Attention Football: Liverpool FC alive and well October 28, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in Football.Tags: Albert Riera, Anfield, Champions League, Chelsea FC, Dirk Kuyt, Hull City, Jamie Carragher, Javier Mascherano, Jose Reina, Liverpool FC, Manchester United, Premiership, Rafa Benitez, Robbie Keane, Ryan Babel, Sami Hyypia, Stamford Bridge, Steven Gerrard, Xabi Alonso
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I’m not normally one to gloat. 20 years of supporting Liverpool has taught me that optimism can often be misplaced. So I greeted the 1-0 victory over Chelsea on Sunday 26th of October, 2008 – a victory which sent Liverpool top of the Premiership, which put the Reds 3 points clear of the Blues and 8 points clear of Manchester United, which ended Chelsea’s 86 game unbeaten record at Stamford Bridge, which exemplified the best start to a Premiership campaign by Liverpool, and which coupled with the 2-1 win at Anfield over Man U as Rafa Benitez’s first two league wins over any of the other “Big 4″ teams – with a lusty roar which upset one or two diners in Paddy Cullen’s bar, but it was a roar tempered with reason. It is, after all, only 9 games into the season. There are no medals for being top in October.
Halfway through the match, I received a text from my dad – a Man-Yoo man – reading “Hull City will be quaking in their boots”. And while Hull may indeed be the story of the season so far, mixing it with the big boys at the top of the table, in my world the only story is Liverpool. The first half yielded the deflected goal which ultimately won us the match and also saw two other excellent chances – for Gerrard and Riera – go unrewarded. Chelsea, for all their possession, never really mustered a clear-cut opportunity until the ball dropped onto Ashley Cole’s left foot in the second half. From 8 yards out, he sliced wide. Chelsea dominated possession, but all the best chances fell to Liverpool. On the balance of play, the Reds deserved to win this match. Their movement was better when they did attack, their defence was organised and resilient, and their will to win – honesty of effort, as John Giles loves to say – was impeccable.
Sometimes it can be frustrating to watch my beloved team give away the ball, sit deep and attempt to counter. But I have to admit, it was a fascinating contest and, to be honest, there is nothing more satisfying than seeing your opponents throw their centre-half up front for the last 5 minutes, flinging forwards onto the pitch and launching high balls into your backline. Remember the last 15 minutes of Ireland versus Holland at Lansdowne Road on the way to the 2002 World Cup? The Dutch finished with 4 strikers on the pitch but had resorted to pumping the ball long, and Gary Breen had a field-day heading it straight back down the pitch. Cue Sami Hyypia’s entrance in the dying acts. In full flight, getting that big blondey Finnish head onto Chelsea’s hail Marys, Big Sami looked to be in his element. None of those pesky quick-footed strikers to deal with. That man’s forehead is a ball magnet.
Ok, this is getting a little gloaty. And it’s not meant to be. I’m a realist. It’s only one game in a long season. But Liverpool deserved to win that match because they out-thought Chelsea. Rafa Benitez deserves credit for allowing a bit more creativity in attack – Riera, and then Babel were livewires, while Gerrard was actually more advanced than I think I’ve ever seen him, especially in the second half when Rafa might have closed ranks in the past. Liverpool’s strength over the last few seasons has been the defensive organisation and grit typified by Jamie Carragher. This has been augmented by the hard graft of the midfield to provide both attacking and defensive mettle through Alonso and, to a lesser extent, Mascherano. And I have to say this: Dirk Kuyt, for all his detractors and his perceived shortcomings, is a man I would want to play with – he is an example to any professional footballer and deserves every ounce of credit for his willingness to play whatever role he is called upon to play, and for his unending work up and down the pitch, in attack and defence. He has scored goals this year too, thanks be to God! And this year too, Benitez has been a bit more attack-minded. Not much. But a bit. And that is going a long way. Perhaps we’re conceding a couple goals we might not have in the past, but we’re winning games we definitely would have drawn or lost in the last few seasons. That is the key to winning the league.
Liverpool beat Man U without Torres and with Gerrard only coming on for half an hour. They beat Chelsea without Torres. This may not be the most talented team to ever play at Anfield, but it’s certainly up there with the gutsiest, most hard-working and determined. And there are signs that the players are growing in stature: Gerrard, Carragher, Reina and Torres are world-class, Mascherano seems to have settled well, Alonso has rediscovered the form which was missing last year, Keane and Kuyt will run all day, Riera has added a new dimension and I think Babel could be a real star if given game-time. I’m still not sure about our fullbacks, but Chelsea didn’t test them properly at the weekend, delivering far too many crosses from deep.
There is nothing I would love to see more than Liverpool winning the Premiership. Following that team is an obsession, a lifelong faith. I have been lucky to see them win every other major trophy in the game over the last 8 years. But the nagging doubt still persists: What if I never see them win the league? We’ve been stuck on those 18 league titles for 18 years now. Man Utd are only 1 league title behind us now. Can we extend the lead again? Is this team good enough? I honestly don’t know – I think, after 18 years without winning a league, you never know if you’re good enough until you actually have that trophy back again.
The 2005 Champions League success saw a victory for the best team – TEAM, in its fullest sense of togetherness. Liverpool did not have the most talented team. They weren’t the strongest group of players on paper. But they were the most incredibly determined team in Europe, and there was an unrivalled belief in the manifest destiny of the club to be great, to win trophies, to be champions of Europe. Sometimes it takes one game to demonstrate that. That European Cup campaign saw plenty of those games: 3-1 against Olymiacos; 2-1 against Juventus; 1-0 against Chelsea; THAT final. Hopefully, come the end of this season, this 1-0 victory at Stamford Bridge will be the game that we can point to and say “Destiny. That’s when we knew we would do it.”
But the end of the season is seven months away. I can’t bear waiting that long. So much could happen in that space of time. In the end, all that happened this weekend is Liverpool beat Chelsea. We are only 3 points clear of them. And Hull. Let’s not forget Hull.
What Tommy Tiernan has to offer Post-Colonial Studies October 20, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in Arts, Ireland, Politics.Tags: Ciaran Carson, Croke Park, de Valera, Derek Mahon, England, Literature, Michael Longley, Nation, Northern Ireland, Paul Durcan, Post-Colonialism, Seamus Heaney, Synge, The K-Club, The Troubles, Tommy Tiernan, Yeats
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One of my English Literature courses this year is entitled “Post-Colonialism and Irish Studies”. For anyone who has ever studied English Literature, and particularly Literary Criticism, you will know what Post-Colonialism means. Or rather, you will know that you’re not supposed to know what Post-Colonialism means. The argument rages - admittedly, with all the violence of a damp tissue – in the critical sphere about the word Post-Colonialism: what it means, whether it can mean anything, whether it means several things or nothing, whether it’s a valid term in the first place, when exactly the ”Post” describes, even whether it should be hyphenated or not. So, riveting stuff, I’m sure you’ll agree.
For the non-English nerds, let me enlighten you. I’m could receive a flood of angry comments for the following, but I’m going to give you what I understand as “Post-Colonialism” in as straightforward a way as possible – and this isn’t a straightforward subject. Basically, Post-Colonial studies deals with the literature of nations which have experienced colonial rule - especially, it seems, members of the former British Empire – and explores the factors at play within that literature. Or something.
At a basic level, it looks at how culture - literature, in this case - of occupied countries evolves under colonial rule. Frantz Fanon describes three stages of literature under colonial rule: the first, when the literature is a mirror-image of the colonial culture’s literature and caters solely for that audience; second, after an awakening, begins to question the imperial rule, often looking to the past and seeking to establish a new sense of nation and a history and culture which may or may not have existed (in an Irish context, the literary revival, Yeats, Synge et al.) – that still may not cater to the entire “nation” but only to the intellectual and upper classes; thirdly, once that literature opens out and a wider national consciousness is established, there is outright literary war waged upon the occupying country.
There are loads and loads of terms and nuances and arguments which attend the discourse of post-colonialism. At the heart of post-colonial literature, however, there lies a constant search to establish the nation, to define what it is to be Indian or Nigerian or Irish. Some authors reject the former colonial literary influences entirely, others adopt and adapt them to their own hybridic ends.
And that leads me to my curious title. Ireland was occupied and ruled, in various guises and forms, by England for nearly 800 years. Tommy Tiernan’s joke in his first DVD runs as follows: “What does it mean to be Irish? It means your not fuckin’ English.” And that, it seems, was basically it. For 800 years. Ireland defined itself largely on the basis that we were a small nation being “supressed” by a bigger one. Heroes rose and fell, a history and folk tradition was created around Irishness as a romantic and sorrowful ideal. Ireland’s culture of suffering was a defining feature of our literature and, indeed, our politics. We were Irish – and everything that went with that term: repressed, downtrodden but merry, artful, sorrowful, sufferers – because the English were in our country and we were not English.
That’s Irish history in as crude, nationalistic and blatant a form as possible. But now? Can the same be said? What does it mean to be Irish now? Now that Ireland (or most of it, anyway) is independent, now the English are gone, now we are prosperous thanks to the legendary Celtic Tiger, who are we? We can’t continue to be Irish by our non-Englishness. The mythic Ireland, de Valera’s Ireland, Synge’s Ireland, Ireland of the sorrows is an underlying thread in Irish culture even now, an endemic part of us, but it is no longer our be-all and end-all.
Paul Durcan, the poet, in one of his recent collections, scrabbles around on golf courses looking for Ireland – are the golf courses the new English, do we define ourselves by them? I think it is unsurprising that the renowned Irish poets of today, those who are most widely read and who are, perhaps, most successful, are the Ulster Poets: Heaney, Mahon, Longley, Carson and others. Their most important work, their best work, the stuff we are all beaten over the head with at Leaving Cert level, was written at the height of the Troubles. The Ulster Poets were writing in a Northern Ireland gripped by violence, where the culture was one of opposition: You were Irish or English, Catholic or Protestant, Green or Orange. The nation - or non-nation is perhaps more accurate – was defined by its very indefinition, by its war, by its relationship with England and with its own history. The Northern Poets had a meaning, a focal point. Durcan has golf courses.
Down south, we are blessed in our stability but we are also wracked by something of an identity crisis. We are richer materially but poorer spiritually. We are independent Ireland but Ireland is now a multicultural melting-pot. We have a past which was a march focused on what is now our present, but we don’t know where our present is now leading. We are building a nation but destroying the countryside which made the Emerald Isle so emerald. We thought the English government was corrupt but now can’t trust our own politicians. We are great singers, artists, writers and sportsmen but we can’t bear to look at ourselves without seeing something to be cynical about.
I’m “very Irish”, as one of my English friends has pointed out. I love so much about Ireland and I would find it very difficult to leave – if only for the fact that I’d miss the rain, Barry’s Tea, All-Ireland Final day and me mammy, like any other Irish male. And yet I wonder about what it really is to be Irish. I believe that an intense awareness of our past, our suffering, our heroes and, yes, our language and legends is what makes up much of the Irish person – maybe even a bit of “not being English” when there’s a sport’s match against the old enemy! But that isn’t enough anymore. It isn’t enough to be a colonised people anymore, because that colonial enemy isn’t there – dammit man, some of my best friends are English! And I can’t bludgeon them with a shillelagh and luascadh around their dead bodies, throwing shamrocks into the air and singing “A Nation Once Again”, like in the good ol’ days. Nor do I want to – because we’re all grown up after all. As I say somewhere else in this blog, the English have played rugby in Croke Park, our colonial past has been left behind.
And where does that leave us? Turning off The Corrs CD in the Merc as we pull up at the K-Club for a quick round with Fintan and Ruairí, before a quick bite at Guilbaud’s and a few cocktails in Krystle with the Leinster rugby team? Call me flippant, but you have to wonder: Is this it? And it’s not it, of course – it’s the life of a lucky few but it seems like it’s the new dream to which the country must aspire, like independence once was. Certainly, the question remains relevant. What exactly does being Irish mean anymore? What do we want to do with ourselves? Answers please on a postcard.
We’re All Part Of Trappy’s Army! October 17, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in Football, Ireland.Tags: Ireland, Giovanni Trappatoni, Cyprus, Croke Park, Robbie Keane, Xabi Alonso, Andy Reid, Damien Duff, Aiden McGeady, Richard Dunne, Kevin Doyle, John O'Shea, Kevin Kilbane, Paul McShane, Shay Given, Stephen Ireland
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Ireland 1-0 Cyprus.
Not exactly a scoreline which we would have been celebrating wildly 10 years ago when 3, 4, 5-nil walkovers were common when we played the Cypriots. However, that world ended once and for all two years ago in Nicosia. We lost 5-2 to Cyprus. 5-2. It still makes me shudder to think of that horror show, that nightmarish night in the Med. Whatever Ireland ever accomplishes in world football, we will always have lost 5-2 against Cyprus. Forget losing 3-2 against Macedonia and drawing 0-0 with Lichtenstein, that was the worst result Ireland has ever seen in a football game. A 1-1 draw in Croker almost exactly a year ago merely compounded our new-found terror when facing the C-Country.
On Wednesday night, Giovanni Trappatoni’s new era continued into a sixth unbeaten game and, more importantly, kept us hot on the heels of Italy at the top of the group – we lie 3 points behind the Azzurri (they are on 10 points, we are on 7) but with a game in hand. Furthermore, the news which came out of Tblisi before the Cyprus match made Irish hearts lift even higher: Georgia managed to hold Bulgaria to a 0-0 draw. Bulgaria are second seeds in the group, considered Ireland’s closest competitors for the second spot in the group, but they now have only 3 points after three games. And sure, forget second place, the eyes are now on the top spot.
Well, ambitious it may be. Especially after the performance in Croke Park on Wednesday. It wasn’t anywhere near where we want to be; it was lightyears away from the glorious performances of the 2002 World Cup campaign under McCarthy. Most worryingly, the Irish midfield pairing of Whelan and Gibson were a little invisible at times, hardly providing any barrier to the Cypriot attacks at some times and not really offering anything going forward. Most of the Irish thrust came from the flanks where finally McGeady showed his full bag of tricks – if still dithering on the ball a bit too long – and Damien Duff was back somewhere near his best.
Up front, apart from the goal, Robbie Keane left little in the way of an impression but Kevin Doyle was a dynamo, winning tackles, directing perfect knockdowns, chasing for the entire 90 minutes. Only a fingertip save by the Cypriot ‘keeper prevented Doyle scoring a much-deserved goal. The Irish defensive partnership of John O’Shea and the ever-brilliant Richard Dunne kept the islanders out during some frenetic skirmishes but the full-backs, Kilbane and the scatty Paul McShane, looked slightly unsure at times and didn’t give any sort of support in attack. Shay Given was, as always, excellent. His save from point-blank range in the 17th minute was crucial.
So, some bright spots but a clunky overall performance, lacking the sort of cohesion which we would want to see. However, as Il Trap will continue to tell us, 3 points are 3 points. Ireland are unbeaten in their campaign. We are second in our group. Should we be asking any more? Well, yes. Continued improvement and more composed displays.
Oh, and a game for Andy Reid. Sorry, couldn’t go an entire post without mentioning the forgotten man. He’s the most adept footballer Ireland possesses, with the exception of Stephen Ireland (and he doesn’t seem in any hurry to play for his surname again). Reid has the eye for a pass, the ability to control the centre of midfield in a way which the likes of Xabi Alonso can and Glenn Whelan can’t. Oh, and for those who think he doesn’t track back or put in the hard graft, watch Sunderland’s game versus Arsenal two weekends ago. Reid was like a man out to prove something, but it seems like his national boss blinked and missed it. We don’t want to lose another quality midfielder to premature retirement. Then again, seems like this wee green isle has made a habit of that sort of thing…
Moments of Perfect Symmetry October 14, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in Personal Favourites.Tags: Personal Favourites
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I thought I’d compile a wee list of little moments that raise a smile if only for the fact that they seem to indicate that, every now and again, life isn’t quite as arbitrary as we may think, that sometimes circumstances conspire in such a way as to make you feel lucky, happy, blessed or loved. Sometimes all four at once. Some may seem odd, or funny, or obvious, but they’re personal. I’d welcome any suggestions of your own, so please feel free to post a comment and I’ll add them to the list.
1. Crying with laughter.
2. Humming a song which then starts playing on the radio.
3. A couple holding hands and walking in step with each other.
4. Walking past a lamp-post as it flashes off.
5. A single shaft of sunlight through a hole in the clouds.
6. The first time you smell freshly-cut grass each year.
7. The sound of a stream.
8. Guessing something at the first attempt.
9. Reaching the pedestrian crossing just as the lights turn green so you don’t need to stop.
10. Finishing the sentences of someone you love.
11. A spontaneous hug.
12. Making someone laugh.
13. Remembering something you’ve been trying hard to remember.
14. Getting a joke before the punchline.
15. Finding unexpected common ground with a stranger.
Vanity Fare October 11, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in College, Ireland.Tags: Anne Bradstreet, Ballygowan, Dublin, Fashion, Handbags, Jane Madden, likeKings, Moosh, Pockets, Radio City, Recession, Trousers, Water
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I was thinking about women’s clothing yesterday. No reason in particular. Just happened to come up in conversation. After my morning seminar on the poetry of Anne Bradstreet (17th Century American Puritan, lots of “Oh, the pain, oh the suffering, but I’m a Puritan so that’s my thing”), I was struggling valiantly to contain my various bits and bobs – keys, phone, wallet, tissues – in my trouser pockets. Things can get a bit “full” in that area, so to speak. As I was complaining about the predicament to Jane Madden – short on stature, big on laughter, the shot glass to her boyfriend, Moosh’s, pint – she remarked that I had a schoolbag on my back and that I should store my things in there. Now now, I said, that’s a female solution to a male problem. Women have handbags, men have pockets, those are our storage spaces.
I was on the verge of unleashing a nuclear missile of a question – what the hell do women need handbags for anyway, how much blusher can one lady need? – but Jane issued her deterrent before I could launch my assault. She pointed out that lady-trousers have much smaller, tighter pockets than man-trousers. She demonstrated by attempting to slide her tiny fingers into her tiny pockets. The tininess of the pockets was far greater than that of the fingers, which could barely squeeze over the threshold of said-pockets before instantly turning blue with the pressure.
Then it hit me. The useless pockets made a handbag necessary for any lady who needs to carry a purse and some keys - not to mention make-up, tampons, sandwich, lightbulbs, blender, 19-inch TV, three lesser-known Rembrandts, 2007 Renault Clio and Fulham Football Club. The handbag becomes indispensible and, as a result, an entire industry is built up around the desirability and chicness of handbags as fashionable accessories. Where a plastic bag would do, a €1000 leather-skin envelope is proposed as the more practical and funky alternative.
It’s all a conspiracy of course: The tiny-pocket makers are able to accumulate a fortune in handbag sales. Maybe they get a commission from the handbag makers - the tinier the pockets, the bigger the cut. Handbags are just one example of everyday objects which are priced at luxury item prices. So ladies, a couple of adjustments to your pockets and you may never need to buy a handbag again.
This links rather neatly with an incident from the night before. I was in Radio City on Store Street at a gig – likeKings is the band, check them out on Myspace – and I went to the bar to order a pint of tap-water (I’m a non-drinker). The Eastern European barman shook his head and, over the music, I thought I heard him say “We don’t serve tap-water”. Perhaps a hint of xenophobia in me led me to suspect that he hadn’t understood the question. I repeated my request for tap-water, pointing vigorously at the sink behind the bar. Again, and more clearly, he said “We don’t serve tap-water” and did some pointing of his own, at the line of Ballygowan bottles on the lowest shelf of the fridge.
My puzzled face was the picture which painted a thousand words apparently, as he called over the bar manager. For the third time I asked for tap-water. With a smile which betrayed a mixture of pity and scorn, he told me that they did not serve tap-water, that the water wasn’t drinkable. I pointed out to him that the last time I had been in Radio City, about four months ago, I had been served tap-water. His reply was “That was four months ago, it’s not drinkable now”.
I sensed he was chancing his arm slightly and asked where their ice came from. With the surly look of a child caught out on a lie, he mumbled “An ice-machine”. Pressing home my point, I then asked the defunct question of what the ice-machine was connected to. The manager then threw all his toys on the floor and stamped away, saying that the water wasn’t drinkable and that he didn’t want to play anymore. I resisted the temptation to order a glass of ice. Instead, I walked away thinking that it was a sad state of affairs that, in the time of recession, when a 330ml bottle of coke in a bar costs €3 (a ridiculous price considering you can get a 500ml bottle in Spar for €1.40), that a good Dublin venue like Radio City had decided to force the non-drinker to pay for their abstemiousness, even for such a basic service as water. Tap-water is free and available in every other bar and restaurant I have ever visited in Dublin. Like tiny pockets, “dirty” tap-water (not to mention, grossly overpriced mixers) may just be another, slightly more serious, example of the inherent greed and opportunism which face the Irish consumer.
Cooking For One October 8, 2008
Posted by bazmcstay in College, Ireland.Tags: Bear Grylls, Cookery, Food, Jamie Oliver, Killian, Mark, Recession, Tesco
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One of the joys of my new college timetable is the fact that my six weekly classes are spread pretty evenly, one per day except Wednesday. What is more, most of these classes are reasonably early (10 or 11) or late (3 or 4). This provides me with the added bonus of being able to stay at my flat until after lunchtime or wander home around midday. Thus, I am discovering the joys of cooking for myself, both lunch and dinner. Sad loser or new man? You decide.
Being in college in Dublin, it is very easy to slide into the lazy – and expensive - option of buying microwave meals or eating out or ordering takeaways. Last Christmas, after spending a couple of days staying with Killian and me in our flat in Dublin, my older brother Mark bought me an Indian cookbook. It was, in his words, because “all I eat is pizza”. In fact, those boxes from 4-Star were all Killian’s, I swear!
Anyway, since that point, I’ve actually developed something of a cookery fetish. That’s right, fried chicken with paprika, sautéed potatoes and grilled pepper turn me on. I could make love to a minute steak with a dash of soya sauce. My bolognese sauce keeps me transfixed for hours. A stir-fry really stirs me up. And so on. I even have a herb cupboard. Yes, I know. Jamie Oliver can’t touch this.
It’s a wonderfully satisfying feeling when you sit down to a meal which you have prepared yourself. And it’s cheap: I bought my food for the week at a cost of €22.78 on Monday in Tesco. This included diced chicken fillet, mince, steak and pasta. Bear Grylls could take some survival tips from me. I bet he can’t flambé either. Killian arrived in the other night and was shocked when I offered him some homemade onion rings. Easy to make, easy to eat, a bitch to clean up after. That’s the one downside to this whole cooking lark: I need a small battalion of servants to tidy up after me because, like all great culinarians, I am not the cleanest in the kitchen. Any applicants, please email me your details and indicate your willingness to wear a French maid’s outfit. In the meantime, bon appétit.
