silk Cut. You don’t even smoke, Roy.”

“No,” I say.

“And how much have you spent? Turn out your pockets,” she says.

Coins, notes, clank, receipt.

“Roy.”

She’s talking.

“Roy, you’ve spent 85 quid on rubbish. Absolute rubbish. What were you thinking? And where the hell’s the milk?”

Focus. Got to focus. Keep looking straight ahead. Focus.

* Not with the bollix Dunphy
Written by Alan Tyers and John Nicholson

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Champagne Football? I’m not so sure….

November 25, 2008 at 1:56 pm (Uncategorized) (, , , , , , )

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.

andy-reid

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.

beer

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.

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