Leinster flags

One of my pet hates in life – at present – are these hideous Leinster car-flags which seems to proliferate at this time of the year in South Dublin and in the more salubrious suburbs further North, id est Howth, Sutton and Malahide.

To be more accurate, it’s not the flags I find hideous, it’s the combination of the flag and the car occupants that causes me the greatest grief. Because let’s face it, Leinster rugby is quite simply nothing to do with the game, it’s all about the lifestyle and most of the flag-flying fans know sweet fuck all about the underlying sport.

The flags generally adorn four-wheel drives, year of registration within the last two – although there are signs that this entry requirement is being stretched a little in these troubled times.

The drivers of these vehicles add to the dysfunctional nature of Leinster rugby and have also unknowingly created a marketing dilemma for the automobile industry – how can an “off-road” vehicle be marketed to a glamorous trophy wife who needs a ladder to get into the vehicle and thinks parking on the footpath is at the extreme end of adventure sports?

The back seat of the car is usually occupied by two Willow Park schoolboys with their heads embedded in the screen of an Ipad; a copy of Rachel Allen’s newest Quickmeals cookbook; a Cavistons’ grocery bag containing white asparagus and quail, and a pristine Saxophone which had just been left in to the have the strings replaced. “Well I thought saxophones had strings”.

And what of the Lord of the Manor? A slap on the back from old rugby foes, the same foes that ran their studs down the side of your head and pushed his index finger in your eye on the back pitch in Donnybrook in 1987. Nothing serious enough to stop the business deal going through now though. “You know what you should get – a Harley – great for buzzing around in at the weekends”. Grow old gracefully you stupid prick.

Leinster rugby is the Celtic Tiger at its’ worst - spawned during those wasteful hedonistic days and surviving solely because everyone wants to be part of a winning team and sure if you don’t, they won’t want to have anything to do with you down at the golf club. And wasn’t BOD just bruuulliant against Stade de France?

So the next time I see these flag-toting idiots, I’m going to toot my horn and give them a wave – it’ll be lovely to see what they do when the see the cheery salute coming from a 2007 Ford Mondeo. A 2007 Ford Mondeo. And you know what, they’ll probably respond because it’s what the police drive and you never know when we’ll need a little favour, on the side, not a word to the common man.

Paris for a day

In the height of the Celtic Tiger (with thanks for photo to Mise le Meas).

Oh God, what a choice

Oh, dear what can the matter be?
Seven old codgers got stuck in an election race,
They were there from Monday to Saturday,
And no-one gave a toss they were there.

Reflects "the state of the State" this election does – when one chooses the future President on the basis of who can do the least damage.

Michael Flately - our greatest asset

We'll accept the demise of the Celtic Tiger, but don't mess with us over Michael Flately .....

Seanie Fitzpatrick

They arrested Sean Fitzpatrick (Seanie to his mates) today on charges which will no doubt prove to “unenforceable in a court of law” and therefore short-lived. Or worse still maybe if won’t be short-lived and the taxpayer will pay for years and years of protracted legal debate and dispute culminating in many people forgetting what it was all about in the first place. Those that remain in jobs, or regain employment, in typical Irish fashion will lose interest in the rightful pursuit of justice. After all, I’m all right Jack.

On this day, therefore let’s lament another and much earlier instance of greed and ruthlessness, when the legacy left by the bankers and developers was not the destruction of the financial future and well-being of so many, but rather the cultural and social heritage of a small but important sector of our society.



Pictured above is Glenmalure Park, home of Shamrock Rovers football club from 1926 until midway through the eighties. In 1986, the then owners of the stadium, the Kilcoyne family sold the stadium to property developers. The family had acquired their ownership of Rovers in 1972, and their freehold interest in the stadium at a subsequent date (purchased from the Jesuits).

While the Kilcoynes pointed to the fragile state of the LOI at the time, and their difficulties in attracting crowds, it is not circumstantial that large profits were made from the sale of the ground. The Kilcoynes’ proposal to the local football community was to move home games to Tolka Park in Drumcondra, a plan which they themselves must have known would not have worked. If it was difficult to get bums on seats in Milltown, how could moving the club to the northside make “social” sense.

And therein lies the rub.

Football is built around local communities and it remains an integral part of the social fabric of the cities and towns in which it is played. Witness and understand the fanaticism of the ultra supporters in the Italian cities, or the devotion of the father and son combinations trudging along Saturday after Saturday to Burnden Park (Lowry’s famous painting Going to the Match) and then ponder the irrationality of the proposal to move the Hoops from South to North Dublin. In selling Glenamalure Park to the developers the Kilcoyne family showed no appreciation for the core values and motivations of ordinary people and like so many others (nowadays) opted for the money. Thankfully the worst of those days are behind us for a while. Long may they stay away.





If ever there was a silver lining to a story, it is that over twenty years later, Rovers are thriving in their new stadium in Tallaght. Crowds of in excess of 4,000 are commonplace and if the club can put a management structure in place to match its’ fine surroundings, it is likely that they will dominate League of Ireland for years to come.

And good luck to them, they might just deserve it ……. the latter bit said through gritted teeth.

Do we take the iodine tablets now?

In assessing the Government's level of preparedness for the intense climatic conditions we are facing, I forgot entirely about the iodine tablets that they gave all of us a few years ago.

I wonder if we are close to the time that they'll tell us to use them. I'll run the country through the boom times, but don't come looking for me when times get bad.

Biffo fiddles while Ireland freezes

The country faces its' third potential catastrophe (financial meltdown; floods and now the big freeze) and true to their nature the Fianna Fail politicians go absent and leave the country stumbling along from one instance of human misery to the next. The only party member we definitively know as to his whereabouts, as the country's roads and public transport services grind to a halt, is the Minister for Transport, sunning himself in a golf resort in Malta. As they say, Noel you picked a good week as "the weather was shite back here".

It is time for the country to deal with this arrogance and incompetence and to get rid of this vile political party for once and for all. While the traditional Blueshirt opposition appear to offer little real alternative, it does nevertheless become a question of whether you get back into the car with the reckless driver who drove you off the side of the cliff because he had his cap over his eyes and therefore didn't see the bend coming. No right-minded individual who values honesty, integrity and diligence could ever vote for these people again.

It's time to make a radical change. Vote Labour - socialism cannot be this bad.

Question - What's the difference between these two pictures?

Answer: There's none - they're both pictures of lying, dishonest, incompetent, irresponsible and ugly fat-arsed despot fuckers.

The saddest part about both of these pictures is the low level of the flood waters - ideally six feet higher would be better (with apologies to all those local people who might also suffer in the process - please watch the rats drown from upstairs and remember, no life rings please).

Could this man end the recession?

A couple more goals like this over the next five days and the recession is all over. Dancing in the streets, t-shirts in Dunnes Stores and cardboard cut-outs of the Boys in Green. Davy Keogh says hello.

Go for it Robbie - let's see the bow and arrow.

Pope's visit to Ireland

At a time when our country is racked by unemployment, public v private sector feuds, Lisbon yes v no battles, widespread social disaffection and despair, etc - think back to the simple days of the late 1970's.

Thirty years ago today we were uplifted by the arrival of Pope John Paul II - a million people in the Park, religion before the fall, money for a pint and sure what else really mattered. Not sure which of us were there but I do recall going from Blinkers to Milo's for cards and then on to UCD for the buses into the Park.

Life seemed so much simpler then. Yes I would go back, watch for the Celtic Tiger and shoot it while it was still a cub. Right between the eyes.

The Celtic Tiger

Now that we are sadly lamented its' passing, let's reflect on the birth and death of the Celtic Tiger. Contrary to what the economists might tell us, it's birth should not be attributed to the lowering of tax rates, the returning diaspora or the supposed innovative and far-thinking politicians who allegedly lurked around Dail Eireann in the early nineties. No, simply put, Ray Houghton started the whole thing one lovely June afternoon in 1994 .

The goal he scored at the Giants Stadium against Italy gave the nation belief, and proved that we could take on and beat the best the world had to offer. With our new self-belief, we buried the traditional stage Paddy, we opened up cafe and wine bars overnight and the rest was a dawdle.

Thirteen years and one hell of a party. The world loved us and everything we gave them. The money flowed in and we were the kings of the world. We were invincible.

So how did it end? It ended because we grew so cocky we started to take the piss. We lashed up our prices, we stopped talking to the tourists, we banned them from smoking in bars and worst of all - we sent a fucking turkey to Eurovision. We weren't so fuckin smart when we sent Dana, a subsequent presidential candidate, across in 1970 with her skirt around her arse to sing "All kinds of Everything". Bloody happy to win it back then and indeed again when Johnny Loganberry and Linda Martin and all the others romped home.

So in 2007, we're high as kites and off goes Dustin to win "null points". And with this display of breath-taking arrogance, the rest of Europe stands up and says "Who the fuck do they think they are?". And the rest my dear, as they say, is history.

Two pictures below:

Hartnett and Clancy at the start; Dustin at the end.