looking drills for both attacking and defending! would appreciate any info
so your the antrim manager then? ;D
PWTW - there's a few places around the net with drills listed. Its down to the coach and the instance to pick the best scheduled set for their team as you know. Try
http://ulster.gaa.ie/coachingArticles.html
http://www.dublingaagamesdevelopment.ie/
and google probably offers quite a few more :)
if you got onto the games development officer in Ulster council they would send out DVDs.
i know leinter made a new 1 there very recently with orourke heffo val andrews and a few more.
it was a practical thing for coaches with the drills explained and demonstrated by lads. the team used was the KE U15s if that is the age you were after.
either way leinster council in portlaoise mite sort ya.
go direct anyway
In certain wildwoods of tyrone, we try to emulate the great feats of Cuchulainn as he practised on one occasion prior to shaking the dung out of the unfortunate Larene.
This would involve the apple feat, the javelin and rope, the body feat, the feat of Cat and the heroic Salmon leap (mulligan), the pole throw, the leap over a poisoned stroke, the noble chariot fighters crouch, the spurt of speed (gormley), the breath feat, the snapping mouth(mcmenamin), the hero's scream(McConnell), and then some.
nb. " Cuchulain sprang at him and took his weapons away roughly. He grasped him in his two hands and ground and rattled him until the dung was forced out of him............Everafterwards, as long as he lived, larene couldn't empty his bowels properly."
To be honest, you could do no better than the above methods. Added to that list is the bog-knicker shunt, a form of haka that involves moving at a player with considerable speed, then forcing the unfortunate to the ground in a spear tackle movement, boring his head into the soil until his waist is submerged. Best tried in winter as the hard ground can make it rather laborious to execute.
I might have to repost The Trickster's tricks.
QuoteI might have to repost The Trickster's tricks.
Oh go on then Shane, the board badly needs a laugh.
Shane get back to the teachin exams r cumin up.
Trick No. 1
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 11, 1998 at 14:07:03:
If you are playing fullback and your team is winning by two points with 2 minutes left - a high ball comes in round the square, up and field it, then turn and bury it in the back of your own net. Then quickly retrieve the ball and run out to the 21 yard line shouting 'come on to fück boys, come on' - then instead of kicking it out the field turn and tap it back over the bar and put your hands on your hips in disgust as if
to say 'jaysus christ what the hell is going on!'
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 11, 1998 at 17:00:51:
TRICK NO. 2
This can be a tough one to pull off but if you fail on the first attempt try it again, remember never give up.
Put a bag of crisps down the front of your togs before the game. Run around the whole match scratching your nuts or.....you know yourself if it tis a girl thing you have there in a womens match. Never smile.
Even if you score a great goal. Tog in after the game quick as you can and take off in your car like fück back to the house, where you can burst your hole laughing for anything up to an hour...if you get away with the trick!! If you live too far from your house, stop in a pub on the way home perhaps and cooly slip into the jacks for the good crack.
This trick should not be tried by minor footballers or under.
Trick No. 3
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 12, 1998 at 09:48:20:
This trick would only be effective around May or Early june and is only of use to backs.
Shake hands with your opponent at the start of the game like theres nothin' going on like. Then just calmly ask him, without looking at him, 'what did you think about who won the Eurovision?'. In little more than a whisper in fact. Even if he answers, pretend you dont hear. Then every couple of minutes ask him the same question again but with a little more vigour, or a little more threatening as it were, everytime. Then at the beginning of the second half when your going back to your position, sprint like a bastard towards him grab him by the jersey and say ' I fücking asked you what did you think of who won the Eurovision?'.
Your man will be well psyched out at this stage but you are liable to get a booking. Dont panic, if so, tell the ref your name is either Shay Healy or Johnny Logan. Girls should note that Linda Martin would be a better option. This trick can be quiet successful if one is willing to persevere and detach themselves from their own opinion of 'who won the Eurovision'.
Trick No. 4
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 12, 1998 at
16:26:37:
Statistically speaking, not many people will be able to pull this one off. Stay alert though, you ll never know when the chance will arrive. Anyway this is it. If there is some guy on the team you detest and you are certain that you are a better player than he, then on the day of an important match show up and 5 minutes before the game say out loud in the dressing room 'oh jaysus....shït shït shït, well damn it to hell anyway'. When your teammates inquire into your problem be fustering around in your bag and say 'I cant believe I forgot me fecking boots'. Then the manager will ask your man to give you his and the bastard wont be able to play - he'll be bloody dropped!! Bonus points are scored if its a wet day and give him back the boots after the game covered in shïte. For girls prehaps a similar plot could be made to unfold with a reinforced bras scenario.
NB: You should only try this if the two of ye are the only ones with the same size boots (or boobs) or else you could get some other unfortunate bastard dropped.
Trick No. 5
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 13, 1998 at
10:52:03:
Is only for players with no other tricks up their sleeves. It is a trick of last resort but bare it in mind at any rate. Ideally it should only be utilised by a player from a coastal/marine surrounding. Right, if you find yourself sent off for any reason, maybe for even carrying trick No. 3 too far and on your way off the pitch and up the sideline you get abuse from a spectator, you know the type, the mother holding the young bucks hand and an anorak on her and her wagging her finger at you shouting 'your some example to young fellas how to play...you should be ashamed of yourself'. Well at this point launch yourself into a full blown karate kick out over the fence and meet her with the boot full bore into the guts. This is bound to stir up some media attention but when asked about the incident just start going on about seagulls and fishermen other things one would associate with coastal life. Keep shrugging your shoulders innocently. If you get a life ban you can always bring out memoirs entitled 'Don't fence me in', 'Over the top', or 'I fücked up my hamstring o'er a 4ft fence'. The last would probably serve best for a country and western song.
Trick No. 6
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 13, 1998 at
17:44:59:
This trick is not really a GAA trick but can be carried out by GAA members usually in late summer.
Its a good trick to relieve tension the day before a big game too. If your sneaking out the door at around 9:30pm some evening the mother is likely to let a roar at you - 'where do you think your going at this hour'. Cooly respond - 'ah I m just heading down for a couple of pints with the lads and we're going for a curry after'.
When you get out the door take a quick look back to be sure the mothers not watching then dart around the corner and off back the field like feck picking mushrooms. After about 20 minutes start kicking mushrooms through gaps in the ditch, between two lumps of cowshïte, over cattles heads....or whereever, commentating as you go along pretending you're in the all Ireland, like this - 'Mikey Sheehy, going through...YES!' say if kick the mushroom and break it off the dogs head. The crack is good for about an hour but then gets tiring more than anything else.
Calmly slip back into the house and start going on to your mother about the grand evening, you know, nice and handy.
NB: It might be advisable to bring a couple of tins of beer with you and drink them on the way home so there will be a smell off your breath when you get back to convince the mother of your story.
Trick No. 7
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 14, 1998 at
12:01:04:
This trick is for players who tend to get the label of being yellow or soft by their managers or the supporters.
The trick is two dimensional depending on whether the day is hot or cold and wet. Supposing its a great day, sun out and all. The team is picked and ye're heading out the dressing room door on to the pitch, well make sure everyone is out the door and then just go ' oh hold on a second I must get me gloves'.
This kinda makes it a double trick cause you dont really need gloves on a hot day.
Anyway slip back into to the dressingroom and......Turn on all the taps, every last one of them and off out to play the game. When the game is on then you ll feel like a much harder bastard.
Every now and again allow yourself a wry smile thinking of all the good water pissing down the sink, and the day thats in it. Youll be thinking to yourself 'now who's fecking yella'. Be sure to get in first after the game to turn them off.
Even if its a cold wet day the trick can be done by turning on all the showers so there is no hot water for any of the boys when they come in - be sure to cover yourself on this occasion by saying something like 'don't tell me no one put a frigging pound in the metre'.
Ps: If you pull this one off the next time you could pull it one step further and...... leave the stoppers in the sink holes!!!!!
Trick No. 8
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 15, 1998 at
16:58:10:
Nothing particularly ingenious about this trick other than the fact its one of the few that referees can enjoy.
If in some game your reffing, some bollox is mouthing the whole game at you but not too abusive to get sent off, you know the kind of stuff like mumbling under his breath or throwing his eyes to heaven. A real little w**ker like, probably with blonde hair and nice togs and gear.
Well if he is their free taker wait until the ball comes up around the 14 yard line on the wing and give his team a free for absolutely nothing, even to the point that supporters from the other team are fücking and blinding you. Then just when hes is about to take the free, everyone will be looking at the posts.
Just blow the whistle then whisper 'now you little bollox' and up and give him a good shoe up in the hole, hard enough to drop him. There is a good chance no one will see it. Hold out your hands in innocence when yer man is wrything with pain on the ground and when their physio comes on tell him he ll have to treat him off the pitch as hes wasting time, then book him for wasting time and give a free out, especially if their losing.
If he comes back on somewhat confused just let him know it was you by saying something like 'now you ll learn to keep your mouth shut the next time your cleaning your arse...good lad...carry on'!
NB: This trick should only be employed to teach offenders manners rather than as a means to satisfying some kind of personal vendetta.....or fantasy for that matter.
Trick No. 9
Originally Posted by The Trickster on May 18, 1998 at
12:32:44:
This trick is for managers who feel their team is under-achieving, not focused like, just not taking what he is saying or the game for that matter serious enough.
It can be difficult to weed out the complacent few in the squad who drag the rest down with them. This trick will definately solve the problem but you may need a couple of ton of the clubs funds to pull it off so the treasurer will have to be on side.
If you're giving the team talk and you want to know if everyone is paying attention, one sure way of finding out the messers is to introduce some lunacy and study the reactions. The answers is lamp shades. Lamps shades of all shapes and colours, designs and expenses. Have the players togged out ready to go and make them wear lamp shades on their heads while you give the talk. Anyone laughing or joking should be dropped by saying something like 'what the frigging hell do you find so funny, well it wont be as funny sitting on the bench bucko'.
When you can get to the point where all players can listen seriously to your talk and do their stretches and all with lamp shades on their heads you know they are listening. Encourage them to go out and buy their own style of shade even to swap and share with other teammates. Club officials should wear them too, to show support. Remember to buy some small sized shades for any young bucks that come into the dressing room before games.
NB: Remember to take off the lap shades before you take the field. It might also be a good idea to buy some curtains for the dressing room windows. Also avoid any shades made out of glass.
And whilst I'm at it, an old favourite Archive from SaffronSam:
My sister has recently completed a dissertation on the subject of "The Role of the GAA in the growth of Nationalism in the Six Counties." Whilst researching for the dissertation, she came across this article from the Lurgan & Portadown Examiner that was first published in November 1945.
- Jubilation for Armagh GAA
There were scenes of rejoicing and great jubilation in the cathedral City of Armagh on Sunday last when the local county board of the Gaelic Athletic Association was presented with a new set of jerseys, in a fetching orange shade, by the member of Lodge 127 of the Loyal Orange, Callan Bridge Lodge. The worshipful Mr. Denis Forsythe of the Callan Bridge Orange presented the garments. In an impassioned speech, Mr. Forsyth asked that these jerseys and this colour be worn hereto forth to celebrate the defeat of the Axis powers of the vile Hitler and to celebrate the sesquicentennial jubilee of the formation of the Grand Lodge of Ireland, not ten miles from where they were currently assembled. The jerseys were blessed by His Eminence, Bishop D'alton of Meath. Those in the ecclesiastical know believe that Bishop D'alton will replace His Eminence, Cardinal MacRory as primate of All-Ireland. Cardinal MacRory sadly went to his eternal reward last month and did not live to see this great day.
After the jerseys had been blessed, the Armagh team and the county team of county Cavan who had been specially invited, formed up behind the band to march to the field. Earlier in the day, there had been much excitement in Keady, when six members of the Cavan party who were resplendent in their Free State army uniforms were not allowed to cross the border. The men of Breffni were led in the marching by the great Reilly of Cornafean. It being November, even these burly giants suffered a crop of goose bumps as they marched down the hill. A horde of people, in excess of six hundred lined the route, cheering, clapping and singing as the band passed. It did the heart good to hear such beautiful accordion music and such lusty singing of tunes like "The Boys From The County Armagh" and "I'll Sing A Hymn To Mary". At the field, the pre-arranged challenge match between the counties of Armagh and Cavan took place. It was a full-blooded affair with mighty overhead catching and good high and hard kicking. At the end of the contest, the men of Breffni emerged as victors scoring 1 gl and 1 pt and Armagh scored 2 pts.
In an interesting footnote, lodge 127 was disbanded within six weeks of the presentation and their office holders were banned from holding membership of the Orange Order for life.
i worry shane!
:D :D :D :D
That brightened up my morning :D :D
Who was responsible for the 'Ballybeag Diaries'? they were funny as fook, I saved them somewhere but can't find them, could someone do the needful please.
Good man Shane, great stuff. No. 8 is the standout.
some things never change Shane, the class clown!
Quote from: bennydorano on April 20, 2007, 12:28:05 PM
Who was responsible for the 'Ballybeag Diaries'? they were funny as fook, I saved them somewhere but can't find them, could someone do the needful please.
Is this what you're after?
Secret diary of a club footballer: Part 1
________________________________________
Got back in at midnight from training the other night. Absolutely bollixed. It wasn't so much the pyramids or the beep test but the shagg'n 6 pints of Rock Shandy after it in Griffen's. Bill Griffen the tight hoor hid the large bottles so I ended up having to pay top euro for pints of the shite. The lads, Seán Óg and Dermot, were drinking dirty pints of Guinness to bate the band but I'm senior captain this year and I need to be showing some example. I'm going to have to do a Roy Keane on it now and have it out with O'Kane. He's Ballybeag's new manager and trainer. He's supposed to have won an All-Ireland for Kerry some time in the 70's. Hard to believe - the fat bastard. Running the shite outta us is one thing but insisting on the alcohol ban?!?!? The team morale is at an all time low and we're only back training a week! It's alright for those college lads and them bhoys working up in Dublin. They can go out when they like up there and no one will spot them. But I'm stuck down here in this Southmeath hole and believe me, there are GAA spies everywhere.
Dropped the gear off at the range and went in to watch some TV. Me aul' lad, Paddy was in there watching some All-Ireland from the early '70's on TG4. He's always shite-talking about how great the games were in his day. I thought this game was hilarious. To see lads solo'n the ball and under no pressure having to jump up and catch it! There never seemed to be any effort to find a man with a pass. They'd just catch the ball and kick it as far up the other end of the pitch as they could. And bhoy would the crowd roar! As a bonus, there was even a fellow playing out the field with a cap on! Not a baseball cap mind you. That might not have been so bad - but a tweed cap like your Grandfather wears. There was good catching mind you but it looked a lot like the standard of our junior team. I told the aul' lad that. He wasn't too impressed. Told me to fug off. So I did.
Just started a new job last week as a 'spark' in Rooney's Meat plant over the road. The father got me the job. A lad in Fianna Fall owed him one – fair play to them. I'd a busy day in there today – I read Micko's autobiography cover to cover. I'll need to stock up on a few more books, I'd imagine.
We're heading up to Mayo next Sunday for a Southmeath league game. I'd have made a weekend of it only for the drink ban. Beginning to hate Jeremiah O'Kane – he's messing up me life. Our midfielder, Sean Dunne is getting a run at full forward. Fuging typical of the county to play him outta position but that's what your up again'. I'm hoping to get a call up this year. I'm 26 now, played minor and U-21 with them. Had a great year last year at centre forward and was top scorer with 3-09 for the year – have to get my chance soon. Well all the bhoys in the pub reckon I will anyway. You see, it's in me blood. My grandfather on my mother's side, Joe Nolan, was the last Ballybeag man to win an All-Ireland for Southmeath. That was back in the '50's. He only had heap of daughters so the pressure is on, as they say.
Ran into Father Clifford this morning as he was coming out of the chemists. He used to actually tog out for the Juniors B's in the early nineties when he was young seminarian. A decent enough half-back, he had a reputation for being a close marker. Another thing about him – he had fierce high standards of personal hygiene. After a game, he would think nothing of spending a good hour at least in the showers. For the last few years, he was on the Missions, converting the heathen masses. Lesotho or somewhere. Or was it Limerick? I can't remember.
The club chairman, Brian Behan rang me to go to the first round of the Scór quiz, over in the hall on Saturday night. 'Fug off outta that ' I thought! Told him I'd be there at 7:00. He's a hard a man – doesn't take no for an answer. Although I'm sure his wife doesn't have that problem – she never sees the man!!! Typical shite - eats, drinks, sleeps GAA. All I want to do is train, play, win, enjoy me football, enjoy a few pints and a bag a chips after it. The odd ride would be nice too. But it's so hard to meet any young-ones around here that don't look like extras on a BBC nature program. Most would make Shane McGowan looked well groomed! We end up having to go into Oldbridge at the weekend. There not much better in there but then sure that's another story.
Secret diary of a club footballer: Part 2
________________________________________
On Wednesday night me 'aul wan, Bridie, came back from her trip to Lourdes. Glad to see her back – was getting a bit sick of the chips and burgers from Malone's chipper. She'd a great time in Lourdes. Seemingly the praying was fantastic and the weather was good. The tea was supposed to have been a lot better than the last time. So her letters of complaint seemed to do he trick. She was very upset to hear about the proposed halting site that is on the way for the village. Me 'aul lad reckons that the 'knackers' have to live somewhere but she's determined to fight it. She says it's up to good Catholic's like herself to stand up to the council and not allow such a thing. She's already arranged a meeting with Father Clifford on the issue.
On Sunday it was Ballybeag's first league game of the year and thanks be to jaysus our manager O'Kane, relaxed the drink ban. He's allowing us to have a few drinks after the match. He stressed the word "after". We were playing Maddenstown who had a good run in the Southmeath championship last year losing out in the semi-finals. To make matters worse, we were going to be without our star midfielder, Sean Dunne. He got hurt playing for the county agin' Mayo.
On the way to the match, bombing down the road in my Peugeot 205, with the Wolf Tones belting out on the stereo, I decided that I as captain should make a speech before we go out to play. I wanted to tell the lads how we needed to build on our good performance last year. Explain the necessity to work the ball into areas where we could punish them. To concentrate on our own game and to ignore any bad decisions the referee might make. Stress the importance of supporting the man with the ball when we had possession and to tackle back when we didn't. Then when it came to the moment I can't really explain what happened...I just kind of froze on the spot and all that came out was "LETSGETOUTONTHEFUGINPITCHANBATETHEFUGINSHITEOUTTATHEM". I thought I'd made a holy fugin show of myself but no one seemed to notice anything strange.
Well the match didn't go any better than the speech. We were chasing it from the time our full back Jack Burke got send off. That was 3 minutes into the first half. There was no surprise though, as the man is a fierce animal. With the damage he can do with his elbows it's hard to believe he's only got two of them. There was an awful lot of fighting amongst ourselves. The Cahill twins, Tim and Ned almost came to blows over a sloppy pass. Happy enough with the way I played myself – scored 1-02 from play but the rest of the forward line was shite. Anyway, match over, game lost - there was only one thing for it – pints!
I'd heard earlier in the dressing room that Nigel Bradley was back from Australia. He'd been over there for a year or so – workin' in computers or something. He was an awful bollix before he went, I shudder to think what he might be like now. Didn't have to wait long to find out. Went up to Griffin's and as soon as I opened the door I could hear the accent. It was so Australian you'd think he'd never even heard of a country called Ireland, never mind been born in it!
I heard later, that on his first night back in Griffin's, he ordered a feckin' glass of Shiraz. I mean a red wine? What was the man thinking of? Bill took one look at Bradley and another at his regulars sitting at the bar and said in that drawling accent of his "A Shi-raz? Wait 'til I see." He looked around his shelves, behind the large bottles, the Domestos, the Zip fire lighters and the mouse traps for a few moments and then adds "Nigel, we seem to be all out of Shi-raz tonight, could I interest you in a pint of Guinness or...a glass of sherry perhaps?"
So anyway I'm in the pub enjoying me few pints and discussing the match with Seán Óg and Dermot when over comes Bradley, sits down besides us and starts spouting on about his travels. Seán Óg and Dermot wouldn't be as patient as I am so they got up to play pool. I was left to the shite-talk...bungee jumping in Queenstown, sky diving in Cairns and muff diving in Bondi. On and on he went...4X beer in Darwin, 4 wheel drives in Fraser Island and 4 rides in Bangkok. After a few minutes I was sick of it. I had to stop him so I said "Right Nigel, sounds like you'd a great time down there – you didn't catch last night's Lotto results by any chance?" Either he didn't hear me or he ignored me but the important thing is he fuct off with himself. Later on in the night, I saw him sitting up at the bar showing some of the younger lads his shark's tooth that he has hanging around his neck. You know, one of his many Australian souvenirs. The lads ask him if he killed the shark to get it. I didn't hear his reply but think it's unlikely, unless of course, you can shite-talk a shark to death!
On Monday morning I'd a very sore head. To make matters worse, it was my turn again to go down to O'Connell's for the breakfast rolls. That's five times in a row now. I met our club chairman Brian Behan. He was out walking his two greyhounds. After a few minutes discussing the weather, the match, the Scór and the dogs we were all on our way again. I stood and watched as the three of them rambled up the road. I laughed to myself when I thought how great it was to see them all on good terms again.
Things were not always that way. Big into the dogs, our Brian. One of his two greyhounds, Ballybeag Boy, came second in a big race in Shelbourne Park last year. Jayes' that was some night up in Griffin's. We'd some sport. Everyone had him heavily backed, even Bill Griffin, and we all made a killing. The roof was lifted when Brian triumphantly returned to the pub carrying the 'Boy', who was draped in the Ballybeag colours, over his shoulders. Father Clifford calmed things down before offering up a prayer of thanks. We had a bit of a dilemma as there was no cup to fill. True to form, the lads inveigled Bill to take down the big cup from over the telly. It was the under-14's cup won back in the Centenary year. Bill, normally a mane hoor, on such a high after winning some coin on the dog, was caught off-guard and agreed. A quick dust off and the cup was filled. 'Boy' started the ball rolling with a few doggy slurps before it was passed around the bar to everyone, drained and refilled repeatedly. By the end of the night, everyone including the dog was locked. When Brian moved to bring 'Boy' home, he bit Brian in the bollix! He must have wanted another drink. Well he wouldn't let go his grip. Everything was tried to coax the dog into releasing. The drink had an awful effect on him. They tried pouring cold water over his head and even tried to distract him with more drink but each and every time they tried something he'd only tighten his grip. You should have heard the roars of Brian.
Melia, the local vet, was called down from the lounge to have a look. He suggested that the only way would be to castrate the poor animal. The theory being that the pain when sniped would make him release his grip. Well Brian got very upset as he stood to lose out big time on the stud fees but the vet pointed out that if something wasn't done very quickly, Brian's own days in stud would be in question.
Thankfully for Brian a solution was found mainly due to the quick thinking of Jimmy Dunne. Jimmy was an 'aul fellow who rarely spoke. A harmless chap who worked in Rooney's for about 40 years before being forced into retirement last year. He regularly walked 'Boy' and accompanied Brian Behan to most of the races. So when Jimmy heard the band in the lounge starting to play Amhrán na bhFiann, he remembered how 'Boy' was a big fan of the song and would normally howl along with it. So he got everyone to stand to attention and keep quiet so 'Boy' could hear the band. The whole place watched and waited in tense silence. It was looking very bad until just after the "fé lámhach na bpiléar" bit near the end when 'Boy' finally let go and started howling. Everyone joined in.
Secret diary of a club footballer...Part 3
________________________________________
Jayes' there was a brutal bad turn out at training the other week. O'Kane was going nuts. The angrier he got – the stronger and harder to understand his Kerry accent became. On Thursday night, he called a team meeting after training to discuss the lack of commitment and everything else. The girls off the ladies committee served up tae and buns before the meeting and the lads got fierce distracted. By the buns that is, not the girls. You'd swear some of them had never seen an iced bun before. Bill Griffin sent down some 'salad' sangwidges. As usual they were more 'lettuce' than 'salad'. The man has out done himself yet again – short arms, long pockets. O'Kane wanted a frank and open discussion to clear the air. To get the ball rolling, Club secretary and selector, Peter Brady got up and said "now lads I'm not havin' a go at Jack Burke for gettin' the line - but ye have to keep your feckin Dis-cip-E-lin". Jack didn't give a shite anyway. He was sitting in the corner stuffing his gob with buns with a large contented smile on his face. After my attempted speech the last day I thought I best stay quiet. O'Kane and his 5 selectors threatened to walk unless they got 100 percent commitment from the players. Some of the older players spoke up and made a bit of sense trying to rally everyone else around. Everyone gave a mumbled agreement to give more commitment, turn up on time, bring their boots and all the usual shite people wanted to hear. O'Kane and his selectors seemed happy enough for the moment anyway.
Lost me bollix at Cheltenham again. Picked all the wrong Irish bankers. That long hoor, Niall Quinn, would be better off sticking to his Mother Teresa and Kofi Annan impressions and leave tippin' the nags to someone that knows. Peter Brady rang on Saturday morning. Thank Christ he had a nixer for me. He wanted me to drop down to wire up the house for the internet. Peter is an accountant and lives with his only brother Tom on the farm. They are both single and for good reason too. Tom appears to be a farmer but there doesn't appear to be a whole lot of farming going on. Peter is an amazing organiser and without him the club would fall to pieces. He does great work organising the club lotto. When I called down to the farm I could only find Tom. It appeared that Peter was in Oldbridge with the Under-10 Hurler's. You know, there is something very unnerving about a 50 year old man walking about the house in his underwear of a Bank Holiday Saturday afternoon. I tried to put it out of my mind as I set about the wiring. Tom told me that he couldn't wait for the internet. "Can't wait" he said rubbing his hands together. He said he was going to find himself a wife out in Eastern Europe or Russia. I laughed it off thinking he was messing but then I caught the look in the man's eyes...he was dead fuggin' serious.
The St. Patrick's Day Parade committee pulled out all the stops this year. As always, they had a very impressive display of farm machinery, tractors and the top attraction - a combine harvester. Seemingly a fortune teller was put on at great expense. The guess the weight of the bull competition had a record entry this year. I felt sorry for the bhoys and girls trying to do the Irish dancing on the moving lorry. Dan Molloy, never renowned for good driving, tore through the village that little bit too fast. The pony rides were a great attraction until one of the ponies bolted across the bog taking one of Eugene McKenna's young lads with him. The stewards found the pony quick enough but they were still looking for the young lad when I left an hour later. The excitement of the whole thing was getting to me so I retired to Griffin's for a pint. The bar in Griffin's was packed so I went up to the lounge. Crowded enough there too but I got a seat near the counter and watched the club finals on the telly. Seán Óg and Dermot joined me and we started throwing back the Guinness in true St. Patrick's Day fashion. Drinking for our country – the day that was in it and all that. The craíc was mighty. Later on we were joined by Terrance Cox. He plays in the half forwards for us. A nice lad Terry but the only reason he's on the team is because his father, Joe, is a selector. He's shite to be honest. A bit windy too. Terry was part of the successful Ballybeag minor that won the minor championship 5 or 6 years back but he's gone downhill a lot since then. Come to think of it, he is the only one off that team still actually playing football at all at the moment. The rest of the lads fell by the wayside - the usual story – young team ravaged by the drink and a mixture of fast cars, fast women and fast food. OK, I exaggerate about the women!
I leave Griffin's at a little after nine and head home to see if there is anything to ate. Feckin starving, I am. When I get home I find Father Clifford in the kitchen with me mother drinking tae and ate'n sangwidges. They're discussing the proposed halting site. Father Lenny chats away to me for a few minutes about the football, the training and how he reckons the lads are looking very fit this year and that this could be 'the' year. The aul' one wanting to get down to serious business gives me a dirty look. This is my cue to get the hell out. I grab a few sangwidges and head into the sitting room to watch some TV. The aul' lad is in there with his nightly ration of tae and biscuits. The weather forecast is on, but he has the volume down and he's staring up towards the ceiling with a contented head on him. He's listening to the discussion in the kitchen. The pastor is explaining to the mother how it is important for us all, as good Christians, to look after everyone in society and said "sure when you think about it Bridie, wasn't Jesus himself a bit of an old Traveller in his day". This was like a red bull to a rag to the mother. "Sweet Devine Jesus. A t**ker! Father Clifford? A t**ker! You mean to tell me that you're going to sit here in my own house and call our Lord, God, Jesus Christ a...a feckin' kn**ker! Jesus, Mary and Joseph". The mug of tae and the sangwidge were swiped from his hand and before Father Lenny knew it, he was out the door and down the road with the words that she'd be "taking the matter further with the bishop" still ringing in his ears. Well the aul' lad nearly pist himself laughing. He feckin pebble dashed the mantle piece with the tae and custard creams. The tae was coming out his nose and everything. Jayes' it was some spree.
Cheers Harold, that's the ones, was someone on here responsible for writing them or did someone just post them a few years back? ??? Author?