Football versus football.

-
Growing up in my house there were two kinds of football. Football and soccer. No, before anyone starts, we’re not American. We’re Irish. My Mum’s from the hurling side of a Gaelic county and my Dad grew up in Dublin, in a cul de sac full of second generation Dubs like himself, influenced by their culchie parents’ love of the GAA.

That said, my mother somewhere along the lines, whether through a love of Kevin Moran, Denis Irwin or the colour red, became an avid Manchester United fan. I’ve often said she would watch the Paraguayan tiddly winks championship, if there was such a thing, so I suppose she had to pick someone to shout for. 

My Dad, however, only really watches sport when he’s working at it, and only vaguely supports Sunderland because Niall Quinn’s a nice bloke. 

Still though, to save confusion football meant Gaelic football and when talking about the other football, at least until after September, we generally said soccer.

Then I went and met a fella who grew up in the 80s when Irish boys were being lured by the dream of going off to the many big schmokes of England and being paid  tens of thousands of pounds to kick a ball around for 90 minutes. 

Now what? His football season begins tomorrow, just as mine begins to draw to its exciting close. He asked me last night, very seriously, who I would be supporting. His sister asked me the same a month or so ago and I was nervous to reply. 

It’s a tough one for me. I support the Dubs, because I am a Dub! I support Clare, because it’s my second home. I support Munster, because my Mum, her five brothers and four sisters do (and my Dad hates rugby) and I’d be scared to do otherwise. 

So maybe I’ve answered my own question. If someone you love loves someone… 
 
Damnit, I think I’m a Liverpool fan. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Four years.

-
He's four years gone today and I still remember the call, and I'm still not right for it. My mother rang me Wednesday just gone, 19 minutes before I was due over for dinner.  She wanted me to bring gravy, she'd run out and we were having beef. Every time my parents ring unexpectedly, or pause before speaking, I expect bad news.  More will come, and it has, though none like that day, thank God. Gradually I stopped writing for fear someone else would go. As if this blog, had some sort of strange, dark power. I told the story, of that day, to a friend only last Sunday and she started to cry.  She'd never met my Granddad but when I told her that when my Granny heard the news she stood up and asked to be brought to him, at the bridge, where he lay, my friend cried for them. On the day of his funeral Granny said that things would never be the same, and they're not. For a man who said very little, his presence is missed. There's a ho
Read more

There’s nothing worse

-
I work with a guy, who no matter what you say is wrong with you (including, today, having ‘The Fields of Athenry’ stuck in your head) says ‘there’s nothing worse’. So leaving broken limbs and falling off heads aside, here’s a countdown of my current top ten of ‘there’s nothing worse’. 10. Having a song stuck in your head – This really depends on the song and what you associate with it. If it’s a four word loop of something by the Cheeky Girls, Whigfield or, to be more current, Jedward, then that’s seriously head wrecking. However, if it’s a song that reminds you of something or someone good or if it’s along the lines of ‘We Are the Champions’ then it’s fantastic! 9. Getting to the phone as it stops ringing – This is made worse when you then go to call the person straight back and you can’t get them because they’re leaving you a voicemail, are ringing someone else or have just dropped the phone and ran away, as some stand up comedian once said.  8. Banged knee – I us
Read more

Last Sunday

-
Last Sunday my Granddad got up and went to 9 o'clock Mass in his local church. Last Sunday I got up and brought my mother to brunch at 11.30am in Odessa. Later my Granddad had a roast goose dinner, followed by trifle and cream. I had smoked salmon eggs benedict, freshly squeezed orange juice and coffee. After dinner, my Granddad (aged 90 and almost a half) went fishing. After brunch, I (aged 31 and almost three-quarters) went shopping. After fishing, my Granddad walked from the river, through the fields, to the bridge to wait for his lift. After shopping, I went to lie on the couch in my boyfriend's house, tired from a night out and early start. Last Sunday, my Granddad sat on the bridge, hands on the stone either side and bowed his head. Last Sunday, as I started to open an ice-cream and sit on a bench, I got a call from my mother, sobbing. Never sick, we never expected him to go. His first admittance to hospital was for his post mortem. He went they way he should, a
Read more