Montrose floored by boot up the arse

Oh, haven’t they little to worry about.
RTE lose the television rights to the Six Nations rugby to those upstarts over in TV3 and the country is outraged.
Ok, slight exaggeration you’ll agree. Montrose is outraged. Liveline goes mad.
Joe is apoplectic!  That’s Joe. The phones are hopping.  He’s great a stirring the shit.
The underdog is Joe’s champion.
That’s Joe, oh, did we mention he earns over €300,000 a year from RTE?
No need for that sort of cheap shot. That was below the belt. We’re better than that!

THE COMMON MAN… Joe has the uncanny ability to sense the pulse of the nation.

Joe is the man of the ‘common people’.
He’s from Ballyfermot and he knows what the man on the street is thinking.
And in unison the folks in ‘Ballyer’ roar: “Ah here, Joe. We don’t give a shit Joe, it’s only rugby for God’s sake, Joe.   Now, if it were the Dubs, well that’s a different ball game, Joe.”
The Six Nations was the jewel in the crown for Montrose.  The kick up the arse they got when TV3 blindsided them to win the rights hit the place like a tsunami.
The heavy hitters awoke from their winter slumber.
George Hook went on a rant.  Does George do anything else you may ask?
It’s the end of the world as we know it. Rugby on TV will never be the same again. Blah, blah, blah.

THE GOOD OLD DAYS…Tom, George, Brent and Conor’s days on TV are numbered.

Sorry, did we not mention that George earns a good living from his rugby punditry with, ahem, RTE.
Then we had Ryle Nugent.
Hand’s up you knows Ryle? Didn’t think so.
He’s the Boss but he’s also the VOICE.
Still don’t know who he is? Didn’t think so.
Think again and think Tommy Bowe and then think of Ryle.   “It’s Tommmyy Boooowwwweeee.”
Now you know who he is.
Ryle was, as they soccer boys like to put it: ‘sick as a parrot’. It was a bad day for Ryle.

Over in TV3 they were, as Joe would say, ‘delira and excira”.  Still it’s hard to picture Matt Cooper going all ‘delira and excira’.
They promise that in between all the ads they’ll show us the Six Nations.
After all they tells us that they had massive TV audiences for their ads — with the bit of rugby thrown in for good measure —   during the World Cup.
With France in mourning and Europe on a knife-edge, the little oasis in Montrose is in a tizzy over a rugby tournament.
Haven’t they little to worry about?

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Paddy sulks his way to Lisbon

You wonder does Paddy Cosgrave read the Bible.
Paddy who?   the uninitiated might ask.
Ah, you know your man from the Web Summit. The nerdy looking fella on the television with that awful navy Aran
sweater that her wears. You’ll never see Paddy in a shirt and tie. He’s too hip for that carry on.
You know him now. The young lad that has made a fortune in the ‘techie’ world.

Paddy Cosgrave addresses delegates at this year’s Web Summit in the RDS.

He’s the fella the brought over 40,000 to the RDS last week for a three-day shindig.
House full signs in pubs, restaurants and hotels throughout Dublin. Paddy reckons the Web Summit is worth more than €100 million to the Irish economy.
Imagine, over 40,000 visitors wandering around the streets of out capital in the middle of November. Who wouldn’t want a piece of that action?
Sure, it’ll be only a matter of time before the powers that be in Dublin bestow Sainthood on Paddy, no! Ah lads, at least make him a ‘Freeman of Dublin’!, no.
But there’s a sting in the tail.

Paddy isn’t a happy camper. He’s miffed that Enda Kenny and Ireland Inc haven’t gone down on bended knee to  worship at the altar of Paddy Cosgrave.
And alas, Paddy has got the hump  and the Dublin Web Summit is no more.
Let’s be clear here, Paddy is no ordinary Paddy,  he keeps telling us. Our Paddy is big noise in his own little world and has — he’s not shy in letting us all know — all the CEOs in the ‘techie’ world on speed dial.  And only for him Google, Facebook, Twitter and the likes would have never come to this fair Isle of ours.
So now Enda, put that in your pipe and smoke it!

Enda Kenny can’t make up his mind whether he’s in the presence of a spoofer or prophet

So when Enda  refused to play ball with Paddy and his Web Summiteers, Paddy got in a sulk and decided to pick up the ball and run off to the sunshine of Lisbon.
Not since Roy Keane walked out of the World Cup has one man divided opinion in Ireland. To some he’s a prophet, to others he’s a spoofer. There’s no middle ground when it comes to opinions on Paddy.
And if Paddy could find time in his busy world to read the Bible he might just look up what  Mark says about prophets.
Bon voyage Paddy and remember to close the door behind you when you leave.

Zip up your gob and go away!

And you think you have problems. Think again and think about Twink.
Nobody has problems like our Twink.
Let me introduce you to Twink.  To her friends she’s Adele but to us mere mortals she’s Twink, the self-proclaimed Queen of  Panto.
Twink is so loud, so brash and so in your face. She’s the antithesis of what you’d expect from any normal person. You either like her or you don’t .  Ok, I have to declare an interest here, I’m not a fan. I find her obnoxious.
Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I’ll continue.

The self-proclaimed Queen of Panto (left) pictured with the muppet Dustin the Turkey

Class and Twink and not compatible bedfellows. She’s a tough nut, is our Twink. You wouldn’t want to mess with Twink.
Poor auld Twink is in bother. It hasn’t been a good weekend for her.
While the rest of us we out enjoying the glorious autumnal weather, Twink was left ‘heartbroken’ and traumatized.
Those of us who watch Twink from a far know she’s an expert in ‘heartbreak’ and ‘trauma’.  And you can’t argue that she does both really well.
Twink has lost something very precious and it’s breaking her heart.
Cynics might even suggest that Twink is spending more time in the ‘Lost and Found’ department nowadays than on the stage.

What, you may ask, has put such a damper on Twink’s weekend?
Surely, she hasn’t lost her husband. Oops! Better not go there with the ‘Zip Up Your Mickey’ and all that went with that imfamous phone message.

Twink’s ‘Zip Up Your Mickey’ rant to her former husband David is stuff of legend.

She can’t have lost her house.
Oops! don’t be a smart ass.
How about someone coming up with a plot to kidnap her beloved dog Teddy?
Oops that could never happen now could it?
How about her laptop?
Oh no she didn’t…..Oh yes she did.
But this was no ordinary laptop.
No, no  this laptop and, wait for it, its Louis Vuitton cover, was given to Twink to celebrate her 50th birthday which — there’s no nice way to put this — wasn’t today or yesterday.

Indeed, it can be argued with some certainty, that technology has moved on quiet a bit since Twink blew out those 50 candles  at the back-end of the 20th century. Meow!!
Twink’s laptop was ‘lost’ in the back of a taxi and she went on the airwaves to tell the world that the loss of the laptop had  hit extra hard as it contained  the draft of her first book.
If anything good comes out of this at least we’ve been spared a book from Twink.
So when the Bank Manager next drops you a letter about your financial affairs, think of Twink.
You think you have problems, you’re not in Twink’s league.
She’s in a league of her own.

Beauty and the beast at the NCT

Three letters of the alphabet.
Three innocuous letters.
Here goes, check them out.  The first one is N, then  there’s C and the last one T.
No big deal, what’s the fuss about?
Ok, now put the three together……..one after the other.

Slowly now and repeat after me:   NCT!  Oh no,  the three letters that put the fear of God in-car owners throughout the land.
The dreaded National Car Test.  The horrible money grabbin’ f****n NCT!

Big Brother in Europe introduced the National Car Test to Irish motorists at the turn of the millennium. Pic: NCT

Now, bet  you feel much better getting that off your chest.
We were first introduced to the NCT  at the start of the millennium.
Big Brother in Europe issued a directive and we had to get on board. Compulsory car testing for all cars over four years. No big deal.

My beloved ‘Black Beauty’ is a 11-year-old Renault Grand Scenic.
It was a smashing car in its day, all bells and whistles. It was the optics that seduced me — all boobs and no substance!

• Electric windows ……. once worked;

•  Two sunroofs .……   once worked;

• State of the art digital dashboard.…….  once worked.

• Bluetooth  wireless MP3 Audio unit ……….once worked .

You name it and ‘Black Beauty’ had it.
We bought it off Bill Cullen.  Hand’s up who knows Bill?
Bill Cullen, the entrepreneur Bill Cullen.  The same Bill Cullen of ‘It’s a long way from Penny Apples’ and the television show The Apprentice.

Our beloved ‘Black Beauty’ in all its wonderful glory before life on the roads around Dublin became the norm.

The ‘bauld’  Bill would later become a Doctor after the powers that be in NUI Maynooth  decided in their wisdom to award him an Honorary Doctorate of Law.  Dr Bill, to us mere  mortals.

‘Black Beauty’,   we were informed was the cremé de la creme of  seven seater people carriers.  Dr Bill had the gift of the gab!

Smooth operators……..Dr Bill Cullen and his partner Jackie Lavin were stars of the television show The Apprentice.

Don’t forget that way back in the Celtic Tiger years you were nothing if you didn’t have a seven seater. Now all we needed were kids to fill it!!
Fast forward to 2015.  ‘Beauty’ is now a beast and is a ‘cash cow’ for the Irish motor industry.
Her reg is  red flagged by every AA Roadwatch mechanic in Ireland.
She’s had the works. Anything that can go wrong with a car has gone wrong with ‘Black Beauty’.  Her clock is ticking. The end is nigh.
It’s that time of the year again.  ‘Beauty’  has been summoned for her NCT.  My mechanic Declan has given her the once over. He’s ‘confident-ish’  she’ll get over the line.  ‘What will make you 100% confident, Declan,” I enquired.
There a ‘cranky  auld b****x’ in the local Test centre that fails everything, he tells me. If ‘Beauty’ avoids him, she’ll be fine. If not it’s the scrap yard.

The ugly grey building on the outskirts of town with the green NCT logo beckons.
Insurance documents....check.

Driver’s licence.….. check.
Log book……. check.
Butterflies in the stomach as if it was my first date.

Head down as I approach the counter. Oh no,  it’s the ‘cranky auld  b****x’.
Thirty minutes later and ‘Beauty’s’ fate is decided.  It’s the end of the road.
Three letters of the alphabet.
Three innocuous letters.

RIP,  ‘Black Beauty’.
RIP.

Time’s up for grumpy old men

Love them or loathe them but there’s no denying you can’t ignore them.
Eamon Dunphy and George Hook, the ‘Statler and Waldorf’ of sports punditry in the Irish media.
One might by grumpy and the other grumpier; but make no mistake George and Eamon are no muppets.
Far from it!
They are both vey clever  and know the media game inside out.
It’s all about the ratings, sound bites. Say it loud and proud, Baby.
Oh, is anyone rude enough to mention money?
Don’t forget the dosh. It’s all about the moolah! Money makes their world go round.
They are both box office and boy do they know it!

Grumpy Old Men…Statler and Waldorf in typical pose. Pic: Hansen Studios

Shock and awe is the tool of their trade. Their mantra is simple: “Whatever you say, say it loud. If you shout loud enough you’ll be heard. Put the boot in at all times and when the team is down put the boot in harder.   The doom day scenarios will come good some day.  Wait and see.”
In their eyes, they are always right.

Against the Head….George Hook expert in everything except rugby! Pic: RTE

Try and get inside George’s head today. Give it a go.  Ireland’s World Cup dreams in tatters after the mauling from the Pumas and  you can just picture the scowl on his face.
You can hear him bellowing to whoever will listen.
“I’ve always said Joe Schmidt is a a lucky coach! He’s now been  found out.'”  Yawn!

“Ian Madigan would struggle get on the Willow Park U12s. The wonderful Ingrid would be better than Madigan. ” Steady on there, George.

“Conor Murray is useless and can’t kick.  Not since Bertie O’Toole in 1914 has Ireland had a scrum-half. ”  Ah here, give the lad a break.
The list goes on and on and it’s all getting very boring at this stage.
George, high time you changed the record and let the ‘lovely Ingrid’ hand you your skippers with the Complan.
As the US War General Norman Schwarzkopf once said: “You can’t help but with 20/20 hindsight, go back and say: ‘Look, had we done something different, we probably wouldn’t be facing what we are facing today.”
And then there’s Eamon, the ‘enfant terrible’ of RTE’s soccer panel.  Eamon is always up for the scrap. You just know by the look of him. You can’t just imagine Eamon fighting with his reflection in the mirror every morning. That’s Eamon for you.
He has been a regular on out TV screens ever since RTE started showing soccer. Who’ll ever forget Euro 88, Italia 90 and USA 94?

The country united behind our team, except our Eamon. The ‘Boys in Green’ left him cold. Jack Charlton and his tactics had him comatosed.  As for the Ole, Ole brigade. Don’t go there.

Grumpy Old Man…Eamon Dunphy is the ‘enfant terrible’ of soccer punditry. Pic: RTE

Fast forward  nearly 25 years and Martin O’Neill is getting the same treatment. Different manager but same old story.
We’ve heard it all before and it’s getting boring. Time to move on, time to get off the stage Baby!

Statler and Waldorf, take a bow and exit stage left.
What do you think?

You’re nothin’ if you’re not bloggin’

A Blog, write a blog, she said.
A blog!
It’s the future. Everyone is doing it. You’re nothing if you’re not a blogger.
You can’t be serious!
Who in their right mind gives a shit about what I think?
Wrong, the world can’t get enough of blogs and bloggers.
Go on, have a look. Google it. Google ‘blogging’ and ‘blogs’.
Watch the system go into overload.
Careful it doesn’t crash.

She’s right. There’s a blog for this and a blog for that.
If you have a pain in your arse, you can guarantee that somewhere in the world of Google, there’s someone – with more time on their hands than they would care to admit – blogging about the complexities of the buttocks!
You’d get a pain in your arse even thinking about why someone would even think such a topic would be of interest.
This is the new world, the world of social media. Embrace it or get left behind. The choice is yours.
Right so, if that’s the way you want it. Bring it on.
Tick tock! Tick tock!
God, look at the time.  The kids need fed; the dog wants a walk, the laptop screen is blank.
What will I blog about?
What about the soccer and Shane Long’s goal?

That’s old news and hasn’t Giles and Dunphy said all that’s needed to be said about the match.
What about the fans?  Ole, Ole, Ole …..the self proclaimed ‘best fans in the world’.   Dressing up like leprechauns and drinking cheap booze. No thank you.
You’d get a pain in your arse listening to them telling you  how much everyone loves them.
My mind is blank. Empty as my bank account. Don’t know what to blog about. I’ll throw a ‘sickie.’  Drop an email.
“Sorry Miss, couldn’t write a blog this week as I’ve an awful pain in my lower back.
It’s killing me. Had to take to the bed.  I can’t blog this week. Will try again next week.
I know blogging is the future but I just couldn’t do it this week. I know, it’s a real pain in the arse!
Wonder will she buy it?