Tyrone v Meath round 2 qualifiers 11th July 2015

[ONeill]

Goes back 1500 years.

Meath is traditionally said to have been created during the 1st century AD by Tuathal Teachtmhar. The Uí Enechglaiss was an early dynasty who were kings of the region. An ogham stone found south of Slane suggests they originally may have controlled this area in County Meath. They along with the Uí Failge and Uí Bairrche, belonged to the Laigin, but may also be associated with the Érainn.

During the early 500s, they were driven away from their original homeland in Kildare and over the Wicklow Mountains by the Uí Néill, whose sept, the Clann Cholmáin, took their place.

[Sidney]

Excluding any "gaels" that might reside in Dublin, of course.

Can we ban the use of the word gaels?

It's like listening to a Tea Party supporter in the US talk about "patriots".

The use of the word "gael" really does conjure up an image of a certain type of dour, humourless, generally conservative Roman Catholic, six counties bigot.

[ONeill]

Was trying to remember where I'd seen the Meath Dublin Wannabes - a quick Google and here she was:

Cavan: filthy, ignorant hillbillies, puritanical papists.
Hobbies: discovering IRA ammo dumps and knitting black balaclavas.

Kerry: stupid but loveable.
Hobbies: Gaelic football, scraping pig foetus off their wellies and chain-smoking.

Wicklow North: sports car driving country snobs (Greystones, Enniskerry)
Hobbies: Sticking their noses in the air and referring to themselves as "one".

Wicklow South: sheep shaggers.
Hobbies: Sitting in field with their neighbours and talking about the"banjaxed hydraulics on the JCB", collecting the dole.

Dublin North: criminals, drug dealers and factory workers, easy women, unmarried mothers, skinheads and all-round examples of human waste.
Hobbies: Heroin and watching serial numbers being filed off stolen BMW's, Doing hand-breakers.

Dublin South: west Brits, snobs, rich, easy glamorous women.
Hobbies: colonic irrigation and sleeping with their best friend's spouse.

Limerick: violent, racist scum of the earth, knife-wielding prostitutes.
Hobbies: play rugby while stabbing each other with screwdrivers and then complaining about their city's bad reputation.

Donegal: look down on all-others, aloof.
Hobbies: Turning their noses up at all and sundry

Cork: jealous of Dubliners, highly-sexualized women.
Hobbies: Standing at the side of the Motorway and making smug faces at the cars with Dublin plates.

Tipperary: beautiful pristine girls, hard to get into bed but worth it if you can because that County does not have two different Ridings for nothing!
Hobbies: Getting a flat in Dublin and losing their accents and hoping their parents don't find out.

Meath: Dublin wannabes.
Hobbies: Beating Dublin at GAA and hoping that one day somebody in Dublin will actually notice.

Galway: sophisticated boggers could be mistaken for a South Dubliner, sexually adventurous, cultured and wealthy. Hobbies: Teaching sex acrobatics to foreign tourists, dropping acid, paying a million pounds for a three bedroom suburban house and pretending it was a bargain.

Kildare: alcoholics.
Hobbies: Waking up in barns with a bottle on one side and hatchet-faced Biddy on the other.

Mayo: Depressing, defeatist, negative, misery-laden losers, emigrate as soon as the umbilical cord is cut.
Hobbies: Dropping a lighted cigarette on his mattress and then being burned alive in a Cricklewood boarding house so he can have his remains flown back to Knock Airport for burial.

Louth: IRA supporters, smugglers and bandits, beautiful girls (Dundalk).
Hobbies: Tearing through Cooley at 125MPH trying to stop the boxes of cheap vodka from falling out the WINDOW.

Waterford: decent honest hard-workers generally good folks.
Hobbies: Calling a strike.

Clare: fiddle-playing charming simpletons and, more recently, neo-nazis.
Hobbies: Falling into pot-holes and being never heard from ever again.

Sligo: go-getters, strong sense of free enterprise, likes to MAKE CASH.
Hobbies: get rich and b*llix to everything else.

Kilkenny: harmless innocent alcoholics.
Hobbies: Sending their only son to fashion college in Dublin and then wondering why he never brings girls home and why he is always looking in The Brown Thomas catalogue?

Carlow: who cares?
Hobbies: Move to Dublin and then best forgotten about.

Offaly: mad for playing sports and having fun, generally liked.
Hobbies: TO WIN a pub.

Leitrim: Enigmatic reclusive weirdos.
Hobbies: Being absorbed into surrounding counties, quietly.

Longford: Gombeen men.
Hobbies: Legalizing bestiality.

Laois: the real boggers and proud of it generally held in high esteem by Dubliners.
Hobbies: Living an honest life, collecting EU development grants.

Westmeath: Mysterious boggers, cryptic.
Hobbies: Trying, unsuccessfully, to get noticed.

Wexford: selling their "home-grown" organic fruit (bought at supermarket that morning) at the side of the road in summer and ripping-off gullible Dubliners out for a drive in the country.
Hobbies: Ripping off tourists is more than enough.

Roscommon and Monaghan are missing, but sure did anyone notice

[topcuppla]

The Tyrone and Armagh teams of the last decade played some great football, they had some outstanding players

Not really. Just a team of grafters who were taught to unsettle the opposition by hitting them hard and late. I'll give respect to those Tyrone players for actually having skill, but not Armagh. Ronan Clarke and Oisin McConville were their only legit players.

So Stevie McDonnell, Paul McGrane, Kieran McGeeney, Diarmuid Marsden and the McEntees were just passengers, you obviously know little or nothing about good footballers.

[armaghniac]

The Tyrone and Armagh teams of the last decade played some great football, they had some outstanding players

Not really. Just a team of grafters who were taught to unsettle the opposition by hitting them hard and late. I'll give respect to those Tyrone players for actually having skill, but not Armagh. Ronan Clarke and Oisin McConville were their only legit players.

[ONeill]

And Francie FFS. Bellew must've Meath in him somewhere.

[Sidney]

Was trying to remember where I'd seen the Meath Dublin Wannabes - a quick Google and here she was:

Cavan: filthy, ignorant hillbillies, puritanical papists.
Hobbies: discovering IRA ammo dumps and knitting black balaclavas.

Kerry: stupid but loveable.
Hobbies: Gaelic football, scraping pig foetus off their wellies and chain-smoking.

Wicklow North: sports car driving country snobs (Greystones, Enniskerry)
Hobbies: Sticking their noses in the air and referring to themselves as "one".

Wicklow South: sheep shaggers.
Hobbies: Sitting in field with their neighbours and talking about the"banjaxed hydraulics on the JCB", collecting the dole.

Dublin North: criminals, drug dealers and factory workers, easy women, unmarried mothers, skinheads and all-round examples of human waste.
Hobbies: Heroin and watching serial numbers being filed off stolen BMW's, Doing hand-breakers.

Dublin South: west Brits, snobs, rich, easy glamorous women.
Hobbies: colonic irrigation and sleeping with their best friend's spouse.

Limerick: violent, racist scum of the earth, knife-wielding prostitutes.
Hobbies: play rugby while stabbing each other with screwdrivers and then complaining about their city's bad reputation.

Donegal: look down on all-others, aloof.
Hobbies: Turning their noses up at all and sundry

Cork: jealous of Dubliners, highly-sexualized women.
Hobbies: Standing at the side of the Motorway and making smug faces at the cars with Dublin plates.

Tipperary: beautiful pristine girls, hard to get into bed but worth it if you can because that County does not have two different Ridings for nothing!
Hobbies: Getting a flat in Dublin and losing their accents and hoping their parents don't find out.

Meath: Dublin wannabes.
Hobbies: Beating Dublin at GAA and hoping that one day somebody in Dublin will actually notice.

Galway: sophisticated boggers could be mistaken for a South Dubliner, sexually adventurous, cultured and wealthy. Hobbies: Teaching sex acrobatics to foreign tourists, dropping acid, paying a million pounds for a three bedroom suburban house and pretending it was a bargain.

Kildare: alcoholics.
Hobbies: Waking up in barns with a bottle on one side and hatchet-faced Biddy on the other.

Mayo: Depressing, defeatist, negative, misery-laden losers, emigrate as soon as the umbilical cord is cut.
Hobbies: Dropping a lighted cigarette on his mattress and then being burned alive in a Cricklewood boarding house so he can have his remains flown back to Knock Airport for burial.

Louth: IRA supporters, smugglers and bandits, beautiful girls (Dundalk).
Hobbies: Tearing through Cooley at 125MPH trying to stop the boxes of cheap vodka from falling out the WINDOW.

Waterford: decent honest hard-workers generally good folks.
Hobbies: Calling a strike.

Clare: fiddle-playing charming simpletons and, more recently, neo-nazis.
Hobbies: Falling into pot-holes and being never heard from ever again.

Sligo: go-getters, strong sense of free enterprise, likes to MAKE CASH.
Hobbies: get rich and b*llix to everything else.

Kilkenny: harmless innocent alcoholics.
Hobbies: Sending their only son to fashion college in Dublin and then wondering why he never brings girls home and why he is always looking in The Brown Thomas catalogue?

Carlow: who cares?
Hobbies: Move to Dublin and then best forgotten about.

Offaly: mad for playing sports and having fun, generally liked.
Hobbies: TO WIN a pub.

Leitrim: Enigmatic reclusive weirdos.
Hobbies: Being absorbed into surrounding counties, quietly.

Longford: Gombeen men.
Hobbies: Legalizing bestiality.

Laois: the real boggers and proud of it generally held in high esteem by Dubliners.
Hobbies: Living an honest life, collecting EU development grants.

Westmeath: Mysterious boggers, cryptic.
Hobbies: Trying, unsuccessfully, to get noticed.

Wexford: selling their "home-grown" organic fruit (bought at supermarket that morning) at the side of the road in summer and ripping-off gullible Dubliners out for a drive in the country.
Hobbies: Ripping off tourists is more than enough.

Roscommon and Monaghan are missing, but sure did anyone notice

Idea: fair.
Execution: appalling (apart from the Mayo hobbies line, although even that has a grammatical mistake).

[ONeill]

i was just thinking this is not the Meath team I'd be sending up to Omagh. In that vein...

The Expendables 4 – The Gang's Back Together....

Meath CLG offices. Shadows lurk outside and in, the pitch black of a dark night of the soul. The only light comes from a desk lamp in the office of the Chairman, moths flit in and out of the blaze of fluorescence , illuminating a rotary phone sitting on the rich, manly, mahogany surface. Outside, wails and lamentations can be heard, the wind sighs "Westmeeeeeaaaadddd".
A hand appears, lifts the old receiver, and a dials 999.
"Hello...Sean? It's time."

A week later, an armoured bus wends its way through the lanes and byways of South Tyrone. Inside the caged windows, an animated figure can be seen bouncing to every pothole on the road.

Sean Boylan speaks. "Well lads, isn't it great, isn't football great altogether, yeah great, positivity, good lads, now will we have a drop of the auld dandelion tea, now lads, get us up for this, yeah? Good lads."

His enthusiasm is infectious. The bus is crowded with gnarled figures, scarred and ugly beyond belief. It looks like a Lord of the Rings extras reunion.

"C'mon now Liam, you have the first drop."

Liam Harnan looks up, angered that he has to stop worrying the raw leg of mutton he has between his jaws. He wipes the juices from his mouth and drinks deep. "AAAGHHH" – the roar is deep and primal, he doubles up as steam billows from his ears, a hump begins to bubble up on his back, horns protrude from his forehead – amazingly though, the effect is actually a bit more pleasant than what was there before.

"It's an improvement anyway" says Graham Geraghty, slugging out of the bottle, spilling some on his Michael Thomas autographed Arsenal jersey. "I coulda played in a World Cup, but I was too fit for the lads in Highbury, made them look bad. Trevor, get stuck in to that."

He throws Giles the bottle, but the centre forward uncharacteristically drops it. "You'd better get yourself together" Geraghty warns. Trevor nods, reaches under the seat and produces a pair of scissors. Slowly, solemnly he cuts his M+S geansai sleeves above the shoulders. A low hum of approval comes from the others.

Sean is bouncing now. "Colm, leave that and have a drink." Colm Coyle lays down the M60 machine gun he has been oiling and takes a gulp. "Tommy, your turn now." Tommy Dowd opens his mouth and a high pitched scream, like a tortured kettle emits. Everyone except Sean holds their ears. "Yes, Tommy we’ll be there soon. Mick, have a sup there."

Mick Lyons says "............."

"Ah g'wan Mick, an auld drink before the game, it's all natural."

Mick Lyons says "............."

"Right, ok Mick. Anyway lads, this is going to be some challenge, today, yeah, some challenge, football, it's great isn't it? So let's let it in long to Colm, Brian and Bernard, Gerry break whatever ball you can in midfield, take the frees quick off the ground, let's rip out their eyes and piss on their brains, and whatever else we do, enjoy yourselves. Right?" He rubs his hands together genially.

Colm O'Rourke breaks off from wrapping a lagging jacket around his knee. "Ah Sean, what was the last part?"

"Just enjoy yourselves, lads."

"No, the bit before that..."

On the back seat of the bus, still and grave, immense and foreboding, like a statue on Easter Island, sits Mick Lyons.

Mick Lyons says "............."



In Omagh, Mickey Harte and Sean Cavanagh are taking a turn around the side of the pitch, discussing tactics.
"Well Sean, no need for any last ditch rugby tackles today?"

"Not at all Mickey, we'll burn them off in the final 20, sure they had nothing left against Westmeath.....Sheeeit!"

The armoured bus has just pulled into the car park. Sean Boylan bounces off, followed by the clanking, armoured hordes of Mordor. "Howya lads!" he waves genially.

Mickey Harte chews his gum grimly. "We're gonna need a bigger blanket."




"You're very welcome back to RTE-E's coverage of the All Ireland Qualifiers two thousand fifteen-een, with me-ee, Brian Carthy. Controversy here in Omagh today as a considerably changed Meath team, have tested the very limits of manliness and hardy football here today against a shellshocked Tyrone side.

Right from the start Meath tested the referees patience, as Liam Harnan, having just downed a pint of Ivomec F proceeded to feast on the innards of Peter Harte, and which surely deserved a black card at least. Graham Geraghty has been a constant thorn in the side of the Tyrone defence, at one stage wrapping a Fine Gael poster around Sean Cavanagh before punching him in the face and then scoring a remarkable point off his left. Trevor Giles' radar is on today, as he has been taking the kickouts, scoring three of them, whilst Colm O'Rourke, despite sustaining a concussion after being sandwiched by Joe McMahon and an ice cream van, was told by the selectors that he is Bernard Brogan and has scored two stylish points from play.

The only reason Tyrone are still in this is because Meath are a man down, though interestingly, it was not as a result of the referee. Colm Coyle failed to return to the pitch after half time. I'm told he is out in the car park, tampering with the brakes of the Tyrone bus. It's building up to a pulsating championship finale here in He-ealy Park, with me Brian Carthy..."




Up in the stands, some can take it no more. Brian Dooher leaps up and cries "I still have my boots Mickey!" and dashes down the steps, before tripping over a strategically placed Meath fan's boot. He is last seen being attended to by the St. John's ambulance, a bandage several times bigger than his head being applied.

Squeaky bum time. Mick Lyons grabs the ball and heads out from defence – the teams are all square and Sean Cavanagh is desperate to keep Meath in their half. It is time for cynicism. He launches himself at Mick Lyons....
And slides down his body, like a bug splattered on a windshield.

Mick Lyons says "............." and handpasses to PJ Gillic, who launches a bomb into the atmosphere – it hits a seagull before hurtling back into the square, bouncing back up...and over the bar.

On the way to the dressing room, Mick Lyons wipes the battered remnants of Sean Cavanagh from his legs. Sean Boylan is talking to Marty Morrisey – "Great game Marty, manly, sporting, football, it's great isn't it...."




One last stop on a long, winding road back to the Royal county. At a well-appointed, detached house in the country, Sean Boylan rings a doorbell.

Peter Canavan opens the door. "Ah howya, Sean, ye did well today lads, fair dues to ye. I wasn't able to make it myself."

"Ah yeah, great Peter, it was a great performance. Anyway, just wanted to let someone say hello to you. Martin, come up here Martin...."

Martin O'Connell looms into the the doorway. "Sorry about this Pete."

In Tyrone no one can hear you scream.

On the back of the bus, Mick Lyons sits.

And Mick Lyons says "............."

That's tremendous.

[ONeill]

Will Dermy Carlin be replaced?

[Hardy]

i was just thinking this is not the Meath team I'd be sending up to Omagh. In that vein...

The Expendables 4 – The Gang's Back Together....

Meath CLG offices. Shadows lurk outside and in, the pitch black of a dark night of the soul. The only light comes from a desk lamp in the office of the Chairman, moths flit in and out of the blaze of fluorescence , illuminating a rotary phone sitting on the rich, manly, mahogany surface. Outside, wails and lamentations can be heard, the wind sighs "Westmeeeeeaaaadddd".
A hand appears, lifts the old receiver, and a dials 999.
"Hello...Sean? It's time."

A week later, an armoured bus wends its way through the lanes and byways of South Tyrone. Inside the caged windows, an animated figure can be seen bouncing to every pothole on the road.

Sean Boylan speaks. "Well lads, isn't it great, isn't football great altogether, yeah great, positivity, good lads, now will we have a drop of the auld dandelion tea, now lads, get us up for this, yeah? Good lads."

His enthusiasm is infectious. The bus is crowded with gnarled figures, scarred and ugly beyond belief. It looks like a Lord of the Rings extras reunion.

"C'mon now Liam, you have the first drop."

Liam Harnan looks up, angered that he has to stop worrying the raw leg of mutton he has between his jaws. He wipes the juices from his mouth and drinks deep. "AAAGHHH" – the roar is deep and primal, he doubles up as steam billows from his ears, a hump begins to bubble up on his back, horns protrude from his forehead – amazingly though, the effect is actually a bit more pleasant than what was there before.

"It's an improvement anyway" says Graham Geraghty, slugging out of the bottle, spilling some on his Michael Thomas autographed Arsenal jersey. "I coulda played in a World Cup, but I was too fit for the lads in Highbury, made them look bad. Trevor, get stuck in to that."

He throws Giles the bottle, but the centre forward uncharacteristically drops it. "You'd better get yourself together" Geraghty warns. Trevor nods, reaches under the seat and produces a pair of scissors. Slowly, solemnly he cuts his M+S geansai sleeves above the shoulders. A low hum of approval comes from the others.

Sean is bouncing now. "Colm, leave that and have a drink." Colm Coyle lays down the M60 machine gun he has been oiling and takes a gulp. "Tommy, your turn now." Tommy Dowd opens his mouth and a high pitched scream, like a tortured kettle emits. Everyone except Sean holds their ears. "Yes, Tommy we'll be there soon. Mick, have a sup there."

Mick Lyons says "............."

"Ah g'wan Mick, an auld drink before the game, it's all natural."

Mick Lyons says "............."

"Right, ok Mick. Anyway lads, this is going to be some challenge, today, yeah, some challenge, football, it's great isn't it? So let's let it in long to Colm, Brian and Bernard, Gerry break whatever ball you can in midfield, take the frees quick off the ground, let's rip out their eyes and piss on their brains, and whatever else we do, enjoy yourselves. Right?" He rubs his hands together genially.

Colm O'Rourke breaks off from wrapping a lagging jacket around his knee. "Ah Sean, what was the last part?"

"Just enjoy yourselves, lads."

"No, the bit before that..."

On the back seat of the bus, still and grave, immense and foreboding, like a statue on Easter Island, sits Mick Lyons.

Mick Lyons says "............."



In Omagh, Mickey Harte and Sean Cavanagh are taking a turn around the side of the pitch, discussing tactics.
"Well Sean, no need for any last ditch rugby tackles today?"

"Not at all Mickey, we'll burn them off in the final 20, sure they had nothing left against Westmeath.....Sheeeit!"

The armoured bus has just pulled into the car park. Sean Boylan bounces off, followed by the clanking, armoured hordes of Mordor. "Howya lads!" he waves genially.

Mickey Harte chews his gum grimly. "We're gonna need a bigger blanket."




"You're very welcome back to RTE-E's coverage of the All Ireland Qualifiers two thousand fifteen-een, with me-ee, Brian Carthy. Controversy here in Omagh today as a considerably changed Meath team, have tested the very limits of manliness and hardy football here today against a shellshocked Tyrone side.

Right from the start Meath tested the referees patience, as Liam Harnan, having just downed a pint of Ivomec F proceeded to feast on the innards of Peter Harte, and which surely deserved a black card at least. Graham Geraghty has been a constant thorn in the side of the Tyrone defence, at one stage wrapping a Fine Gael poster around Sean Cavanagh before punching him in the face and then scoring a remarkable point off his left. Trevor Giles' radar is on today, as he has been taking the kickouts, scoring three of them, whilst Colm O'Rourke, despite sustaining a concussion after being sandwiched by Joe McMahon and an ice cream van, was told by the selectors that he is Bernard Brogan and has scored two stylish points from play.

The only reason Tyrone are still in this is because Meath are a man down, though interestingly, it was not as a result of the referee. Colm Coyle failed to return to the pitch after half time. I'm told he is out in the car park, tampering with the brakes of the Tyrone bus. It's building up to a pulsating championship finale here in He-ealy Park, with me Brian Carthy..."




Up in the stands, some can take it no more. Brian Dooher leaps up and cries "I still have my boots Mickey!" and dashes down the steps, before tripping over a strategically placed Meath fan's boot. He is last seen being attended to by the St. John's ambulance, a bandage several times bigger than his head being applied.

Squeaky bum time. Mick Lyons grabs the ball and heads out from defence – the teams are all square and Sean Cavanagh is desperate to keep Meath in their half. It is time for cynicism. He launches himself at Mick Lyons....
And slides down his body, like a bug splattered on a windshield.

Mick Lyons says "............." and handpasses to PJ Gillic, who launches a bomb into the atmosphere – it hits a seagull before hurtling back into the square, bouncing back up...and over the bar.

On the way to the dressing room, Mick Lyons wipes the battered remnants of Sean Cavanagh from his legs. Sean Boylan is talking to Marty Morrisey – "Great game Marty, manly, sporting, football, it's great isn't it...."




One last stop on a long, winding road back to the Royal county. At a well-appointed, detached house in the country, Sean Boylan rings a doorbell.

Peter Canavan opens the door. "Ah howya, Sean, ye did well today lads, fair dues to ye. I wasn't able to make it myself."

"Ah yeah, great Peter, it was a great performance. Anyway, just wanted to let someone say hello to you. Martin, come up here Martin...."

Martin O'Connell looms into the the doorway. "Sorry about this Pete."

In Tyrone no one can hear you scream.

On the back of the bus, Mick Lyons sits.

And Mick Lyons says "............."

Only seeing this now. Brilliant stuff, easytiger.

[twohands!!!]

Only seeing this now. Brilliant stuff, easytiger.

Good read - Really captured Sean Boylan to a t and now I'm wondering about the size of Brian Dooher's head

[TheGateKeeper]

Tyrone are a class above Meath:
When you consider Tyrone's Superior tactics, skill level and general footballing ability; and add to that,Meath's bad Karma and clueless tactics, another Tyrone victory is a certainty!
The Red-hand marches on.
Tir Eoghain abu   

[TheGateKeeper]

When they stopped 'juicing' the Boyne water;
Meath fell into serious decline!

[Hardy]

Hoho. Hah. Heee haaaaah Oh God. Stop.

[ONeill]

It'll be interesting to see how Meath react to last week. The players will feel humiliated. They'll either crawl into their shell and start again next year or they'll stick the chests out and leather into Tyrone.