Somebody, please write a comment!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Parody Coma
As always the Irish media dissappoint. Trappatoni betrayed. Even nice boy Niall Quinn was at it today on the INDO. And as always, when things don't work out we'll go back like lap dogs to our regular Irish sages of Gay Byrne or Roy Keane for salvation, the patronising quip and hope. As Irish peoples brains don't function until they live in the past, their past, and all things past.
The past was better you see. Teachers taught you stuff back then in the past, music was better in the 60s, 70s, 80s, mass was full and the pint wasnt tampered with chemicals. It will be the World Cup 2062 and we'll still want our regular wise ones to tell it as it is...we dont usually know 'how it is' ourselves you see. So Keano: the Zidane, Figo of romantic Irish minds will still be telling us how it is as we dont trust our own abilities as Irish people to think for ourselves. After all, if you're on the telly, are a big fish in a small pond then you are far superior an intellect just like Gaybo. And to be on the telly in the 60's...wow...watch your back Stephen Hawkins. And to be on the telly in Britain with your Oirish accent. Untouchable.
For to be a hero in Ireland you are always going to be blown out of proportion. We do that to our heroes. Just like the little boy who has a big brother; adored. Ireland is the little boy making myths out of our very few heroes to the detriment of our heroes own selves. Take Roy. Poor Roy is acting like Roy Keane. A parody becoming a self. It's tragic, created by us the meager, lacking in confidence public who needed a hero and exaggerated their very existence. Yes Roy was good and I'm sure he's a really nice guy, but he was no Zidane. More importantly he is not and was not the only footballer ever who wanted to win a match. What a ridiculous caricature we have created. 'Roy always wanted to win, Roy was so determined, ambitious, eager, hated losing' and so on.
I played tennis all my teenage years and beyond. I rarely won. I played other sports also and frequently got beaten. But one thing is for sure. I never, ever wanted to be beaten, Ever. I genuinely don't think or believe any sports person in any discipline ever wants to be beaten. It's insane to think that it's possible. So where did this ridiculous concept that Roy Keane always wanted to win come from? Of Course he did. He's a sports man! He is not the only player therefore for Ireland or United who wanted to win.
So let's get things into perspective in the aftermat of Ireland's exit from the World Cup. We do not need Roy Keane, a figure of the past becoming a muse for Niall Quinn and others during and after this tournament. Niall disrespectfully suggesting Roy should now manage Ireland)We have to believe in the present and future and our own opinions. ( I will not tolerate another person saying what do you know, you weren't a professional like Roy- Roy wanted to win, Roy was great etc.......) I know he was good. He's one of Ireland's few legends.
This isn't about Roy Keane, although I do think we the Irish public have to share in the blame of creating this caricature of a 'broody, I only think about winning loner' which tragically it appears he has grown to believe. This is about being true to oneself, being humble and not being legends in our own minds. Unfortunately, as Roy has found out at his cost this can have very destructive outcomes. Even more unfortunate is that those people who claim to care about him and love him are not telling him how ridiculous and devestating this 'win at all costs psuedo- rant' is having on his well earned reputation as a great player. It genuinely upsets me to see all of this being tarnised simply because he has no real sense of self- awareness and even truth and that the people around him are happy to see him in a total state of' 'paraody coma'.
Lets leave Roy and Gaybo alone. We're a smart race. We can think and believe whatever all on our own. We need nobodies approval. We don't need sensation and as a good race we don't need the past beating down the present as is the case of Trapatonni versus the old dogs of the soccer world. Come on Ireland.. we all want to see you win, NATURALLY! That's what pros do!
As always the Irish media dissappoint. Trappatoni betrayed. Even nice boy Niall Quinn was at it today on the INDO. And as always, when things don't work out we'll go back like lap dogs to our regular Irish sages of Gay Byrne or Roy Keane for salvation, the patronising quip and hope. As Irish peoples brains don't function until they live in the past, their past, and all things past.
The past was better you see. Teachers taught you stuff back then in the past, music was better in the 60s, 70s, 80s, mass was full and the pint wasnt tampered with chemicals. It will be the World Cup 2062 and we'll still want our regular wise ones to tell it as it is...we dont usually know 'how it is' ourselves you see. So Keano: the Zidane, Figo of romantic Irish minds will still be telling us how it is as we dont trust our own abilities as Irish people to think for ourselves. After all, if you're on the telly, are a big fish in a small pond then you are far superior an intellect just like Gaybo. And to be on the telly in the 60's...wow...watch your back Stephen Hawkins. And to be on the telly in Britain with your Oirish accent. Untouchable.
For to be a hero in Ireland you are always going to be blown out of proportion. We do that to our heroes. Just like the little boy who has a big brother; adored. Ireland is the little boy making myths out of our very few heroes to the detriment of our heroes own selves. Take Roy. Poor Roy is acting like Roy Keane. A parody becoming a self. It's tragic, created by us the meager, lacking in confidence public who needed a hero and exaggerated their very existence. Yes Roy was good and I'm sure he's a really nice guy, but he was no Zidane. More importantly he is not and was not the only footballer ever who wanted to win a match. What a ridiculous caricature we have created. 'Roy always wanted to win, Roy was so determined, ambitious, eager, hated losing' and so on.
I played tennis all my teenage years and beyond. I rarely won. I played other sports also and frequently got beaten. But one thing is for sure. I never, ever wanted to be beaten, Ever. I genuinely don't think or believe any sports person in any discipline ever wants to be beaten. It's insane to think that it's possible. So where did this ridiculous concept that Roy Keane always wanted to win come from? Of Course he did. He's a sports man! He is not the only player therefore for Ireland or United who wanted to win.
So let's get things into perspective in the aftermat of Ireland's exit from the World Cup. We do not need Roy Keane, a figure of the past becoming a muse for Niall Quinn and others during and after this tournament. Niall disrespectfully suggesting Roy should now manage Ireland)We have to believe in the present and future and our own opinions. ( I will not tolerate another person saying what do you know, you weren't a professional like Roy- Roy wanted to win, Roy was great etc.......) I know he was good. He's one of Ireland's few legends.
This isn't about Roy Keane, although I do think we the Irish public have to share in the blame of creating this caricature of a 'broody, I only think about winning loner' which tragically it appears he has grown to believe. This is about being true to oneself, being humble and not being legends in our own minds. Unfortunately, as Roy has found out at his cost this can have very destructive outcomes. Even more unfortunate is that those people who claim to care about him and love him are not telling him how ridiculous and devestating this 'win at all costs psuedo- rant' is having on his well earned reputation as a great player. It genuinely upsets me to see all of this being tarnised simply because he has no real sense of self- awareness and even truth and that the people around him are happy to see him in a total state of' 'paraody coma'.
Lets leave Roy and Gaybo alone. We're a smart race. We can think and believe whatever all on our own. We need nobodies approval. We don't need sensation and as a good race we don't need the past beating down the present as is the case of Trapatonni versus the old dogs of the soccer world. Come on Ireland.. we all want to see you win, NATURALLY! That's what pros do!
Monday, March 12, 2012
Comment please
Please comment those of you reading now. Just want to see its working properly,
Thanks, John
Thanks, John
Monday, February 13, 2012
One Moment in Time
Sometimes I'm both struck and stuck. Struck by an overwhelming sense of loss; a meloncholy that lingers unexplained and stuck, insofar as I have no comprehension as to how such a feeling exists and why it exists NOW. It's a classic case of the subconscious entering into the realm of consciousness. That little part in your mind, that golden corridor that houses memories and remains more often than not hidden. Then something happens.
This 'something happens' is like an itch. You know that, although nothing immediate in your life has happened, no birth, no death, no re-birth; something has changed and has in a very subtle manner dripped into your awareness. It's frustrating and annoying especially now that it's two days and no obvious explaination.
Then you watch the news. As somebody who has or at least had an ecclectic taste in music except for all things Diva-ish, it came as a genuine surprise to me that I felt somewhat lamentful in Whitney Heuston's passing. After all, what had I in common with her? She's female, American, black and sang gospel. I'm male, Irish, white and didn't sing gospel. I didn't sing anything!
I never met Whitney Heuston. Most of us haven't. She was obviously very successful at what she did and appears to have inspired many. But why would a person who, although I appreciated and recognised her talent but was not affected by it emotionally, having no attachment to any of her songs, feel somewhat sad?
The answer is memory. It would seem quiet simply that Whitney was living her life while I was living mine. Her success coincided with my attempts to join the world of adolesence and beyond. She was my background music, singing softly in the corridors of night clubs, pubs and even the last chance saloons of taxi-ranks or even Italian Chip shops, long before the days of Supermacs. She sang the anthems for the many sports that I love, singing One moment in Time every time I scored that last minute winner for Ireland in the World Cup Final. Yes my day dreams in bed were all the sweeter with her voice, although subliminal, whispering in my head.
Whitney was probably lurking in the background when I had my first kiss, my first drink, went to my first night- club, when I first fell in love. She was always there, reliable as her smile always gorgeous. I do remember thinking she was beautiful when I was young. She always seemed happy and joyful. It goes without saying that I learned very early in my life, pre- puberty, that I was hetersexual because of her..and Stephaine Powers. Remember her? Hart to Hart. God I loved Stephaine. I couldn't wait to grow up and share baths with somebody beautiful like her just like she did with Robert Wagner. It wasn't even sexual, it was pure and simple puppy love. Innocent as love often is. And Whitney was without a doubt another of my puppies.
Thank you Whitney, not just for your music, which to a great extent is insignificant here as I wasn't a true fan but for reminding me that everybody living during my life has a role in it whether immediate or in the background. That is why I always remember my parents sighing when they would hear of a famous singer or actor dying; similar to this, it wasn't because they knew him or her or even liked him or her but it was because such persons were of 'their time.'
Whitney you were of my time. And it is that time in fact to which I mourn most. I realise that I mourn really, not your passing as I didn't know you, but instead I mourn the childish innocent memories of hoping for a 'like you' person as my first love, the possibilities of the loves to come, the memories I have as you belted out your finest as I was growing up. Going to primary school, then secondary school and so on. Yes Whitney, that lingering meloncholy that lasted for two days stems from a deep acknowledgement of how time and memory are anchored deep in our hearts and entrenched in our minds. And how without noticing it you played a significant part in my life. Thank you for the memories, although mine.
This 'something happens' is like an itch. You know that, although nothing immediate in your life has happened, no birth, no death, no re-birth; something has changed and has in a very subtle manner dripped into your awareness. It's frustrating and annoying especially now that it's two days and no obvious explaination.
Then you watch the news. As somebody who has or at least had an ecclectic taste in music except for all things Diva-ish, it came as a genuine surprise to me that I felt somewhat lamentful in Whitney Heuston's passing. After all, what had I in common with her? She's female, American, black and sang gospel. I'm male, Irish, white and didn't sing gospel. I didn't sing anything!
I never met Whitney Heuston. Most of us haven't. She was obviously very successful at what she did and appears to have inspired many. But why would a person who, although I appreciated and recognised her talent but was not affected by it emotionally, having no attachment to any of her songs, feel somewhat sad?
The answer is memory. It would seem quiet simply that Whitney was living her life while I was living mine. Her success coincided with my attempts to join the world of adolesence and beyond. She was my background music, singing softly in the corridors of night clubs, pubs and even the last chance saloons of taxi-ranks or even Italian Chip shops, long before the days of Supermacs. She sang the anthems for the many sports that I love, singing One moment in Time every time I scored that last minute winner for Ireland in the World Cup Final. Yes my day dreams in bed were all the sweeter with her voice, although subliminal, whispering in my head.
Whitney was probably lurking in the background when I had my first kiss, my first drink, went to my first night- club, when I first fell in love. She was always there, reliable as her smile always gorgeous. I do remember thinking she was beautiful when I was young. She always seemed happy and joyful. It goes without saying that I learned very early in my life, pre- puberty, that I was hetersexual because of her..and Stephaine Powers. Remember her? Hart to Hart. God I loved Stephaine. I couldn't wait to grow up and share baths with somebody beautiful like her just like she did with Robert Wagner. It wasn't even sexual, it was pure and simple puppy love. Innocent as love often is. And Whitney was without a doubt another of my puppies.
Thank you Whitney, not just for your music, which to a great extent is insignificant here as I wasn't a true fan but for reminding me that everybody living during my life has a role in it whether immediate or in the background. That is why I always remember my parents sighing when they would hear of a famous singer or actor dying; similar to this, it wasn't because they knew him or her or even liked him or her but it was because such persons were of 'their time.'
Whitney you were of my time. And it is that time in fact to which I mourn most. I realise that I mourn really, not your passing as I didn't know you, but instead I mourn the childish innocent memories of hoping for a 'like you' person as my first love, the possibilities of the loves to come, the memories I have as you belted out your finest as I was growing up. Going to primary school, then secondary school and so on. Yes Whitney, that lingering meloncholy that lasted for two days stems from a deep acknowledgement of how time and memory are anchored deep in our hearts and entrenched in our minds. And how without noticing it you played a significant part in my life. Thank you for the memories, although mine.
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