Coupe de Monde 2006

The World cup is upon us and I can’t wait for it to start!

Every four years, the Worlds biggest sporting event descends on us all for a month or so and a feast of football is to be had.

Even here in the closeted existence that is modern day America, football is getting huge exposure. Record numbers of children are playing. Youth football or soccer as it is called over here is huge and the major powers of sports are nervously looking over their shoulders. If they aren’t - they should be! Football/Soccer is here to stay!

This year sees the US show total coverage of the finals on mainstream TV, a whole generation is about to be immersed into a terrific tradition just as I was as a kid growing up in the south-east of Ireland.

Memories are flooding back so I’ll begin…

1970, Mexico

The first game I remember was the 1970 final between Brazil & Italy, two superpowers of the game…I remember Carlos Alberto’s goal more than anything. A move of sublime brilliance, the instigator of the piece was a man called Pelé, his rolled pass seemed to freeze – frame as it moved, such was it’s controlled pace as Alberto swooped upon it to blast the ball home and vanquish the Italians 4-1.

1974, Germany

I remember ’74 for the Scottish presence, their exuberant fans, rejoicing that they were there and the English weren’t. Gerd Muller was a phenomenon, one of my favourite players ever, his nickname - “Der Bomber”. The elegance & leadership of “Der Kaiser” – Franz Beckenbauer as Germany shoved the arrogance of Holland back in their faces in the World cup final.

The Dutch played their beautiful “Total” football but their attitude cost them the Championship, pissing about in the first half, trying to humiliate the home nation by showboating. Allowing the Germans to regroup & restock when they should have been killed off. The second half, it was the Germans who showed how to play Total football.

1978, Argentina

Scotland’s arrogant belief of winning the tournament & getting their arses soundly whacked. The emergence of Asian football in ("dinnae worry about them!") Iran’s shock draw with the Scots. Teofilio Cubillas' master class for Peru against them (yes, the bloody scots!). Archie Gemmil’s wonder-goal for Scotland against Holland still couldn't stop Ally Mcleod & his tartan army being sent home with their tail between their legs.

Argentina was depressing for me to be honest. Brazil being cheated out of progress by a terrible refereeing decision. Argentina’s dodgy win over Peru to progress. The gamesmanship by the Argies over a much humbler, wiser & better Dutch team in the final.

1982, Spain.

For me, this was a wonderful tournament. Terrific games, drama, thrills, spills & so much more.

We saw African football emerge as Algeria & the Cameroon appear. Roger Milla became the first African superstar. A terrific Algerian team denied progress by the fix of Austria & Germany’s 90 minute love in. Such camaraderie had not been seen by both sides since the 1938 Anschluss.

Who can ever forget the Kuwaiti Sheikh coming onto the pitch and forcing the ref to overturn a French goal causing such a furor that the ref was afterwards banished home by FIFA, losing his credentials forever. The French eventually won 4-1. That group also featured the fastest goal in a finals, Bryan Robson in 27 secs for England in ther 3-1 win over France.

The greatest team never to win a world cup, Brazil in ’82. My God, they were something special…Eder, Junior, Falcao, Zico, Socrates. I still cannot believe they did not win it but they didn’t, being beaten by the catenaccio of Italy in one of the greatest games of all times in the second round. Paolo Rossi being the villain/hero of the piece from whatever perspective you may choose to take. The other team in that group (known as the group of death) - Argentina, introduced a player by the name of Diego Maradonna. He was sent off in their defeat by Brazil. Four years later though, the world would truly know him!

Northern Ireland appeared in these finals, my first glimpse of an Irish team at a final, albeit not my home country of the Republic. Still I was rooting for the northerners as they were sensational. Beating the hosts Spain with ten men and winning their group outright. Heroes all, Managed by Billy Bingham, the team included Pat Jennings, Gerry Armstrong, Martin O’Neill, Mal Donachy, Sammy McIlroy, Billy Hamilton and a young fellah by the name of Norman Whiteside, who at 17 became the youngest ever player to play in a Finals, taking that record off a certain man’s shoulders called Pelé.

For me the dream final would have been Brazil v France, it never happened as Italy beat the Brazilians and Germany overcame France in an epic game much remembered for the German keepers (Schumacher) near decapitation of Patrick Battiston who was carried off the field unconscious with a broken jaw. Schumacher did not even get a card let alone did France gain a free kick, an incredible decision.. The game though was a classic, France going 3-1 up in injury time only for the dogged Germans to claw it back. The game being decided on penalties. Germany winning 5-4.

Italy won the final 3-1, Altobelli’s after goal celebrations being a terrific moment for any football fan. I remember the Germans looking knackered after such a hard fought semi final. Italy deserved their victory though, a classy side who vanquished an incredible Brazilian side fairly & squarely and ultimately could lay claim to be known as champions of the World.

I’ll write more anon but it’s late and the bed is calling!

The truth shall set you free!

Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free. (John 8:32 NIV)

What is the fascination with “real tv”?

“Big Brother”: Sitting at home watching other people sitting around at home. What genius came up with that format? He made millions with it as Society really has dumbed down and this is the information age?

“American Idol”, watch a bunch of nobodies wannabee somebodies!

“Survivor”, watch a bunch of wankers you would not share an island with, vote each other off in a show Machiavelli could not have dreamt up.

“The Apprentice”, living proof that there is such a thing as pond scum!

“Cheaters”, living proof there are such organisms beyond pond scum.

Forgive the appelations, the judging, the name-calling but I deplore the depths the media & TV in particular plumbs to in the dog eat dog world that is the "ratings war".

I could go on about these shows but I am losing the will to live as I type…the remote control is a magical box, the thumb a mighty digit, the power to save life as we know it!

What is the fascination with Poker? indeed the online poker phenomenon?…proof again that P.T. Barnum was right, “that there’s a sucker born every minute’ or to paraphrase that in modernese….”every nano second!”.

Obviously if you are reading this, you are looking at a screen which has buttons below it. These buttons when hit correctly, can direct you to any piece of information or misinformation possible on any subject under the heavens.

Yet people swallow claims from the publisher that ‘the De Vinci code’ is based on fact….oops. Really? Have a look-see! Amazing what a bit of research can do for the closed mind. Like all those conspiracy theorists want you to believe, the truth is out there!

All these devices to ease our lives, give us more leisure time….what do we do with that leisure time, keep going, do more mundane crap, like watch boring reality tv or write blogs……oh bugger!

In these troubled times, we would do well to pay heed to the Lord..."Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free". (John 8:32 NIV)

Ethnocentricities...part 1

Ethnocentricities….part 1.

I am accused by some arsigans (over here) of being ethnocentric, if it means being proud of one’s heritage, tradition, homeland, whatever…Yes, I am ethnocentric! - Unrepentant & unbowed. Indeed in the words of Brendan Behan, "F**k the begrudgers! ".

I am proud of where I come from, the people I grew up amongst and the ancestry we all revere. Part of the Celtic psyche is a deep affection for the land we spring from and the families we adhere to.

So without further ado, I’ll tell you of a common link between my home today (Cincinnati) and my home of yesteryear (Wexford), I discovered the other day whilst out with the family “taking the air’ at Sawyer Point in Cincinnati. Some interesting things happened that day, some interesting sights - but that’s for another day’s telling.

Some years ago, I marketed and sold a property called St.John’s Manor, a late Georgian residence situated a couple of miles down the river Slaney from Enniscorthy in County Wexford.

St. John's Manor

Selling the property was a formulative experience in my real estate career but a highly enjoyable one at the same time. The amount of times the property was viewed was in the hundreds incurring thousands of miles in driving and thousands of hours in viewing. The people I encountered were varied to say the least. I owe a huge debt of thanks to Pat & Brenda Murphy for giving me that commission.

As I was/am a local history buff, I researched my new charge and dug up an impressive history on the property. Founded as an Augustinian priory in 1232, the property remained in the hands of the church till the time of Henry the eight, who annexed the lands & property and leased the lands out eventually the lands being granted by Cromwell in 1652 to a minion for services rendered.

The property changed hands a number of times before a man who enjoyed/endured the name “Onesiphorous Gamble” inherited the demesne around 1780. farming was not his "gig" & the Gambles decided to emigrate to the newly founded United States. The family eventually located themselves in Cincinnati whereupon one of it’s members – James, met a fellow by the name of William Procter lately arrived from England and founded a soap making enterprise. Almost two hundred years later and their Company is one of the largest conglomerates in the world.

Regarding St. John’s, the current residence was built in 1810 by Dr. Charles Hill who had purchased the property from the Gamble family. The poet Thomas Kinsella had (if I recall) hadl links with the Manor and one of his most popular poems “Another September” was inspired by his visits there.

Dreams fled away, this country bedroom, raw

With the touch of dawn, wrapped in a minor peace,

Hears through an open window the garden draw

Long pitch black breaths , lay bear its apple trees,

Ripe pear trees, brambles, windfall-sweethened soil,

Exhale rough sweetness against the starry slates.

Nearer the river sleeps St.Johns, all toil

Locked fast inside a dream with iron gates.

Leaving cert poetry remembered !...I loved that phrase, "locked fast inside a dream with iron gates" but enough of the reverie. Back to Cinci & the ethnocentric Irishman...

There is a wealth of stories about the Irish in Cincinnati which I'll research and tell here eventually. We've made our mark in Medicine, Education, the Arts not to mention the Business World and I take great pride in celebrating their achievements - Ethnocentricity my arse!

A squalid little story ......

A squalid little story
I will begin to tell
Of mischief & folly,
& death in a hell

A gnarled old rowan
Twisted & torn
It’s stood here for ages
Before man was born

Spiraling up from the earth
In a climb to the sky
The age of the tree
Keeps her bent and awry

Along comes a farmer
New to the land
Addressing his workers
With his new master plan
Of tillage & rotation
And clearing the field
But the sum of his folly
Will be doom in its’ yield

“Take out that old tree
It’s no longer to stand
It's time it is over
I'm sure it was grand!"

"I’ve heard of that old stuff
Of faerys & forts
And I cannot be bothered
With tales of bad sport
From the “other crowd”
Or what have you
with their revenge & bad luck
To those they encounter
who are not wonder struck”

“Superstitious oul drivel
To keep us in check
So get busy with your cutting
Or the moon will be at your beck”

“All respect to you master
But we’ll have no part
In axing this old rowan
This job we will not start!”

“The good folk, we’ll be leavin’
Well enough alone
And if you have any sense sir
Don’t touch this old rowan”

“For to laugh at them wee folk
Is never a good thing
To show disrespect
Is to give evil a fling
For their ways
Are so wicked
When they are vexed
So be careful
What you say sir
Or your death will be next!”

“Away with you amadans!”
Said the fool of a man
“You’ll work for me never
With such a nonsensical plan
To use this oul yoke
As a scheme not to work
Sure I wasn’t born yesterday
So be off, let me look
At how I can tear her
Off this fine land
And plough this field over
And make it a stand
Against silly old stories
Of magical folk
Who exist in the minds
Of a simple poor folk”

“Who’ll never raise a finger
to ease their poor living
Only to cock a sly sneer
At those who are giving
Some work for the day
At a decent day’s rate
So be off on your way
And heed my advice
That this tree will be gone
In a matter of hours
So pay your respects now
Sure say it with flowers”

We left him there laughing
An axe in his hand
We hastened our departure
And got off their land

And when the first blow fell
It would ring down below
And the shrieks of their outrage
Would be bitter & low

The revenge would be horror
For the wielder above
For every blow falling
No death was enough

He hauled and he panted
This tree was no joke
Two blades had he blunted
A saw he had broke

“I’ll get you tomorrow”
He snarled at the bark
“Your hours are now numbered
I’ll be up with the lark!”

He wandered off cursing
His mood, it was night!
for he had a foreboding
that all was not right.

“That hacking makes one thirsty!
I’ll stop for some drink”
but his mood was no lighter
his spirit soon would sink

“A black moon is rising!”
said the old man by the fire
“You’ll do well to stay the night,
don’t go traveling that dark old byre”

“Away with ye now!
Don’t give me that guff
That fairy talk is nonsense !”
as he left in a huff

but he soon regretted his bravery
and his scorn at the old man
as he felt a dreadful presence
all around him so he ran

“So we don’t exist ye Gombeen?”
Said this wicked little voice
As several hand then grabbed him
Their touch cold as ice

He saw that he was hurtling
Towards a black abyss
As a cavern opened up in the fast approaching hillside
With a terrible, dreadful hiss

Suddenly he was airborne
Flung by hands unknown
Down a dark long cavern
Where life was never sown

It’s said that he is in there
By the folk that live around
Inside the fairy mountain
No more he’ll see the ground

So my listeners hear this story
And listen to my song
Never cut a rowan
Never do such wrong

Be careful where you throw your water
Give warning first
or the curse of the other crowd
will be an everlasting thirst

watch what you say in private
or in public jest
as you’ll never know who’ll be listening
you may have an unseen guest

so hark at what I tell you
don’t make me sad
never ever cut a rowan
or you’ll end up like that lad!

He’s below still in the bowels
Of what we call the earth
Howling like a banshee
Fueling the wee folks mirth

For they love getting
Their own back at those who disrespect
So make sure you tip your hat
When you hear a hidden step!

I told you I was ill!

Dúirt mé leat go raibh mé breoite (I told you I was ill).

The words on Spike Milligan’s gravestone, as gaeilge (in Gaelic) as the Church would not allow the English translation in its graveyard. Even in death, there was controversy & triumph.

Spike’s foolishness was my staple reading in the years 10 to 14 (and in the years beyond to the present day). I devoured anything I could find by him, his poetry, his wartime memoirs, the irrepressible puckoon... His TV show “Q” was incredible. To others it was self indulgent dross but I loved the anarchic silliness of it all. I remember the start of one episode as Spike turns up at Broadcasting House (the Beeb’s home) and takes out a giant wind up key, inserts it into the building and winds it up, starting the building…..simply brilliant, winding the BBC up which he enjoyed doing…years later I understood why.

The man is known as the father of British comedy but to be honest that is too shallow a title as British comedy is a huge force worldwide, I believe he should be known as a father of Global humour, many comedians today owe their living to this man smashing down the walls of comedy and opening up new vistas for them to perform

The “Beeb” could not understand the man or so they let on. Spike was convinced it was his “humble” beginnings which hamstrung him. He was reportedly very insecure over his lack of third level education which the college idiots at Broadcasting house turned up their noses at.

The fact was though, Spike was a manic depressive. An episode where he was bombarded in WW2 (he was an artllery signalman) had an apparent cataclysmic effect on his psyche. Reading his memoirs, it is apparent that this was the case. It is said that the line between genius & insanity is a thread. This statement unfortunately proved to be true as later on when Spike discovered fame in the Goons, the constant pressure of turning out weekly scripts threw him over the edge. In the rest of his career, Spike suffered a constant stream of mental/nervous breakdowns – Bi-polar disorder was eventually diagnosed. Milligan's own black comedy helping him to deal with this blight.

Spike was proud of his Irish roots, indeed he was proud of his Irish Citizenship and I daresay extremely proud his epitaph perplexed the powers that be! His character was incredibly complex, capable of a thousand moods. I care to remember him as a worthwhile human being who brought laughter to me on many a dark day!

If you want to read some of his stuff, start with "Puckoon", you'll never regret it!

memory scene

There is a field in my memory that looks down on a view so beautiful, it makes one weep to think of it. I am there now, gazing upon this vista, drinking it in.

The land below sweeps down to the sea in a rush of colour that only a summer in Ireland can create. Hues of green, of gold, crimsons, magentas, sapphire speckle before me. Waving barley fields bounded by blackberry laden bushes stretch beyond to the azure strip that is the Celtic sea. Fluffy white clouds drift lazily past on a kiss of breeze that ripples the water like a caress and flows through the barley like a mother gently smoothing her child’s hair.

The tang of the salt in this breeze tickles the senses and awakens me from my reverie. Curracloe falls before me, the pointing finger of forest & dunes that is Culleton’s gap stretches afar, into the distance. The north Slob on one side, the wide yellow strand on the other, lapped by the brine of the ancient water. Many childhood & adulthood days I have spent here, framed by laughter and lightness.

That is all I have now, memories of another land. A memory, my memories, fading as each day marches on into the future and then recedes into the shadows…much like the sun on it’s daily journey, a birth, a life, a death – the cycle turns & turns again.

"Chess"- the review

Have you ever sat through a performance where you cringe for the performers? Well I did tonight!

“’Her indoors” & I went to Chess and yes, it was the crap Broadway version as I feared. Performed by Cincinnati Music Theatre, who did a wonderful job with a flawed gem. The Broadway version is a convoluted if not conceited version of the original concept version of Bjorn Ullvaeus, Benny Anderson & Tim Rice.

Y’see, I was ruined years ago in relation to this show! I had seen the original version when it went on tour with Elaine Paige as Florence & Barbara Dickson as Svetlana. Then, a few years later, our own Wexford Light Opera Society did a superb and may I say World Class production, comparable to the West End production! It (the Wexford version) was theatrically stunning and the set design of the Redmond Brothers was simply incredible, let alone the musical direction & the choreography.

Back to CMT, they resurrected a show albeit the “arrrgh!” version and did a grand job of staging it. Bob Weidle, a former colleague of ours, playing the part of "Molokov" was wonderful. The part of Florence played by a lass rejoicing in the name of Alison Collins Elfline was a sterling performance whilst the part of Svetlana played by Kelsey McKelfresh (what a name, eh?) was a show-stopper, a wonderful singer! The principal male characters being outperformed by their female counterparts

All the cast were enthusiastic & capable. In fairness they did a great job with a book that was allegedly butchered by Richard Nelson at the behest of Trevor Nunn. (My opinion and I am entitled to it!). I just wish The American people could see Chess as it was intended.

I understand though that a contractual stipulation ensures that the London version, which to many fans was the source of the show's popularity and appeal, will (at this moment in time) never be seen in the United States.

It is a real pity as in this Broadway version;

• The whole plot is totally goofed up, arse over tit in favour of a more sugary taste to its American audience – When will this patronization of the paying public end on either side of the Atlantic pond and let them see a show the way it was originally written! As a result,

• The wonderful “Merano” is axed as the setting is now set between Thailand & Hungary (???) as opposed to Italy & Iceland (neutral venues).

• The Arbiter’s role now stripped back to essentially a walk-on with some “dialogue”. In the concept/original version, his opening number opens essentially Act 1 and is a great piece of theatre. The essential premise of the show musically, two acts, book-ended by 4 terrific musical pieces is thrown to the dogs in return for a cop out vis a vis the plot.

• Again the whole show is unbalanced as the prologue instead of being a choral piece is now an insipid lecture by Flo’s daddy as the Russians are invading Budapest…

• The wonderful defection scene in the British consulate (Embassy laments) chopped off as The Russian now defects tadaaa! to the states. Therefore the plot just falls flat on its big fat arse!

• The opener of Act 2, the brilliant “One night in Bangkok” is demoted to Act 1, diluting Act 2 and unbalancing the show dreadfully. “ONIB” is a high energy, pacy number, clearly an act opener not a filler scene.

• And of course the Yank wins when he is a total & utter jerk with no redeeming qualities when the whole point of the original book is that The American loses and redeems himself somewhat by coming to the aid of the (now British Citizen Russian, follow me, you’ll get there!) when he is confronted by the Molokov protégé automaton ….Think of Drago v Rocky in Rocky 4!

I could go on but I’ll stop here. I enjoyed the Cast and the production. They are clearly a committed bunch of people who clearly love their art and are to be congratulated for producing the show. They are a treasure in the community, bringing great talent to the public at an affordable price.

The main thing is that the missus enjoyed the evening and was pleased to see her old pal Bob do so well in the show.

If you want to find out more about Cincinnati Music Theatre,
Go here: http://www.cincinnatimusictheatre.org/

Wexford Light Opera Society, go here: http://www.wlos.org/

P.S. The new Indian restaurant in Eastgate , "Apna India" is the Dog's Bolli*...

"DEV"

"DEV" - the long fellow casts a long shadow!

Eamonn De Valera is a big name in my house. I grew up in a Fianna Fail Household, the party founded by “Dev” and to say it was a partisan upbringing would be not a million miles from the truth.

Fianna Fail is Gaelic for “Soldiers of Destiny”. Pronounced Feena fall, its longtime adversary was and indeed is Fine Gael (family of the Irish).

Fianna Fail has many faces, I suppose, to many people. To some they were ultra conservative, to others..ultra radical. Myself, I felt that the party was a populist party which until recently had not forgotten its roots basically the common people of Ireland. A center party with strong republican ideals.

Back in the seventies, my father became more involved in politics and I grew aware even more so of Dev & his legacy through my Grandfather Mick and from ‘my mother’s knee’ as the saying goes.

It was Fianna Fail Governments which instituted the great Drives in National Housing, Social security, Health, Education, Agriculture, Fisheries, Rural Electrification, National infrastructures. Huge bounds in eradicating TB were established by the Government and an Armagh man called Dr. James Deeny well before Noel Browne took credit for it in the first Inter-party Government.

My young mind then had not heard of “the cult of personality” but it was something very much a part of “the party”. The leaders were venerated. The links to 1916 always extolled.

As I sat in dusty party rooms during elections, I listened to the old party faithful describe the opposition (primarily “Fine Gael”) as blueshirts, west brits, and traitors (these were the nice names!) whilst the Labour party were treated with indifference mostly if nothing else. When I encountered the opposition’s old party faithful, they were equally as hostile, epithets like “Spanish Bastards” & “long fools” being thrown owing to the question of Dev’s parentage, name & height.

The legacy of the Civil war was still alive in those days, (the early 70’s) especially as the trauma of Northern Ireland unfolded. Dev was President at this stage. Alone in his house “in the park”. His party about to go into a 4 year hiatus as opposition before returning under Jack lynch to a huge majority. The previous “Fine Gael” led Government being associated with incredible hardship.

Anyway, I digress; the purpose of this commentary is to applaud “Dev” for a speech he made on the 16th of May, 1945. It is a wonderful retort to the Winston Churchill’s victory speech of three days earlier. Churchill simply has to be Statesman of the 20th century (in my book at least). When one considers titans like FDR, De Gaulle, JFK, Adenauer, Ben Gurion, Golda Meir, Gorbachev, it is not a lightly given accolade but one has to admire the stance that He and Britain took against Hitler & his fascist hordes in the spring of 1940…In this cynical age, it is good to stop and think about the terrible sacrifice that the young men & women of the allies made in the defeat of a terrible evil.

On 13 May 1945, towards the end of the Second World War, Winston Churchill in his Victory in Europe speech, broadcast to the world, was critical of Taoiseach Eamonn de Valera and Ireland's policy of neutrality throughout the war.

Churchill’s problem was with the Irish Government, not the people on this issue. The “master tactician” did not figure that Ireland joining the Allies would probably have prompted a German invasion, an invasion the British let alone the Irish could not have stopped. The German invasion of Greece and their airborne invasion of Crete showed they easily could have accomplished this fact. Churchill declared,

"Owing to the action of Mr. de Valera, so much at variance with the temper and instinct of thousands of Southern Irishmen who hastened to the battle-front to prove their ancient valour, the approaches and the Southern Irish ports and airfields could so easily have guarded were closed by the hostile aircraft and U-boats. This was indeed a deadly moment in our life, and if it had not been for the loyalty and friendship of Northern Ireland we would have been forced to come to close quarters with Mr. de Valera or perish forever from the earth."

Three days later, de Valera, in a much anticipated reply, outlined Ireland's right as an independent state to remain neutral. His response was praised widely in Ireland for its strength, dignity and restraint.

It is indeed fortunate that Britain's necessity did not reach the point when Mr. Churchill would have [invaded Ireland]. All credit to him that he successfully resisted the temptation which, I have not doubt, many times assailed him in his difficulties and to which I freely admit many leaders might have easily succumbed. It is indeed hard for the strong to be just to the weak, but acting justly always has its rewards.

By resisting his temptation in this instance, Mr. Churchill, instead of adding another horrid chapter to the already bloodstained record of the relations between England and this country, has advanced the cause of international morality an important step-one of the most important, indeed, that can be taken on the road to the establishment of any sure basis for peace. . .

Mr. Churchill is proud of Britain's stand alone, after France had fallen and before America entered the War.

Could he not find in his heart the generosity to acknowledge that there is a small nation that stood alone not for one year or two, but for several hundred years against aggression; that endured spoliations, famines, massacres in endless succession; that was clubbed many times into insensibility, but that each time on returning consciousness took up the fight anew; a small nation that could never be got to accept defeat and has never surrendered her soul?

Mr. Churchill is justly proud of his nation's perseverance against heavy odds. But we in this island are still prouder of our people's perseverance for freedom through all the centuries. We, of our time, have played our part in the perseverance, and we have pledged ourselves to the dead generations who have preserved intact for us this glorious heritage, that we, too, will strive to be faithful to the end, and pass on this tradition unblemished.

Stirring stuff, eh?

I remember an old cartoon in “Dublin Opinion”, featuring the “Bould”, Winston sitting by the wireless which is emitting the words “that was An Taoiseach, Eamonn De Valera”. Winston, cigar in hand..(with the caption bubble from his mouth) saying “listen & learn”.

The fact remains that Ireland’s neutrality was a positive neutrality in favour of the allies, such as allowing downed allied airmen return to the UK whilst imprisoning German officers for the term of the war. Not to mention allowing Irishmen to join the allies. (De Valera had imposed a prohibition on Irish Nationals joining Franco’s forces in 1936 in the Spanish civil war).

Still, it is a wonderful response from “Dev” to a Statesman that the world truly owes a debt to. Churchill’s marshalling of his Country’s reserves in her darkest days is indeed a stirring epic which will be recounted in the centuries to come. The horrors of Nazi Germany were yet to be unveiled at the time of these statements.

The above is also a testimony to the schizophrenic relationship that Ireland has with England. The shared ties are paradoxically the ties that bind. The language, religion, heritages that are inextricably bound together like twisted vines around an old oak tree. These ties are fast disappearing as both nations take their place in the new Europe which ironically, actually seems to be bringing the nations closer together than ever before.

History is a poisoned chalice, we would do well to remember to never sip from that cup again.

Two in a row, We're having a laugh!

Two in a row, We’re having a laugh!

Chelsea kicked the seven colours of sh*te out of Manchester United last Saturday to clinch the Premiership for the third time in our history and second year in a row. To win in front of a home crowd - the season’s Gong but against Manure and to outclass them for 90 minutes in a 3-0 romp was “dreamtime” as the aborigines would say down under.

Chant of the day was Man United fans were singing “You’re not Chelsea anymore “as Stamford Bridge sang back “You’re not Champions anymore”.

We still have a way to go but the Champion’s league is not that far off, the other incidentals like FA Cups, league Cups will follow. Two in a row gives Chelsea that title we always lacked – consistency!

Many thanks, Mr. Mourinho!

Chess

Well Les Miserables came & went, the wife loved it and that is all that matters in the end, I guess. 2700 souls filled the P&G hall and enjoyed the show too.

We are off to see Chess next in the smaller Jarson – Kaplan theatre which reminds me of my former stomping grounds in the Theatre Royal back home in Wexford. Indeed It is being produced by Cincinnati Music theatre which is akin I imagine to an old friend of mine, Wexford Light Opera Society.

Working backstage there was great fun and “Chess” was one of the shows, the W.L.O.S. produced some years ago (I think 1996). I saw the original show about 1990 in the Point Depot in Dublin and it was a wonderful production, great score & story by Bjorn Ullvaeus & Benny Andersen, brilliant lyrics by Tim Rice.

I just hope the version in Cincinnati is the concept version that I write of above and not the terrible crap that was rewritten for Broadway.

A bloody good laugh!

I’ve noticed I’ve been getting a little heavy on here lately, not just the sugary tea & the waist line either!

One of my favourite websites when I need a good laugh is Joel Veitchs’ rathergood.com, His singing kittens are the biz! Simply brilliantly silly!
I particularly like this clip,
http://www.rathergood.com/independent_woman/
Anyway more mayhem can be found at http://www.rathergood.com/, Bookmark this site!

"Danzan solas" (They dance alone)"

I was about 18 when I saw “Missing”. A movie starring Jack Lemmon as an American looking for his son who had gone missing in the Chilean coup in 1973. I remember being struck by the powerful message of the film, the crawling desperation of the father as the sheer hopelessness/helplessness of the situation develops. All that he found certainty in, being stripped away before his eyes. A tragic yet brilliant movie….

When Pinochet & his junta grabbed power on September 11, they wasted little time in silencing effective opposition to their power-grab using the main soccer stadium in Santiago as a Concentration camp for one.

Pinochet lost power in 1988, the matter of his indictment in the torture & murder of his citizens has not been effected..yet!

Ten years later as I watched the Chilean national team sing their anthem at the World Cup in France, I will never forget the passion those lads poured into the lyrics, pride in their country and the long journey out of a dark & brutal night.

I’m a fan of Sting, who wrote this beautiful ballad (below) in honour of the women of the missing of Chile. The mothers, wives, sisters who danced alone in a park in Santiago..a silent protest, a protest of immense dignity….Dancing a Chilean dance, “La Cueca”. Their dance was a symbol of the silent courage of the oppressed masses, a testament to the will of the common people will overcome tyranny in the end.


"They Dance Alone"
Why are there women here dancing on their own?
Why is there this sadness in their eyes?
Why are the soldiers here
Their faces fixed like stone?I
can't see what it is that they despise
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone

It's the only form of protest they're allowed
I've seen their silent faces scream so loud
If they were to speak these words
they'd go missing too
Another woman on a torture table
what else can they do

They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
Their anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone

One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance
One day we'll dance on their graves
One day we'll sing our freedom
One day we'll laugh in our joy
And we'll dance

Ellas danzan con los desaparecidos
Ellas danzan con los muertos
Ellas danzan con amores invisibles
Ellas danzan con silenciosa angustia
Danzan con sus padres
Danzan con sus hijos
Danzan con sus esposos
Ellas danzan solas
Danzan solas

Hey Mr. Pinochet
You've sown a bitter crop
It's foreign money that supports you
One day the money's going to stop
No wages for your torturers
No budget for your guns
Can you think of your own mother
Dancing with her invisible son
They're dancing with the missing
They're dancing with the dead
They dance with the invisible ones
They're anguish is unsaid
They're dancing with their fathers
They're dancing with their sons
They're dancing with their husbands
They dance alone
They dance alone


More on Chile and her recent travails found here http://www.chipsites.com/derechos/dictadura_victimas_eng.html

La Guantanamera

"Man loves liberty, even if he does not know that he loves it. He is driven by it and flees from where it does not exist". - Jose Marti, Cuban Statesman, Poet, and Journalist (1853-1895)

I love music!

It seems these days I am listening to a lot of stuff from the sixties. Maybe it is because I was a baby/toddler/youngster and that time was a happy period in my life. Maybe it’s because I remember the optimism of those earlier years and the music reflected that.

In these days I tend to go back to “La Guantanamera” a lot. It is a song I heard a lot of when I was a kid…I remember I loved the chorus, never knowing what it stood for or indeed what the preceding Spanish verses meant! Just the sheer beauty of the sounds made me smile then.

Years later it was adopted with adjusted lyrics by various football fans on countless terraces around Britain & Ireland. I heard it with a deal of sadness when The Republic of Ireland beat Northern Ireland 3-0, “one team in Ireland, there’s only one team in Ireland”. I loathe the fact that the small island of Ireland has to have two football teams when we are united in other sports. I imagined that the writer of the true lyrics Jose Marti would not have appreciated the sentiments of the crowd in Lansdowne Road that day as it was a poem identified (with) the love of freedom for his native Cuba…It is a beautiful song, set to a traditional Cuban air by Jose Fernandez Diaz.

Yo soy un hombre sincero I am a truthful man
De donde crece la palma From where the palm tree grows
Y antes de morirme quiero And before dying I want
Echar mis versos del alma To let out the verses of my soul
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Mi verso es de un verde claro My verse is light green
de un carmín encendido And it is flaming crimson
Mi verso es un ciervo herido My verse is a wounded fawn
Que busca en el monte amparo Who seeks refuge on the mountain
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Cultivo una rosa blanca I grow a white rose
En julio como en enero In July just as in January
Para el amigo sincero For the honest friend
Que me da su mano franca Who gives me his open hand
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

Con los pobres de la tierra With the poor people of the earth
Quiero yo mi suerte echar I want to share my luck
El arroyo de la sierra The stream of the mountains
Me complace más que el mar Gives me more pleasure than the sea
Guantanamera, guajira Guantanamera

The sheer beauty of the lyrics even in English is breath-taking, I simply love this song and Pete Seeger’s 1963 live recording of it is incredible. The world owes a great debt to Pete for keeping songs such as this in the public consciousness….more on that man later.

As I play the song my two year old “sings” along to the melody…the torch is passed!

Easter Monday, 1916

Easter Monday, 1916.

The day it all began, Ireland would never be the same again nor would the British Empire for that mater.

A mere handful of men fought the might of the British Army in a doomed battle and little more than 5 years later, managed to drive them to the negotiating table and out of Ireland, well almost.

The Empire’s denizens, suffering her imperial presence, furtively took notice and asked, “Well if the Irish can do it and they live next door! well we can do it here too!”
Whether “here” was the Indian Sub Continent, South, East or West Africa, the Middle East & Palestine. Wherever territory was ruled by the Union Jack”. Ireland’s fellow strugglers were heartened by her resolve & her spirit and adopted the Irish principle of “why not?” In the course of the next 40 years, the sun set on an ever shortening empire as people after people rose up against Whitehall.

Not much notice is taken of that week in Ireland by World Historians but its effect in history are still felt today. Just as dramatic as a certain “Tea-Party” in Boston and almost equally as important.

The irony is that those ideals that liberated Ireland in 1921 and consequently lit the torch paper to the destruction of the empire was American in its concept. The ideals of 1776 inspired those men of 1916 as the founder of Modern Irish Republicanism – Theobald Wolfe Tone was a devotee of Jefferson, Franklin & Paine.

Perfect day

Today was wonderful!

The family spent a lovely day in Dayton, paid a visit to Wright Patterson AFB.


We signed up for the Presidential Tour and made a call to "SAM 26000". The VC 137c, (Boeing 707) - JFK's Air Force 1 which bore him to Dallas on that fateful day and bore his remains back to Washington. It was eerie to stand in the area where Johnson took the oath of office, Jackie stunned, gazing on.....a tragic day not just for America but the World!

The Craft of FDR, Truman, Eisenhower not to mention that above 707 which served JFK, Johnson, Nixon, Ford & Carter are all here. Fascinating viewing.

The little fellah loves aircraft and he fell in love with the XB-70 “Valkyrie”. It is truly a beautiful craft, quite breathtaking. Only two were built, one crashed in 1968, the other remains and lives in a hangar on the base proper.

Other craft to live here include the Douglas x-3, "the stiletto" dating from the early 50's, incredible elan in it's design.
The Hawker Siddeley Harrier, the first V-STOL aircraft much loved by aircraft buffs the world over. The F-16 by General Dynamics. The X-15 by North American, without which the space program may well have faltered as it's research in test flights was of incalculable value to the Mercury, Gemini & Apollo projects. Stealth technology like "Tacit Blue" by Northrop, and much more. Altogether it was an amazing tour, 45 minutes though is all you have!

We enjoyed the IMAX movie, the youngest member of the family totally entranced by the Helicopters featured doing their turns, spins and death defying stunts.

When we arrived home, I was greeted by the news that I am now eligible to apply for Citizenship of this wonderful land. It has been a strange journey to this point with many twists and turns. For all those I have encountered upon it, thank you for your compassion and understanding. May you be truly blessed in all your endeavours. To all my wonderful friends thank you for your support throughout.

Thanks to the Lord Jesus for his wonderful gift on this Passover weekend, the Passover Lamb comes through for us all with a little faith, even if it is a mere mustard seed - that is all he requires.

Sorry if I am appearing mystical here but God alone knows what am I talking about. It is a huge weight of my shoulders.

"Such a perfect day", Lou Reed could not say it any better!

Easter 1916

Speaking to my Mother moments ago, she told me of the easter parade in Dublin commemorating the events of this week 90 years ago in Ireland.

It was 90 years ago today that my Grandfathers Mick Wade & Paddy Kiernan were getting ready to strike a blow for Irish freedom.

Being Ireland & the Irish, The head of the Irish Volunteers ordered that Body to stand down; almost all did including my Grandfather Kiernan’s battalion in Co.Cavan.

My Grandfather Wade’s comrades in Dublin were a different matter. He was a very young adjutant under the command of a man called Eamonn DeValera, a U.S. born teacher of mathematics at Blackrock College and a rising light in the Independence movement.

They occupied Boland’s Mills guarding the approaches from (then) Kingstown’s harbour and denying the British easy egress to the city Center with re-inforcements.

Many talk, indeed sing about the G.P.O. and that doomed but beautiful struggle that lit the torch paper of Irish freedom but Boland’s Mills was different. It was a successful military operation, imposing huge casualties on the occupying forces.

My own Counties of Dublin (birth) & Wexford (upbringing) rose against the British that week plus an action in Galway.
My Grandfather Wade had a huge fondness of all things Wexford as a result ever since that date and indeed for those areas that obeyed Pearse’s instructions on that fateful Easter weekend.

At the end of the week, With the city ablaze & the native populace spitting at the participants - the British thought they had killed Irish freedom forever, but three days later as the executions began & the peals of the requiem bells rung out across the land, Freedom rose from the grave and as in the words of the poet, “a terrible beauty was born”. The irony is not lost on one as I write these words on this particular day.

I’ll write more of the events of this week later but it’s Easter Sunday. I can’t help thinking of my Grandfather Mick now. At this time 90 years ago, what thoughts were going through his young mind preparing for war. The fear & anticipation he must have felt, the anxiety & the determined knowledge that he was right. To free his homeland, a war of independence. His sacrifice and My God!., did he sacrifice a lot. He must have realized that life would never be the same again

Deadbeat poetry contest winner 2001

A sort of Irish peace . . .

Beyond the mute TV Screens
Beyond the limp handshakes
Beyond the forced hilarity
Of false bonhomie
And goodwill to all men
through gritted teeth
Beyond the bland smiles
and empty posturing of graceless politicos
lies a peace process
that took two score more years
and then some to discuss
the blood of three thousand martyrs
cries out the grave
"We died for this peace
-- Make it work!"

5 years ago I entered this “masterpiece” in the local Citybeat…jayze, didn’t they put it in the paper as a winner despite some whining from them about people not putting in as much as the year before.

Well 5 years on and I am still awaiting my prize/s , We’ve had 911, the war on terror, war in Afghanistan, war in Iraq, the Muppets join Disney, Chelsea win their first league Championship in 50 years, I become a dad!...and still no prize!

No wonder people weren’t bothered sending in stuff…they never got anything back!

That is why I refer to Citybeat amongst polite company as Deadbeat!

http://citybeat.com/2001-06-28/cover9.shtml

Hackwatch

The Da Vinci code & other hackworks….

What is all this hoopla about this bloody book? It is fiction, folks, fiction…and people get their knickers in a knot about it?…Whoever is the PR person at Random House - He/She should get pr award of the decade!

There is an Industry spawned on this book and one can only laugh, throw a dog a bone, I guess and he’ll gnaw away!

It almost reminds me of James Joyce and some of the assorted glitterati that follow him, trying to make head & tail out of “Ulysses” not to mention “Finnegan’s Wake”. I have tried to understand these Joycean scholars & their constant theorizing on Leopold Bloom but I simply don’t get it, maybe I am simply not an intellectual…or maybe is it that I feel like the child in that fable of “The Emperor’s New Clothes” when surrounded by these “Arsigans”. It's almost like being a Chelsea supporter or getting lost in the turmoils of a writer like Brendan Behan!

I enjoy Joyce but then again I enjoy Enid Blyton too!

The man was ahead of his time, pushed out the boundaries of writing and in so doing, brought reflected glory to his countrymen - reinforcing the view of the Emerald Isle as a place of “Saints & Scholars”. It’s a pity in those days that the saints ran the scholars out of the country! More’s the pity that Mr. Joyce eked out a living at the end of his days thanks to their fascism.

A decent man called Philip Thompson organizes a “Bloomsday” on or around June 16th in Jack Quinn’s Alehouse in Covington. The following is an article with Mr. T who explains his passion to Citybeat (a great paper for lagging btw!).

http://www.citybeat.com/2001-06-14/art.shtml

LOURDES!

Accuiel de Notre Dame - Hostel of Our lady

It took a year to build this Hostel which has incredible hospital like facilities for the sick

& elderly.. It is a marvel and typical of the French flair, their élan…their stunning style in architecture through all the ages..yes I am a Francophone!

Lourdes is a very special place for me. I have witnessed many miracles there. Not the miracles one usually thinks of, the crippled kid leaping out of a wheelchair but the miracles of seeing amazing dignity at work. The power to transform within, spiritual miracles….

It is easy to get bogged down in theology, codology whatever! It is a special place for me, period! Millions of people come there to pray, to reconcile, to accept.

The power of that prayers lingers on, it is tangible even to the cynical like me as I discovered one morning at 3am in the grotto, The river gave is roaring past but the tranquility all encompassing…lives change totally when one is looking earnestly for God. He does listen!

It’s a pity we don’t talk to him more often.

Oliver & Martin

Oliver Sinnott & Martin Goff

I just heard about the passing of a decent man. Oliver Sinnott was one of those rare people you meet…a true Christian.

Oliver was a renowned actor, a penchant for the comedic but sublimely gifted in the art of drama itself. I saw him first in Billy Roche’s first staging of “The Boker Poker Club” or more famously known as “A handful of stars” in Wexford’s Arts Center.

I first met Ollie properly in the Order of Malta Ambulance Corps, - The modern Sovereign Military Order of Malta or indeed the Knights of Malta as we are commonly called by the populace.

One of our duties, privileges rather was to assist in the Ferns Diocesan pilgrimage to Lourdes which is held every May.

I had the privilege of working with him in Lourdes, a place that truly is a sanctuary to me but more of that anon.

Oliver cared, the only attribute worth having when assisting in the Hospital at Lourdes. His attitude to those less fortunate and in distress was a beacon to those around him especially us younger ones who could only hope to learn from him. He had his moments as we all do but he helped me immeasurably in learning to care, to aid…He above all others taught me the true motto of the Knights “Our Lords, the poor, the infirm & the old” when in his company there.

I hope I learned something from Oliver as indeed I did from another wonderful friend & Lourdes Comrade - Martin Goff who passed away a couple of years ago, his demise left a big hole in my heart…Another wonderful Christian whose laughter I can still hear today!

Martin would explode into a room with the word “God save all here!” or “God bless the work!”. I confess Martin & I would often have a few jars after a busy shift be it in France or after “fence duty” on a greasy day in Lyngstown at a “point to point”. There wasn’t a “shibeen” unknownst to us in the south east of Ireland as we traveled each weekend to cover first aid or care duties in the darkest corners of Wexford & Waterford.

I worked with “Goff” in Dun Mhuire, the parish hall of Wexford, as a stagehand on many shows. Once more the “craic” was ninety as tricks on the unfortunate cast were planned & schemed upon. He was simply a joy to be around, I am laughing as I type as I think of some of the jokes he told, some of the pranks he played, too ribald to type here but maybe someday……

Martin though was simply brilliant as a Human being, His visits to the forgotten in those monolithic nursing homes. The sheer joy he brought to those lonely souls, telling them news from their parish. He was a phenomenal fund raiser too, He would have been a multi millionaire save for his humanity..He was too honest. The man was a dynamo!

My heart goes out to his wife Kathleen & their family….as indeed to Oliver’s wife Peggy & their family. God bless them all.

Dirty old town

Covington's latest star

"The Ascent at Roebling's Bridge"

by Daniel Libeskind

Les Miserables

I remember a fellah called Les Dawson who was bloody hilarious but who is Les Miserables?, his Greek cousin?

Seriously, her indoors has never seen the show yet so as it is on its last legs…tour I mean, it will be coming to the Queen city on the 28th of this month so we’ll head down-town, I have already ordered the limousine from Brinks & taken out three more life policies as we venture into Cincinnati/nasty/natty.

It has all the qualities to be a lovely city but as always grasps defeat from the jaws of victory. Meanwhile across the river, Newport & Covington are fast developing into the type of City that Cinci wanted to be.

Daniel Libeskind, he of the new towers in NYC (to replace & commemorate the World Trade Center) has designed a beautiful 21 floor tower in Covington which will be built in the next year.

Other developments are taking place in the area, developments that should have been in Cincinnati. The “Banks” controversy, a searing indictment of the stupid politicking & no imagination that City Council has displayed in what really is an elegant city. Hopefully new mayor, Mark Mallory can knock some heads together, get a consensus on what is good for the city and bring her back. He seems a decent man and may be able to make Cinci the place to be …but don’t hold your breath.

Les Miserables, fitting isn’t it?

On our travels....

Chelsea - Milan

That’s yours truly with the Coor’s jersey, the 16 yr old with the Black shirt & the missus & baby in between
knackered by 100 degree heat or so it felt!

Last July we spent a few days in NY, well New Jersey really, well New Brunswick actually, in the garden state...well you get my drift.Anyway, the "Chels" were in town and the NY blues were putting on a show and we had a great time.

On the Friday, we met up with Mike Neat, who had our tickets for us and did a magnificent job of orchestrating the Blue supporters from all around and corralled us into our very own "shed end" at the northern end of the stadium.

Mike also ensured we got passes for the following day's training session and we had a blast with the lads.

Frankie Lampard looked surprised when I proffered him my toddler's shoes to sign but loved the idea and likewise Peter Cech & Billy Gallas did the honours...it will be a treasured keepsake for the little man as he grows up.

The game was alright I guess, a chance to see some of the new players play...a chance to see another favourite team of mine, Milan play my beloved Chelsea, two great goals...a 1-1 draw in the end.

More to come

hallo again....

A long time since I last posted.
The young fellah is now 2 years 4 months old and I have to say every day is a blessing. He is great fun and developing into a wonderful personality.
Thank God, I have a lovely family and a wonderful missus! It is great to be able to recognise that fact too, I imagine.
We're off to Wright Patterson (yet again) on Monday. The baby loves aircraft...(dunno where he gets that from?) but oh well, I'll have to toe along I guess.

A thought......

"One day I was sitting on the banks of the river. I took from the water a round stone and I broke it. Inside it was perfectly dry. That stone had been lying in the water for a very long time but the water had not penetrated it. Then I thought that the same thing happened to men in Europe. For centuries they had been surrounded by Christianity but Christianity had not penetrated, does not live within them".

Sandhu Sundar Singh (1889-1929)


Sky over Bannow Bay, Co.Wexford, Ireland Sept 11, 1999

Rumours, Rumours.......

Barcelona negotiating with Ronaldinho earlier today.

Ronaldinho to Chelsea?

Apparently the silly season is flying with reports that Brazil's answer to Bugs Bunny is going to Chelsea for $100 million.

As if we need him......!!!!

Anyway, The Blue ones, champions of England at last, fly into the States at the end of this month. We intend on being at least in New York for the game versus some crowd called AC Milan. The US, NY & Mid-West Blues will be out in force at all three of Chelsea's games on tour.

Kudos to the Neat brothers, Mike & Steve of New York Blues for setting up a wonderful weekend in NY/NJ.....these guys do terrific work for the club and deserve a place in whatever blue heaven we all go to as the soccer cliche puts it..."at the end of the day".

London, July 7, 2005

London, July 7, 2005

The Morning Rush-Hour...

No words of mine are of use here but the Mayor of London, Ken Livingstone spoke for us all who love the City.

Mayor condemns terrorist attack as cowardly -

This was a cowardly attack, resulting in injury and loss of life, and aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. -->
This was a cowardly attack, which has resulted in injury and loss of life. Our thoughts are with everyone who has been injured, or lost loved ones. I want to thank the emergency services for the way they have responded.
Following the al-Qaeda attacks on September 11th in America we conducted a series of exercises in London in order to be prepared for just such an attack. One of the exercises undertaken by the government, my office and the emergency and security services was based on the possibility of multiple explosions on the transport system during the Friday rush hour. The plan that came out of that exercise is being executed today, with remarkable efficiency and courage, and I praise those staff who are involved.
I'd like to thank Londoners for the calm way in which they have responded to this cowardly attack and echo the advice of the Metropolitan Police Commissioner Sir Ian Blair – do everything possible to assist the police and take the advice of the police about getting home today.
I have no doubt whatsoever that this is a terrorist attack. We did hope in the first few minutes after hearing about the events on the Underground that it might simply be a maintenance tragedy. That was not the case. I have been able to stay in touch through the very excellent communications that were established for the eventuality that I might be out of the city at the time of a terrorist attack and they have worked with remarkable effectiveness. I will be in continual contact until I am back in London.
I want to say one thing specifically to the world today. This was not a terrorist attack against the mighty and the powerful. It was not aimed at Presidents or Prime Ministers. It was aimed at ordinary, working-class Londoners, black and white, Muslim and Christian, Hindu and Jew, young and old. It was an indiscriminate attempt to slaughter, irrespective of any considerations for age, for class, for religion, or whatever.
That isn't an ideology, it isn't even a perverted faith – it is just an indiscriminate attempt at mass murder and we know what the objective is. They seek to divide Londoners. They seek to turn Londoners against each other. I said yesterday to the International Olympic Committee, that the city of London is the greatest in the world, because everybody lives side by side in harmony. Londoners will not be divided by this cowardly attack. They will stand together in solidarity alongside those who have been injured and those who have been bereaved and that is why I'm proud to be the mayor of that city.
Finally, I wish to speak directly to those who came to London today to take life.
I know that you personally do not fear giving up your own life in order to take others – that is why you are so dangerous. But I know you fear that you may fail in your long-term objective to destroy our free society and I can show you why you will fail.
In the days that follow look at our airports, look at our sea ports and look at our railway stations and, even after your cowardly attack, you will see that people from the rest of Britain, people from around the world will arrive in London to become Londoners and to fulfil their dreams and achieve their potential.
They choose to come to London, as so many have come before because they come to be free, they come to live the life they choose, they come to be able to be themselves. They flee you because you tell them how they should live. They don’t want that and nothing you do, however many of us you kill, will stop that flight to our city where freedom is strong and where people can live in harmony with one another. Whatever you do, however many you kill, you will fail.

Ketchup!

Home thoughts from abroad...
It’s hard not to grin like a Cheshire cat these days…Flying in the League..3 games from our first Championship in half a century!

Mourinho is having a laugh with the Football authorities showing them up to be the pompous buffoons we all know them to be. To see & hear Arsene Wenger keening like a French Banshee and Alex Ferguson contenting himself with an FA Cup run…these indeed are heady days for a Chelsea fan.

The greatest day of my life was the birth of my son!. Now whether it was in the subconscious or whatever but when he popped out into the world I sung to him two songs in that delivery room “Molly Malone” and “One man went to mow..” , the respective anthems of my birth city, Dublin and the sporting love of my life, Chelsea FC.

He’s sixteen months old now, the owner of two CFC kits as well as a Wexford kit plus his own hurl and ball. Whenever Fox Soccer Channel comes on, he jigs to the music and cheers to the “Chels” on the pitch. Already he has had a spot on a TV program, Chelsea fan and all round good guy Steven Cohen read him a dedication on Fox Soccer Friday last December on his first birthday.

Needless to say, I believe the next greatest day is soon to follow when John Terry lifts the premier league trophy.

Odds & Sods!

We (that was a royal we, meaning her indoors and myself) went to see Tom Jones last week. At the shows end, I counted 24 pairs of knickers on the stage, not bad for a 65 year old boy from the valleys…a great show, a great showman. Great to see fellow Celts in the numerous welsh who were present, glowing in my congratulations on their rugby team winning their first grand slam in 27 years and more power to them! With regard to the Knickers owners, they obviously didn’t count on it been so windy as they were whistling down Broadway after the show’s end…giving that piece of anatomy a second purpose in life! well at least that night!

Sting is next on the list next week. We’ll be visiting Oxford on the Ohio-Indiana border for that. Joe Jackson comes to Cincinnati next but Ticket master are scalping us with a $20 cover fee for two $33 tickets…it is getting ridiculous so I’ll hold fire on that.

The night before Tom Jones, we went to see Columbus crew open their MLS season v LA Galaxy…atrocious weather made an atrocious match..3-0 to the Crew

The Clan went to Chicago last month…all I can say about that is what a wonderful city it is. Wonderful architecture, tremendous attractions, fabulous restaurants and simply lovely people…we’ll be going back there very soon. The Missus’ maternal family is from Chicago and I know it was emotional for her, the first time she visited her mom’s old haunts and neighborhoods.

If ever you go there buy the Citypass combo pack…great value altogether.
http://citypass.com/city/chicago.html Check it out here!

England plays the US at Soldier Field and methinks I may head there if the Chelsea contingent doesn’t cry off.

Finally

The New York & US Blues heads to “Mecca” next week and take in The Fulham and Arsenal games….here’s wishing them all a safe and hugely enjoyable trip…fantastic people…we are close to setting up the Ohio branch here very shortly…details will be announced presently.

The Borstal Boy

March 23rd, 1964

A wonderful talent died.

Brendan Behan was a force of nature!



He left behind a small but brilliant body of work..a few plays, a couple of novels, some observations on Ireland, New York plus a miscellany of short stories based mainly on the colourful characters one meets in the public houses of Ireland.

For anybody who has not discovered his work. Read “Borstal Boy” first. It is simply one of the most human and humane pieces of prose committed to paper.

Behan was paranoid about being found out. He felt he had no talent and his luck would run out. People would discover that his maverick genius would be declared a fake. He tormented himself with this fear and hid it from the world with a sham air of drunken belligerence.

There is a link with my family which I will not divulge here. My parents remember him well.

He died 6 months before I entered the world. Alcohol and diabetes had destroyed his small but ample frame.

I’ll write more on the laughing boy soon and indeed his contemporaries who are sadly overlooked by the Intelligentsia on both sides of the Atlantean pond. It’s late and I’ve yet to arrange travel for my clan to the windy city.

(c) deadlydesh2005

Jose's first trophy......

No rest for the wicked!

I haven’t blogged in a while so here goes.

Chelsea had a blip on their travels recently, bounced out of the FA cup by a workaday Newcastle team and beaten by Barcelona in the Champion’s league first leg due to some really dodgy refereeing.

Normal service was resumed when the Blues beat Liverpool in the Carling Cup Final in The superb Millennium Stadium in Cardiff. It was a great game, well worth the PPV price – even it was a gouge!

Liverpool scored first with a superb John Arne Riise volley after only 45 seconds and having dominated the opening 45 seconds fell under a relentless Chelsea siege until Steven Gerrard their captain scored his first goal for Chelsea. This prompted Jose Mourinho to remind the Assembled Media to shut the f**k up and mistakenly was taken up by those sensitive scouse souls in the stands beyond to be a gesture towards their “chirpy bantering” towards the Chelsea bench

Extra time saw Chelsea take a 3-1 lead through Didier Drogba and Mateja Kezman. A late Nunez foul on Peter Cech was allowed to stand and the goal that resulted did so too.

Man of the match for me was Claude Makalele. He was simply everywhere! Richard Carvalho, John Terry and Paolo Ferreira (despite his awol for Riise’s goal) ran him close.


John, Stevie & Eidur enjoy a grand day out!

Final score: Chelsea 3 Liverpool 2

(c) deadlydesh2005

Glossary of my language

One of my hobbies is etymology, if you don’t know what it means get a dictionary!
But seriously though, my American pals & colleagues always get confused and sometimes worried when I use the following terms, in conversation or work situations.

So in an effort at Détente, International Co-Operation, World Peace and simply to clarify the meanings for the American (& indeed British) reader, I have embarked on writing a small list which I may add to from time to time.

Hopefully, this list will explain words as they are to me and ought to be to them! (In my mindJ!).

Arse: Ass as in posterior.
(e.g.) “He is a right pain in the arse!” Also can be used as a term of defiance as in “I will in me arse!”

Bog: A term of disdain normally used by townies and Dubliners to the country side.
“Get back to the Bog, ya culchie!”. It can also refer to the bathroom, as in “I’m going to the bog!”

Bollocks, Bollix: means literally testes/testicles but usually as a term of enragement. However it can be used as a term of endearment depending on the tone it is said in.
“You Lousy bollocks!’ “He’s only a bollox!” “A pain in the bollocks!”

Bum: Arse
“He is a pain in the Bum!”

Crack, Craic: Fun!
(e.g.) “We had great crack in Dublin!” “What’s the crack?” meaning “What are we going to do?’

Culchie: a term usually used by Dubliners but invariably other East Coast Townies to country folk. Apparently, the term has its roots from Kiltymagh, Co. Mayo (pronounced Culchiemack) although a lot of people believe it was a reference to agriculture including the writer of this piece.

Cute: It can have the normal meaning of “awwww” or it can mean sly or cunning.
(e.g.) “Mind him! He’s a cute bastard!”

Doss: To not work. (e.g.) “I had a right doss at school today!”

Dosser: A lazy person (e.g.) “He’s a real dosser!”

Fag: a cigarette
(e.g.) “I am dying for a fag!” “I need a fag!” “I’d kill for a fag!”

Fairy: a member of the Tuatha De Danann. An ancient Irish citizen to be treated with respect and due deference when encountered on a dark night. We never refer to them as fairies normally though. The term usually referred to is “one of the other crowd!” If somebody is daydreaming, it has been heard that “He is away with the fairies!”

Feck: The Irish lite version of F*ck. Like its stronger “Anglo” cousin can mean a whole raft of meanings like
To Feck: to steal
“Feck that!” : “No way!”
“Feck off!” : “Leave me alone!”
“fecking, feckin’” Adjective of
“Fecker”: Pest or alternatively a term of endearment.
Can be used dazzlingly together like, “Feck off! Ye Feckin’ fecker!”.

Gay: happy, go lucky though it isn’t used much anymore. It also is a man’s name, shortened version of Gabriel as in Gabriel or Gay Byrne.

Gob: Mouth
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!’

Gobshite: a bull shitter, a fool
(e.g.) “Never mind that Gobshite!”


Gurrier: a youth of low moral caliber. Brave when they have a few cans of cider and hunt in packs. Picking normally on an isolated or lone individual. They can be found in all social strata. Usually they grow up to be rugby players, tax collectors and lawyers.
(e.g). "They are a right, nasty bunch of Gurriers!'


Hoor: Whore nominally but as in all things Irish, it has a plethora of meanings like;
“Watch that one! He’s a cute hoor!”
“Ye hoor, yeh!” - Exclamation of surprise or disdain
“ye little hoor!” :- loving term from your mom!

Jacks: a term used by Dubliners in reference to the bathroom.
(e.g.) “I’m off to the jacks!”

Joint: side of roast beef. The traditional Irish and British Sunday dinner. Simply put an institution of both Islands.
(e.g.) “Granny really loved the Sunday Joint”. “The family had a joint on Sunday”.

Knacker: a term used for a tinker usually in a disparaging manner. It is usually referred though to a person of low social standing or class. A person of unsophisticated tastes.
(e.g.) “He’s only a knacker, don’t mind him”
“They’re a bunch of knackers!’ in reference say to a football/soccer team whose tactics are, shall we say, dubious or uncompromising at best.

From the root of Knacker, we get

Knackered: which means tired¹ but also can be used as beaten²?
(e.g.)¹ “I am Knackered, , I haven’t slept in days!’
(e.g.)² “We’re knackered now, they’ve scored again!”

Lad: A term for a boy normally but when “the ”is put before it, it has only one meaning in the Irish psyche meaning the male appendage or penis. Always referred to in the third person.
(e.g.) “How’s the lad?” a popular greeting among (usually) young Irish males in a light hearted enquiry as to one’s sex life. Amongst Older Irish males though, it is normally an enquiry about one’s self in the third person! A reflection on the libido I guess as one gets older

Mickey: Pet name for the penis as in “Me Mickey is itchy!” usually overheard from a pack of Gurriers on a Saturday night in a fast food outlet

Quare: Odd, not right.
(e.g.). “Something is quare here!” or “That’s quare!”

Quare fella: Usually a term for Satan or the devil.
(e.g.) “I think he’s in with the quare fella!”

Redneck: A term for a culchie or a countryperson. My Dublin born mammy told me it was a reference to culchies getting slapped on the back of their necks by their frustrated parents, saying “Get up to Dublin and get a job!”
(e.g.) “Go back to the bog, ya redneck!”

Smack: Slap, a blow
(e.g.) “I’ll give you a smack in the gob!” “I’ll smack the arse off you!”
(c) deadlydesh ravenspoint 2005

(image courtesy of Fr. Ted online @ http://www.fathertedonline.ukf.net)

1988 and all that

In the buildup to the European championships in Germany. The BBC did an interview with Johann Cruyff, a handy enough player in his day!

If I recall, Bob Wilson, ex Gooner & Scotland keeper was the interviewer and at the end of the segment, Bob intones the warning somewhat patronizingly that Mr. Cruyff had a surprise bet. “Don’t ignore the Irish!” he advised. “They won’t change their game for no-one! They play together as one unit, for each other!”

That was as mild as it got from the British Media regarding the Irish. The general sneering tone from paper, pundits and quotable insiders were that Ireland was there for the holidays. That Ireland played a kick & rush game. That Ireland was unsophisticated, that her players were ‘plastic paddies” and “guns for hire”. These latter labels were accredited to the fact that a number of the squad, notably John Aldridge & Ray Houghton were born in the UK…no matter that some of the England players like Terry Butcher and John Barnes were similarly challenged!

Then June 12th happened

There were many ironies that day, too numerous to mention here but the irony of it all though was that It was an Englishman who lead us through this. Too truculent and outspoken in his own association’s eyes, Jack Charlton’s direct no-nonsense, “say it as it is!” talk endeared him to Irish hearts and his subsequent loyalty to his players only heightened the respect he garnished from a grateful country, starved of meaningful success on the world stage of sport.

Jack embraced the siege mentality of the underdog. It was something he, his players and indeed his adopted country could all share in as they out on the greatest sporting adventure the country had ever experienced.

The players, native and foreign born found the dynamic of such a psychological milieu of the siege spirit a terrifically unifying force. It was something the manager had harnessed before in qualifying & friendly games particularly in matches against Scotland, Bulgaria and Brazil but now against perfidious Albion, the mental energy such a spirit engendered coupled with the raw emotion of facing “superior England” unleashed a whirlwind of commitment and passion that was very focused on one goal – victory!

England weren’t the first Country to underestimate Ireland and indeed they weren’t the last. Many Countries had previously misjudged the Irish, usually almost consistently to their cost.

The wake up call came at precisely 3.36pm local time on June 12th in the Neckar Stadion in Stuttgart when Ray Houghton headed rather cheekily over an out of place Peter Shilton after some keystone capers by the English Defense caused by Jack Charlton’s “pressure game”.


"You owe us a pint!"
Ray Houghton and Ronnie Whelan celebrate the opening of Jack Charlton's wallet

This “pressure game” basically was a system that kept the opposing team on the back foot principally in their own half. Compressing that space caused chaos for the defending team and tremendous advantages for the attacking team. It required incredible stamina and athleticism and no mean footballing skill either but the first two factors were paramount.

It wasn’t kick and rush, it was a whole new concept of the term “Total Football” that eventual tournament winners Holland and the architect of the principle, Rinus Michels had introduced to the world. The first attacker was the keeper, the first defender was the center forward. The wings were used with devastating effect on counter attacks on those rare occasions they were being pressed themselves. It was a culture shock to the footballing powers when they encountered it.

It shook England to the core as they found an Irish team that was up to it in every sense of the word.

Ireland ran England ragged in that opening 45 minutes. The Chants from the 15,000 or so strong Green army that had made the pilgrimage to Germany were stoic to say the least, as pundit after pundit was assailed from the terraces. “Are you watching Jimmy Hill, Brian Clough, etc!”. The neutral Germans loved the atmosphere as they joined in with The Irish fans in singing “Auf Weidersehn England!” to the tune of Mary Hopkin’s “those were the days!”.

It was almost as if 800 years of history was pressing down on that pitch that day. As England strove for an equalizer in the second half, it appeared that a legion of ghosts had planted themselves around Packie Bonner’s goal as chance after chance went amiss and astray for the English. Irish Goalkeeper Bonner made some outstanding saves that day, having the game of his life. The Irish Defense was magnificently marshaled by Mick McCarthy another “Anglo” who’s Waterford born father taught him hurling on the playing fields of Barnsley as a youngster.

Many an Irishman in the second 45 minutes prayed as they never had before for a victory. A power surge of prayer must have overloaded Heaven’s grid and swamped the pearly gates’ telephone exchange as devout vows were made in earnest as every minute in that half ticked tortuously by. The only rattles heard that day were the rattles of the rosary beads clicking furiously like a demented granny knitting on speed.

One was aware that potentially, history was in the making. A day that would never, ever be forgotten. This day would be retold to children & grandchildren down through the years. One realized how the ancient heroes were now not so ancient as modern day “Cuchullains” and Fionn McCumhails of our own were springing up before our eyes. Now you understood how legends were born and one could understand suddenly, how the generations that preceded us to the dawn of time loved to tell and listen of their exploits. That this day was another chapter in the Celtic Cycle.

One now knew what it really meant to be Irish!

Between the incredible keeping, heroic defense, ghosts and prayers of Irishmen saying the rosary that day all around the world (I was one!), Ireland prevailed and the biggest party the Nation had seen since the days of Brian Boru erupted in every town, village & hamlet that glorious June Evening.

Political allegiances were momentarily put aside. Hatchets were temporarily buried and feuds forgotten as warring neighbors, couples, children, friend & foe alike happily joined together in a wonderful spontaneous celebration.

One of those rare moments of joyous unifying synchronicity that a nation hardly ever experiences, happened to us that day.

To the bemused reader, it wasn’t simply a football match to us Irish. It went way beyond that. To call it a cultural phenomenon would not be profound! It would be too simplistic. It was the Colonizers getting their come-uppance from the “natives” in a most overt, dramatic and satisfyingly humiliating way. “Croppy” was not lying down anymore!

The glee and sheer delight of our victory was particularly sweet at the remembrance of our history. Waves of such remembrance simply flooded our consciousness at that precise moment, intensely emotional and fulfilling all in that same moment.

It wasn’t aimed at the ordinary Englishman in the street just at that ordinary Englishman’s Hierarchy. The establishment that was represented by anybody, in position of power and influence whether it be the FA or 10 Downing Street. To us at that juncture in time it was all the same.

It was the same Hierarchy that had rode roughshod over us for centuries. It was the same Hierarchy that had destroyed our culture, killed, starved and exiled our people over the centuries preceding, who we now cocked a smug grin at and reveled in their discomfort.

As I sat with my lifelong pals savouring the moment with a pint of "Uncle Arthur", my mind wondered how Gerry Conlon, Paul Hill & Paddy Armstrong of the "Guildford 4" felt at this moment. I thought of the Birmingham 6 and the McGuire family who were also at that time wrongly incarcerated in British prisons after being stitched up by that same Hierarchy. I remember sincerely hoping that the lads felt the same sheer ecstasy we were experiencing. I am sure it was a euphoric moment too for all Irishmen in that system.

With that final whistle. Almost at once our inherent inferiority complex to our arrogant neighbor vanished like the morning dew. The “tipping the hat” psyche replaced by a defiant two fingered salute that only denizens of the Western Isles of Europe truly know the meaning of.

Paradoxically or maybe in hindsight, rather not. It was the moment, a true, mature friendship began to finally materialize between Ireland and England. Rejoicing in at last, the unique heritage that both peoples share. The straitjacket of our common and often terrible history had finally been wrenched off........for now!

In that afternoon, I would wager Modern Ireland truly was born. The Celtic Tiger roared into the world when that final whistle blew. Defiant & proud, holding our heads up to the sun. We were, as the old song declares, a nation once again.

© deadlydesh ravenspoint 2005