If only they’d known what was going to happen, Willie and Nigel could have brought a calculator with them…to Cork, last Sunday.
Between goals and yellow/black cards, the dynamic duo bringing the good news across the radio airwaves briefly struggled to keep count…well, of the cards being brandished, at least. There was no fear of the experienced duo losing count of the goals.
We’d attended the Cemetery Mass in Bornacoola earlier in the day. We stayed in Rooskey/Dromod area during the afternoon, and there was a nice summer atmosphere. By 4 pm, we had one eye on Tyrone v Dublin and two ears on Cork v Ros.
I had a good feeling about last Sunday – and little regard for the ‘dead-rubber’ label. It was obvious that both teams were desperate to win. The prize of an All-Ireland semi-final may have been gone, but there was arguably still a fair bit at stake…whatever the national media and neutrals might say. Third place in the group. The morale boost of a championship win. Status/bragging rights amongst the pack chasing the top five. A confidence-booster ahead of next season.
Winning was arguably particularly important for Roscommon, in light of three disappointing outings in last year’s inaugural Super 8s.
And win our lads did. It was a typically helter-skelter end of season game, fortunes fluctuating, goals coming thick and fast. The outbreaks of ‘fisticuffs’ was evidence of how much it meant to the players.
Roscommon prevailed, and by all accounts fully deserved the win. Willie and Nigel did the business in style, with lots of passion. We won our first ever Super 8s’ game. Four championship wins from six outings this season (plus a very competitive showing against Tyrone). Away wins in the same championship season against Mayo, Galway and Cork. A gleaming Nestor Cup. Well done lads. Great stuff. Roll on 2020.
No deal Brexit? Just a blip!
Any time you have numerous sightings of a member of a rarely spotted species, it’s worthy of comment.
Usually they hibernate at this time of year – most of the year in fact – and can really only be found sipping expensive whiskeys and talking with affectation in some lavish lounge deep in the heart of the House of Lords, a House of Commons chamber, an exclusive men’s club, or in their retreat in the south of France.
Now? Now you’ll find them prowling around the Newsnight, Channel 4 (news) and Sky studios, twitching nervously before going on air, for fear of too much contact with ordinary people.
If it weren’t for the fact that the issues under ‘discussion’ are so serious, I’d nearly say they’ve brightened up my summer.
Yeah, the Tory posh boys/toffs really are back in town.
The latest to bewilder was one Norman Lamont – last at the heart of Government in 1993 – who added his smug analysis of the Brexit crisis on Newsnight on Tuesday.
A ‘no deal Brexit’ would merely be a short-term “blip” Lamont told Newsnight.
I wonder how that comment went down with the thousands of Brits who have already lost their jobs in the car manufacturing industry? Not to mention the millions of people on these islands who are worried about Brexit, particularly a no deal one?
The prospect of ‘posh boy’ Tories recklessly leading the UK towards a Brexit crash-out is now very real.
And when it all comes to pass – whatever final twist awaits – the privileged ‘posh boy’ Tories – who wouldn’t be able to tell you the price of a loaf of bread if you gave them 100 guesses – will slink back into the shadows, returning to wherever they live, which is not really in the real world. Their countryfolk, meanwhile, will be left with the ‘blip’…
There I was the other day, listening to the radio and watching the TV…and I could neither hear nor see Marty. Marty Morrissey.
Naturally, I was stunned at this shock turn of events. I had double-checked all the obscure reality shows, every possible sports programme, even the weather bulletin…but not a single sign of Marty. Very worrying.
I rang RTE to complain about this lack of Marty, an absence which goes against everything our society has become accustomed to.
Where is the multi-tasking and omnipresent Marty, I intended to ask.
The phone rang. And Marty answered.
I told him I wanted to be put through to the complaints department.
I am the complaints department, Marty said.
Give me the commissioning editor, I said.
I am effectively the commissioning editor, Marty said, not missing a beat, not even a tiny bit embarrassed.
He put me on hold – the recorded music was Marty singing.
I thought he was a touch arrogant, so I actually changed tack. Give me the equality officer, you’re on TV and radio too much, I ventured.
I am the equality officer, Marty said.
Put me on to the DG, I said. “It’s Dee Forbes…give me Dee!”
“People THINK it’s Dee Forbes” Marty said, “but in reality…”
I gave up.
It was August…and the country was emptying…
One day, last week. The woman looked at her husband…clutching his smartphone and seemingly determined to make that call.
“They’re all gone!” she repeated, shaking her head. “Don’t you realise, it’s August…it’ll be more frustrating than ever. The country’s empty!”
But the poor man was determined. He had a query. He had to speak to someone. He knew all about the automated services, about being put on hold, all that type of thing. But he had to make the call…
After twenty minutes, he got an answer. The man nodded at his wife, as if to say ‘told you they’d answer. Country empty?’ She smiled.
He got a human too…on the other end of the line. “It’s a human!” the man mouthed excitedly to his wife.
“Good morning! Thank you for calling” the human said. “Your call is important to us. Now before proceeding, can I ask you a few security questions…”
“Can you confirm your name, address, date of birth…weight…”
“Regulations! Also, your favourite food, who you’d like to see winning Love Island…”
“We just have to observe certain guidelines. Thank you, sir. Now, how can I help you today?”
The man told the lady on the line what his query was.
“Thank you! Now, I’m going to put you back to the switchboard…press 1 if you want to be put through to the desk of David, he’s gone on the holiday of a lifetime to Australia…”
“Or press 2 if you want to hear Mozart while you wait…and I can have a coffee”.
“Press 3 if you’d like to be put through to the voicemail of Gordon, he’s golfing in Kerry”.
“Press 4 if you want to leave a message for Michelle, she called in sick, but she’s actually availing of the nice weather and hosting an impromptu barbeque”.
“Press 5 if you want to leave a voicemail for Yvonne, she’s on gardening leave. No, she’s not suspended, she’s actually taken time off to do some gardening”.
The poor man mumbled that he just wanted his query dealt with…a sum of money had been deducted from his account.
The lady was so understanding…
“Well, yes sir, I can confirm that sum you mention has been deducted, but I’m not permitted to discuss your personal account in any more detail. You’d have to speak to my line manager”.
“By any chance…is your line manager there?”
“Surfing in Strandhill, it’s beautiful”.
“Can ANYONE help me?”
“You ARE impatient, sir! Will I put you on hold?”
“No, not the ‘hold option’ please…anything but hold!” the man cried.
“But it’s Mozart…very relaxing…the first half hour in particular…”
“Please! Can you just deal with my query!”
“Well, okay. By the way, Gordon has just birdied the 7th in Ballybunion, he’s thrilled! Okay, I can talk to you about your query…but let’s make it snappy…I’m on a half-day…”
“YOU’RE on a half-day?”
“Of course…Galway Races!”