Delany's Donkey!

Sitting here watching the world cup draw I feel the combined rage of a so called ‘hard done by’ nation permeating the very ether of Irish society. While the entire country displays an amalgamation of hate and bitterness sufficient enough to power a small country for a decade it is my opinion that there is one pure and simple truth that we need to start accepting. The Irish team are not going to the world cup because of the Irish team.

For two years in true Irish fashion we sold ourselves short and approached qualification with the confidence of a cross eyed ginger at a beauty pageant. We played to draw and draws are what we got all along praying to the powers above that results elsewhere would smile in our favour. They didn’t, they smiled at someone else. Enter Thierry Henry. Like a two bit cheating politician he played the system, and more power to him, he got away with it. A quick spot of juggling that would put bonzo the clown to shame and France are packing their bags. Forget the half hearted lethargic attitude with which we plied our trade for two long years, forget the fact we lay down like door mats on the hallowed turf of Croker, forget the fact we didn’t have the character to finish off a weak French team in their own back yard, FORGET the criminal defensive blunder by McShane and Givens deer caught in the headlights expression! No if the headlines are to be believed Ireland are not going to the world cup because Thierry Henry committed an act which has on many an occaision relegated many teams to the depths of despair. However on this occasion for some bizarre reason the book must be rewritten.

If there’s one thing the man above got absolutely right it’s that you always reap what you sow, unless of course you’re Irish and nothing of the sort applies. Maybe this has more to do with us being robbed of the opportunity to lose gracefully, an activity we embrace more than life preserving oxygen, than of actually having our pride ravaged mercilessly by a guillotine. Is it possible the real truth is that the events as they unfolded negated the joviality of despicable drunken renditions of ole ole and outrageous comments of being the best supporters in the world yet having no team to support come next summer?

Hey at least now we have two teams to cheer against!

Why Munster cheer for Leinster!!!

Forget twelve counties! Leinster has unequivocally been the untouchable property of a collective number of postcodes that have lent their denomination to the ‘even’ persuasion since Crowell first drew up the plans. What a dilemma of depressing proportions arose when it became apparent that Leinsters surplus of tickets was to requirement. Notwithstanding the supposition that Leinster is a province, when bodies were required to populate a venue larger than your average horse field the painful evidence pointed to the proof that the ya fab Fintans from D4 had pushed the true salt of Leinster from the fold resulting in the possibility that blue seats would be occupied by red jerseys whether they be from Kilkenny or Clare, Limerick or Louth, Cork or Carlow.

Rather than get the ovens blazing and humble pie produced en masse the country was warned of Leinster Rugby’s answer to the Taliban beard patrol that would be in effect on the day. Munster and Leinster rugby does not suffer rivalry as a sporting contest but invariably as the pale versus beyond, a mindset that Dubs will claim to be two way traffic.

To all intents and purposes Munster rugby has always been about Rugby, an opinion not shared by the boys in blue suggested by the cacophony of jeers that reverberate around Kiely's whenever Munster take to the field, whoever they might be playing. A visit to the Ballsbridge alehouses whose patrons embody ‘the soul’ of Leinster Rugby will disappointingly reflect that a Munster loss is as good as a Leinster win. That being said I’m proud to see Irish Rugby bearing the potential to sweep the board in Northern Hemisphere competition and wonder will a sea of red still be more evident in Edinburgh nevertheless shouting for Leinster.

A glass of dry red wine and hold the chocolate please...

In the words of the Virgin Mary, where in the name of the eldest fella did that come from? This joke of a country has once again gotten its facts completely mixed up, and this time with the help of the even more inept religious order that holds tightly, even still, onto the balls of this country in a manner that would put a Stafford shire bull terrier to shame. Now it may come as a shock but I’m not what you’d call a Christian of papal proportions. But be that as it may I feel compelled to endorse a fact that undoubtedly Basques in the glory few enjoy of being beyond contestation. Namely that on the very first Good Friday the man himself drank alcohol and did NOT eat chocolate eggs.

Not that it matters since a twelve pack of Heineken's tinned fare and a box of Birdseye's finest quarter pounders are chilling with the defiance known only to a few in my fridge.

What everyone else is thinking, they just don't know it...

So it's finally all over but can anyone please tell me why the hell Obama was required to deliver yet another speech. After two years and an unsurmountable pack of presidential promises AKA lies what the hell else does he have left to say...you got the job man with target, now get on with letting down the sorry pathetic American public that have been yet again duped into believing that the man dictates the Presidency and not vice versa...

Well I never.

In a couple of days I expect to read Disgraces obituary further to a promise made returning to work 360 (and not one second more…get it) odd days ago. That of the lament concerning the failure of 2007 and assurance that if 2008 faired no better then that was it!!! Indeed as assured as I am that ND has indeed demonstrated the courage that we suicidal could only ever wish for I have had a funeral wreath in ready anticipation since round about last February.
The following is a list of things Coiny took from 2008 as negatives.

Jamaica needs a drugs screening process. Sorry disgrace it’s a fact.
It’s easy for Padraig Harrington to tell the nation to stop whinging about the recession and get on with it while competing for the highest paid golfer in Europe merit.
Whether it’s war or the Olympics, Britain will always bang on like they won it.
The age old question of Sexism Vs Racism in The US was finally answered, turns out they both play second fiddle to Ageism.
Katherine Lynch.

Wishing someone a happy new year in the current climate is a bit like telling someone with Cancer to get well soon.

A pint of Vodka and a bottle of pills please...

It turns out being unemployed has led to extreme writers block and painfully served to force day and night to sneakily change places with regard to hours intended for slumber. The fact that I’m unable to afford ‘old rope’ is a disgusting cruel joke amongst the countless other reminders that suicide is only a financially viable option to those who don’t need it. At a loss of anything pointless to say here are some interesting facts about life in general.
Sky has far too many pointless stations.
Those that are of use show far too many pointless programs.
Those that are of use have far too many pointless repeats.
RTE is part of a national conspiracy whose programming exposes the license fee as an appalling extortionate racket and for Christ sake will Steve just grow a pair of balls and dump Michelle…oh and the world is far too ill divided to support the lie that there’s one for everybody in the audience…

South Afica here we don't come

I want to set the record straight that I have no desire to rival Anne Frank in my progression of what may now be a similar retelling of godforsaken misery, if one indeed were to in unaffected conscience consider being unemployed in a recession not too dissimilar to hiding a star clad arm in Nazi occupied Holland.

In any case my week started off with a little cash on the hip considering the FAI pay through the nose for the most basic of services, one of which my brother was more than happy to offer me as a handy earner and time filler. 80 squids to lay out some kit for the protagonists of the Munster Emerging Talent Programme I felt a proud hand involved in doing my best to support the Irish footballing men of tomorrow. Leaving extremely discouraged (don’t book any flights to South Africa just yet) I was all the same happier for having earned what in many circles could be accused as being misallocated funds, hey a man’s gotta drink.

After an 8 pack of Hollands finest offering (didn't Anne Frank drink Heineken?) and a few pages of Flan O Brien's “The third policeman” (thanks Disgrace) whose writing can only be described as perfection literised (neologism abounds in healthy measure), I regarded the clock unabashedly screaming a time of 4am suggesting a giant leap from slumber some time the following afternoon. How mistaken I was, 08:30 my hung-over late for work aforementioned sibling stood at my bedroom door with yet another outrageously overpriced little errand. As much disappointed with the interruption as I was appreciative of the extra cash, in a world in which some struggle for food it perplexes how alcohol is provided for in abundance in the absence of income and a hole in my bank account whose dimensions are a heart wrenching testament to the black one in Calcutta.

All in all raising from the depths of death at such a late hour leave little room for entertainment considering the Seoige sisters have about as much chemistry as a Junior cert geography class and the afternoon show proves as informative as a pound shop cook book fused with the fashion section of the RTE guide.

The days are becoming more and more suited to staying in bed, a dangerous occupation considering any job worth it’s salt enjoys the lighter hours.