Terrified of the Czechs
I'm afraid that I am; terrified, that is, of what's going to happen to us tonight at the hands of the Czech national soccer team who have made a point of coming here to our fair country from their remarkably clean and tidy country with pretty towns such as Cesky Krumlov and Prague. They come tonight armed not so much with lovely beer, but with dangerously lovely football skills and a run of impressive wins.
These are indeed trying times for an Irish soccer fan. At this particular time, try as I might, I cannot see any conceivable reason as to why Ireland will win their match tonight, as win they must. But they won't. The blind are being lead by those blind to any form of motivation (apart from a fat salary an expensive house in England and an Essex girlfriend), who are in turn being led by Steve Staunton. All very worrying and confusing. Steven "Eh-im thu Gaf-fur!" Staunton is lucky that he has some excuse in the fact that his team has actually been hit by a mysterious, sort-of inexplicable and unexplained injury plague. So mysterious it is, in fact, that he'd nearly want to check that he hasn't got a boy with a disturbing and vacant look on his face called Damien hanging around the training sessions. But even taking into account the disease of damage that has afflicted his squad, it still doesn't explain how Ireland has turned into the Liechtenstein senior citizens mentally retarded special needs team. Not really.
The game in Cyprus was a curiously entertaining one. It was such an astonishing match that I found it completely absorbing and utterly compelling; how many goals can these goofs score against us? 4? 5? More....!!?? When Cyprus scored their 4th, I laughed and cried simultaneously like a joke machine thing where you press the button and manic laughter comes out and it vibrates in your hand (if such a thing exists - I dunno). The children moved out of the living room altogether after that, huddling in the comfort of their mother in the hallway while I continued speaking to myself using words, mime and hand movements and increased the speed of beer ingestion.
So, I suppose the next emotion in this intriguing merrygoround of emotions brought on by the recent travails of the national football team, may very well be anger. I saw Stan on the tv again last night and when he mentioned "I'll take it on the chin.." in the context of bearing responsibility for the Cyprus disaster, all I could think about for a fleeing moment was swinging a fire-extinguisher at his large chin. Now that my (very relaxing) summer has ended and the start of the Heineken Cup is fast approaching, my anger levels are also increasing as I know I'll soon be faced with the dilemma of either (a) subscribing to that wretched crowd of "Sky" (pardon the language) cunts.. (b) going to the pub to watch it... or (c) sulking at home, preaching to the family about the evils of greed coupled with satellite tv. Ohhhh.... it's enough to make your blood boil, so it is.
That's it - work today was incredibly boring - even more boring than yesterday. I'm off home to drink beer / wine / Southern Comfort in front of the tv and will focus my expectations on an entertaining analysis from the RTE football panel.
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These are indeed trying times for an Irish soccer fan. At this particular time, try as I might, I cannot see any conceivable reason as to why Ireland will win their match tonight, as win they must. But they won't. The blind are being lead by those blind to any form of motivation (apart from a fat salary an expensive house in England and an Essex girlfriend), who are in turn being led by Steve Staunton. All very worrying and confusing. Steven "Eh-im thu Gaf-fur!" Staunton is lucky that he has some excuse in the fact that his team has actually been hit by a mysterious, sort-of inexplicable and unexplained injury plague. So mysterious it is, in fact, that he'd nearly want to check that he hasn't got a boy with a disturbing and vacant look on his face called Damien hanging around the training sessions. But even taking into account the disease of damage that has afflicted his squad, it still doesn't explain how Ireland has turned into the Liechtenstein senior citizens mentally retarded special needs team. Not really.
The game in Cyprus was a curiously entertaining one. It was such an astonishing match that I found it completely absorbing and utterly compelling; how many goals can these goofs score against us? 4? 5? More....!!?? When Cyprus scored their 4th, I laughed and cried simultaneously like a joke machine thing where you press the button and manic laughter comes out and it vibrates in your hand (if such a thing exists - I dunno). The children moved out of the living room altogether after that, huddling in the comfort of their mother in the hallway while I continued speaking to myself using words, mime and hand movements and increased the speed of beer ingestion.
So, I suppose the next emotion in this intriguing merrygoround of emotions brought on by the recent travails of the national football team, may very well be anger. I saw Stan on the tv again last night and when he mentioned "I'll take it on the chin.." in the context of bearing responsibility for the Cyprus disaster, all I could think about for a fleeing moment was swinging a fire-extinguisher at his large chin. Now that my (very relaxing) summer has ended and the start of the Heineken Cup is fast approaching, my anger levels are also increasing as I know I'll soon be faced with the dilemma of either (a) subscribing to that wretched crowd of "Sky" (pardon the language) cunts.. (b) going to the pub to watch it... or (c) sulking at home, preaching to the family about the evils of greed coupled with satellite tv. Ohhhh.... it's enough to make your blood boil, so it is.
That's it - work today was incredibly boring - even more boring than yesterday. I'm off home to drink beer / wine / Southern Comfort in front of the tv and will focus my expectations on an entertaining analysis from the RTE football panel.
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posted by MunsterMad at 4:09 PM
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