Fi Fo Fi Fum

Setting : A Catholic Club, Alfred Street, Belfast City.
Timeline: Sun 24th Oct 2010, mid afternoon.
Players : Me, Him (man at door smoking), around 40 other Celtic supporters

The day of the first Old Firm game of the season. Tensions are high. I'd ordered beer which was Guinness. Celtic score I jump up and hug a complete stranger. Rangers score once, twice, thrice. Crying into 3rd beer now. I have lived and died the game and make to leave.

Me:
See yi later mate.
Him:
Aye, cheers pal, yi can start smiling now.

(exeunt to strains of Fi Fo Fi Fum ... I smell the blood of a protest-unt).

fin.

Belfast City

Setting : Morning Star, Belfast City.
Timeline: Sat 23rd Oct 2010. Early evening.
Players : Me, Barman

(It's the night before the first Old Firm game of the season. Tensions are high. I'd ordered food which was steak and mussels. It was that kind of night.)

Me:
Tell me this and tell me no more. Are you showing the match tomorrow?
Barman:
No.

Fin.

это может быть верным?' 'Это может быть верным?

Irish internationalist Aiden McGeady was in shock last night after his Spartak Moscow side's one-nil away victory to Marseilles. According to insiders the former Celtic winger was suffering from "euphoric shock syndrome" and was given oxygen by the Russian medical team. Spartak goalkeeper Andrei Dikan told me " Aiden продолжал спрашивать, 'это может быть верным?' 'Это может быть верным?'"" ("Aiden kept asking 'Can it be true?' 'Can it be true?'"). Later, the 24 year old had recovered sufficiently and was able to board the flight back to Moscow with his team mates. This morning, he is described as being comfortable and is currently coming to terms with the achievement.

Spacial Advantage

Back to St Neots museum and the display celebrating the town's sporting achievements through the ages. Slim pickings here although amongst pictures of local kids almost made good ("Geoff was once described as the best under-23 right back, outside the senior leagues, in the whole of East Anglia") we find this half-baked biography of "current Aston Villa manager" John Gregory who was, at least, a bit successful. For a while.

Let's ignore the claim that John was born in 1941 (he was born in 1954), the bit that made us laugh is in the second last paragraph.

"He was always aware of the pattern of the game and by cleverly distributing the ball created spatial advantage".

Spacial advantage! Yes we used to say precisely that about Paul Mcstay in the Jungle back in the old says. This was obviously written, in the absence of anyone who knew anything whatsoever about football, by an academic curator type. Almost certainly a woman to boot. No offence.

Celtic Polo Shirt

A major oversight on the new range of Celtic polo shirts. They appear to have omitted the (four-leafed) shamrock.
Oh hold on, sorry. There it is.

Dave's England Team

Here's the England comedy team brought to you by the good people at Dave 'cos World Cup is on.

Oh look, there's renowned Morris Dancer Frankie Boyle playing just behind lone striker and Loyal Son Of Ulster Dara Ó Briain.

Pah!

Hear No Evil

Bishop Desmond Tutu tells us that we must learn to love the vuvuzela. They are, of course, an integral and unique part of South African football culture and any talk of banning them is arrogant, xenophobic and culturally insensitive. They embody the history and tradition of the Rainbow Nation and, without them, the World Cup would be bland and sanitised. Westernised.

On the other hand they sound like a swarm of satanic locusts and, on average, are making me shout at the kids 33% more than strictly necessary. Fuck political correctness. Ban them now.

Clint Dempsey

This is Clint Dempsey after scoring against England the other night. He appears to be, as Van Morrison would have it, giving praise to the One.

But if God really is in any way implicated in such a calamitous goal He would appear to be even more cruel and vindictive than many of His earthly proponents would have us believe.

Or, of course, Scottish.

Who's On The Plane?

Who's on the plane? Who isn't?.

Theo Walcott will definitely not be on the plane. Neither will Darren Bent. But Jermaine Defoe and Tattieheid will be. According to this predictably daft Sky Sports News graphic they're already seated for fucking take-off.

Shite.

World Cup #1

World Cup prediction. England to reach semis. Then, a large image of the Queen to swim into their collective consciousness rendering them utterly flaccid.

Easter, 1916

A remembrance for the villagers who died Easter, 1916. In the fight for freedom. The most important event in Irish history. Everyone else in the pub watching Burnley being thrashed by Man City.

The numbers bolstered some 10% by me, Musters, and a Chinese woman eating an ice-cream.

For the way we live today.

Hansen

According to the increasingly ludicrous Alan Hansen on Saturday's Match of the Day there are 4 approaches to marking your man.

1. go behind
2. stand off
3. go in front or
4. delegate.

No mention then of careering mindlessly into Willie Miller and allowing Shengeliaan an easy one on one with the hapless Alan Rough.

Going Forward

It's one thing using the term "going forward" to mean "in the future". People actually still say this. However, I've noticed another worrying use of this thoroughly depressing neologism.

Football commentators, rather than saying "in attack", are now rather fond of saying "going forward". Perhaps I'm being over sensitive here. Maybe they've always said this.

Have they?

Crouch

When I arrived she was doing karaoke with the other girls and they didn't want any adults in there. So I went into the kitchen and said hello to the adults. I spotted the boys watching the Spurs Leeds game in the living room. One nil to Spurs.

I wandered over. "Who scored?".
"Crouch" one said, not lookinp up.
I lowered myself below the sofa and repeated the question.
Silence. Slowly I rose back up and looked around. The adults were chatting. The boys were staring at the game. I could hear the girls singing "Valerie" on the karaoke.
I wandered back over to the adults and chatted. As if nothing awful had happened.

Being Zoltan Frizz

Very little is known about the recent "internet sensation" Zoltan Frizz except that he sits in front of the back four of Bylis Ballsh in the Albanian league and "makes nice plays". It seems that he may be Albania's first (and only) openly gay holding midfielder living, as he does, with his mercurial boyfriend Aleksander.

You can follow his twitter feed here and see his Wiki page here. Also see this excellent feature article from the web site Aston Villa Central.

But does he really exist?

The jury is out according to the respected Polish web site ZCuba:

"Wiadome jak na razie jest jedno - profil jest prowadzony dla jaj. Nie wiadomo z kolei jeszcze czy Zoltan Frizz to jedna wielka mistyfikacja czy te? zawodnik o tak oryginalnym nazwisku zainspirowa? jedn?/dwie/stado osób do tego dowcipu. A, i wiadomo jeszcze jedno - nam si? ca?kiem podoba."

Roughly translated this means:

Known as one-profile is for eggs. You do not know yet whether Zoltan Frizz rail is one great hoax or the runner with the original name of inspiring one/two/flock to barman. And, you know my-us quite like it.

The plot thickens...

Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv

My neighbour and good friend, Niall, has selfishly stopped his Setanta subscription. It was only a fiver a month but he claims that even that was not representing value for money.

But where does that leave me?
It leaves me up shit creek without a Setanta enabled Sky viewing card to illegally borrow for the Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv which is only on Setanta is where!

So you might imagine my ... (Is joy too strong a word for it? Well, all things are relative) ... er, joy when I flicked onto the STV website to see if they had the game on. Up pops this as the headline banner:

Wow. Celtic v Hapoel Tel Aviv Live ... Text commentary from 7:30 pm.

Text commentary! Like what you get on the internet! Absolutely pathetic piece of misleading hyperbolic bannereering here.

Chateau Thierry

Has Thierry Henry, perhaps the most unpopular man in Ireland, decided to move to Galway?

Allez Le Verts

On the radio this morning it was contended that the acid test for being Irish, for those of a certain vintage, was based on a feeling of nostalgic exultation for the following two things:

1. David O'Leary's penalty at Italia '90 against Romania
2. Riverdance at Eurovision '91.

These two events were cited as being catalystic in the new found national confidence and planted the seeds of the Celtic Tiger. So not necessarily a good thing one might argue...

Now I'm not Irish but I do remember O'Leary's penalty fondly. There were a few Celtic players in that team so I followed the Irish with great interest.

As for Riverdance, I'd like to think that if I was Irish I'd despise it even more than I already do. Which is a lot. But I'm a bit leery as to whether this is the prevailing opinion in this state. I've met a few people who've demurred when I've blithely mentioned the utter ghastlyness of the risible Flatley and his ilk. So I don't mention it. At least I know I have Ardal O'Hanlon on my side and that'll do.

Back to the soccerball though. Ireland play France tomorrow night and even though Mcgeady might not play I'm excited about the game. I really hope, er, "we" win and beat the French over two legs. Playing them on a Saturday night is always a good thing. Their collective psyche, I expect, will be more focused on fois gras, red wine and gitanes than any sporting gaiety.

Seriously, pushing the old racism to one side, isn't this an electrifying offer in these (what are we calling it again?) "financially straitened times". In certain pubs, you don't even have to pay four euro for a pint of Heineken. For every goal that Ireland, under the ultra judicious Trapattoni, score you can get a whole euro off a pint!

Flabbergasting! It makes you wonder how they can still turn a profit...

The Greek Tragedy

Tragedy In a figurative sense a tragedy (from Classical Greek τραγωδία, "song for the goat", see below) is any event with a sad and unfortunate outcome, but the term also applies specifically in Western culture to a form of drama defined by Aristotle characterized by seriousness and dignity and involving a great person who experiences a reversal of fortune (Peripeteia).

Georgios Samaras, aka The Greek Tragedy, is pictured here wheeling away after scoring Celtic's second goal today. This went some way to reversing his fortunes after his sad, unfortunate (not to mention fucking shite) performance in midweek.

Aristotle would have had, no doubt, plenty to say about this Freddie Mercury lookalike of a striking enigma. I myself would just prefer it if he'd settle on either being really rather good or just piss-poor.

Some consistency please.

Keep the low, low.

I am under enormous (well, enough that I would mention it) pressure tonight to drink.

It could either be in the village or indeed in the city. Either way, people expect me to drink. One person was aghast when I declared my intention to remain utterly sober throughout the game.

The game, of course, is Celtic v Arsenal. I don't tend to drink during Celtic games as I prefer to maintain concentration. When I drink my mind wanders and I could completely miss some tactical nuance. And that won't do at all.

The other reason I won't be drinking tonight is that Celtic are playing Arsenal who are a very fine team indeed. In some ways the best in England. So there's a decent chance we might get beat. And if we do, then I'll be on a low. If I was drinking it would only make the low lower than it needs to be.

If we win, though, I will indulge in an unfeasibly large whisky and crabbies by way of celebration. A draw might even justify this action.

C'mon the Hoops!