LOCKER ROOM:Enough with the raging controversy already. Maybe it's about time we said something nice about Fingallians, writes TOM HUMPHRIES
MORNING. SORRY, but the weather has wiped out this column’s regular databank of cerebral and provocative ideas on the world of sport. But, being democratic, we can let you, the Plain People of Ireland, choose what to replace it with. (Plain People of Ireland: more of the usual guff so, is it?) No. It is not the usual guff. Ye can, for instance, treat yerselves to this column’s party remix (Plain People of Ireland: what party, fatso?) of his discourse on the winter he spent in America.
Be amazed and amused as the author describes how, despite snowfalls which would bury the entire skyline of major cities, everybody JUST BLOODY GOT ON WITH IT. This option includes improvised riffs such as: “Snow? Sure that’s not snow!”, and the always popular “What are we like, wouldya mind tellin’ me that, what are we effin’ like?”
We have a rant here we have been meaning to use for a few weeks about that smug git who makes snow for his poor simpleton of a girlfriend in the front garden. Merry Crimbo, Babe? He would say Crimbo, wouldn’t he? Is he related to that other bag of smug who uses his mobile to get in touch with all his friends to come carol singing, thus drowning out the carol singers who have at least gone to the trouble of dressing up?
Why doesn’t he just go around the corner? Buzz off and sing somewhere else? Get his mate Crimbo to make some snow there.
All that bile is near its expiry date and, anyway, stocks are being replaced by the venom we are feeling towards RTÉ’s new current affairs quiz. Give Barry Murphy back. He is funny and he doesn’t belong there.
PP of I: Aren’t you the fella that’s supposed to be writing about sport?
LR: Er, well, ye could have a rummage through LockerRoom’s bulging mail bag.
PP of I: Bulging, you say?
LR: Yep, like two pounds of sausage meat in a one pound bag, baby.
PP of I: G’wan so.
LR: Well, first of all we get a right belt across the fat of our raw, cold thighs from Conor Denieffe, the Kilkenny press officer. Conor points out that the Kilkenny press night of 2009 was denigrated mercilessly by this columnist recently in a piece the gist of which was that the hacks present were better known than the players.
Conor points out that Henry Shefflin, JJ Delaney, Eoin Larkin, Brian Hogan and Jackie Tyrrell were, in fact, present and available for 90 minutes and that this made everybody happy.
Apologies to Conor for the suggestion that none of those present would be identifiable in a police line-up, and it wasn’t the intention to pick on poor old Kilkenny – they were merely used as a decent example given the level of their success.
The main point of the piece remains the same. Compared to rugby, the promotion of Gaelic games is piecemeal and haphazard and harming the games. Granted, there were five recognisable Kilkenny players present, but this, don’t forget, was the sole media event taking place on the cusp of the greatest occasion in the greatest game we play. The greatest team we have seen making an extraordinary piece of history. And five of the lads were there.
The average feature interview takes an hour-and-a-half. Trotting around in a herd extracting the answers to the same questions again and again does not make for anything but filler. Nobody wants to ask a half-interesting question because everybody else will have the half-interesting answer you elicit broadcast or printed before you get home.
Waiting for the two million local radio stations, TV people, local media, etc, to drift off so you can ask your one very secret, very intelligent question can make you grow old and cranky very quick.
I am proof. Often I get to the top of the queue and forget my one question. Last year I absent-mindedly asked Henry Shefflin if he would bring me a Matchbox car set for Christmas. In fairness, he did.
There was a time not so long ago when the weekend previews for All-Ireland finals included major personality pieces and then side-bars which would include a quote from each and every player who would be starting on the Sunday. A time long, long ago.
So enough with that raging controversy. An old friend exiled in the North County texts to ask, impertinently, when are you going to say something nice about Fingallians?
How very odd! The original opening paragraph for today’s column read as follows: Living out by Swords? On Negative Equity Drive? In Seemed Like a Bargain Hollow? Well cheer up! Fingallians GAA Club, set in its tranquil and secluded location adjacent to the up-and-coming M 1 motorway, offers a deceptively spacious and verdant place of recreation, an arbor of serenity and calm for those escaping city living. The club’s south-facing aspect ensures Riviera-style sunshine year round, and the only thing compact and bijou about this friendly “quality of life” club is the trophy cabinet . . . Oh, and thanks to everybody in Fingallians for looking after us at the Dub Stars last week. Enlightened parking for hacks. Nice coffee. And full body massage for those of us suffering from hypothermia. Couldn’t ask for more.
D’ya hear me, Conor Denieffe? Full body massages in Langton’s this year.
Many, many correspondents (well, high single figures) take issue with this column’s abject failure to gloat about Leeds United’s incredible win over Manchester United last weekend. We were at the time relaxing in the beautifully appointed grounds of the aforementioned Fingallians, and so content were we there our spite levels were critically low.
And anyway, the column had already been written. When it comes to rewrites our laziness levels are always impressively high.
Anyway, gloating is ugly. I limited myself to about 100 ha ha texts and then moved on in dignified silence, congratulating the odd Spurs fan of my acquaintance on drawing one of the big clubs in the next round. That’s the real romance of the Cup isn’t it? Plucky little Spurs having their day in the sun against Leeds United. It ill behoves us to forget that.
Finally, a strident note from a graduate of St Declan’s CBS on the Navan Road, a man who has fallen through the cracks in the floor of decent, civilised society and descended into the murk of sports journalism. Said graduate who, despite repeating the Inter three times, is not typical of the fine produce of that school, requires a blatant mention of a coming event, a Gaelic games night which is being organised to highlight and adorn the school’s 50th anniversary celebrations.
Helpfully, the demanding letter is broken down into easy-to-understand sections which the unwilling victim can cut and paste.
Who? St Declan’s All-Stars v Dublin senior footballers; St Declan’s All-Stars v Dublin senior hurlers.
What? St Declan’s College Golden Jubilee Celebrations.
Where? Double-header in St Brigid’s GAA club, Russell Park (off Navan Road), Dublin 15.
When? Thursday, January 21st; hurling 7pm throw-in; football 8.30pm throw-in (games under floodlights on all-weather pitch).
The football team will be managed by three former students of St Declan’s, all three are former All-Ireland senior football championship winners: Mick Galvin, Bernard Brogan snr, Jim Brogan snr.
The hurling team will be managed by current Dublin senior hurling selector Vinny Teehan, who is a teacher at St Declan’s. Former Dublin hurler Ruairí Boland will be utilised in a player-management role!
There follows a long list of the more athletic graduates of the school who have worn the sky-blue of Dublin.
It’s not as impressive as, say, the same list if produced by Joey’s of Fairview (!), and hard luck on not being able to get Fingallians for the night (!), but it should be a great event marking the immense contribution of a great GAA school.
That blatant enough for ya? You must think we’re real cheap around here.
PP of I: Put a sock in it pal.
