November 2009

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I watched the first episode of new RTÉ comedy Val Falvey TD starring Ardal O’Hanlon tonight. And promising enough it was too.

The former Father Ted star presented a really good series of programmes, some years ago, on football rivalries called Leagues Apart. They seem to be on YouTube for anyone interested.

The clip above, however, is the highlight. Here, Father Dougal (essentially) chats to the always-stylish Gazzetta Football Italia legend James ‘AC Jimbo’ Richardson about the Rome derby. Crikey.

SPORT NBA


Frank Sinatra – As Time Goes By

One of the greats announced this week that he’s calling it a day. Allen Iverson is set to hang up his tats and leave the NBA a duller place.

An unbelievable player for the 69ers, ‘AI’ – who was quick to defend the ‘hip-hop’ culture of the league’s players, summed up everything that middle America grew to hate about the organisation with his heavily-inked arms, perceived bad attitude (check out his press conference) and busy social life.

Rick Reilly – then of Sports Illustrated – once challenged the prejudice against Iverson (and there was a major of racial element to this reputation, I think) with a piece that introduces an unnamed player, detailing his many (real and often unpublicised) virtues and achievements until – taddah! – the curtain is dramatically drawn back, leaving the haters spluttering cornflakes all over the diner counter.

There was however, the inconvenient truth; Iverson’s long rap-sheet. One incident in 2002, was brought to mind today when I gave pause for taught on ‘The Answer’.

As some might be prompted to remember a summer passed by the delicate scent of a late grandmother’s favourite flower in bloom. Or two faint bars of an old song might bring to mind a tide of happy memories, I found myself back in Wildwood, New Jersey thanks to Iverson.

A summer pushing shopping trolleys around a car park, wasting weeks arguing about Saipan (I’m missing half a tooth) and drinking cheap, warm beer ran parallel to the Philadelphia star’s own downward spiral.

In a sequence of events that ODB would have been a bit embarrassed about telling Method Man, Iverson threw his wife out of thier luxury home. And then the next night went around to his cousin’s house – I love that detail – with, allegedly, a weapon to look for soemone he thought was a love rival or something. The details are sketchy in my mind, I must admit. I think he got off in the end.

I’ll miss the crazy bastard.

*Yes, I know he’s actually a free agent and hasn’t played for the 69ers in years.

I’m sooo over Thierry Henry. Cork is flooded, I’ve no running water and I broke my Sky remote control last night. There are more important things then World Cups. Really.

There was plenty of sports action stateside over the weekend. First of all, check out Kobe Bryant, above, nail this shot from BEHIND the backboard. I didn’t know you could do that.

Then on Saturday, Nate ‘Kryptonite’ Robinson – one of the most vivid characters in the league almost scored an OG, basically, when he shot into his own basket just after the buzzer. Robinson’s responce to Knicks coach Mike D’Antoni’s inevitable rage? “What? What?!”

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Inspired by his forthright thoughts on Ireland’s defeat to France in the World Cup play-offs (including extra bonus journalist ringtone RAGE), former Ireland and Manchester United captain Roy Keane takes time out from his busy work day at Portman Road to discuss the topics of the day, in a feature new to The Deadline.

Today, Keane – who once sang Positively Fourth Street in Lillies Bordello’s VIP Lounge after beating Holland, of course – offers his perspective on Jedward’s exit from X-Factor last night.

[Keane sips a herbal tea from a chipped 'Who's The Boss' mug, one veteran journalist's mobile phone is smashed into the lino when the reminder alarm for his heart pills sounds. Then, he quickly gets into his stride on the singing twins]

“Jedward had chances at boot camp and on Saturday but didn’t take them,” he said. “Lloyd was there for the taking but Jedward never grabbed it – as usual.

“They were afraid of that next step and were mentally not strong enough. They can complain all they want. That is not going to change anything. Olly is going to the final – get over it! They want sympathy as usual. It is the usual carry on and it’s boring.”

“It is the usual Louis Walsh reaction – ‘we’ve been robbed’, ‘the honesty of the game’ but there was one of the earlier rounds (movies week) when John and Edward got through and no one had appealed for it.

“It was one of the worst decisions I have ever seen. But I don’t remember Louis saying ‘You know what? The public made a howler, let’s give them a replay.’ It is the same principle.

“It [Joe singing an Elton John song on George Michael night] was instinct for Cheryl. Would I call her a cheat? No I wouldn’t think so. Did she bend the rule a little? Maybe. You see cheating going on all the time. Nobody wants a cheat. I wouldn’t agree that Cheryl is a cheat. She is a top, top player who took advantage of the situation.

[Ten minutes later... After discovering Roy is uninterested in seeing the fake CArlsberg pint application on my iPhone...]

“I don’t feel the game has been damaged one bit. Jedward had the chances. They never took the chance in the first game [Saturday]. They never performed.

“Louis talks about the honesty and integrity of the game but I would not take any notice of that man. People forget what went on in Popstars in 2002 [Nadine Coyle, now of Girls Aloud, was kicked off the show for lying about her age] and that man talks about honesty. I have been involved with Boyzone since I was 15 years but he didn’t have the decency to even make a phone call – and he goes on about the honesty of the game.”

[Keane suddenly storms off through a closing canteen door when Colin Healy is spotted wearing his studs indoors. We eventually leave, when the Corkman fails to return after two hours. The Watercooler: a sideways look at what's in the news with Roy Keane returns for a special budget edition soon!]

update: The Gift Grub guys had the same idea it seems, listening to this morning’s broadcast.

Game over…

ireteamblackwhite

Dougal: I know! We’ll lure them into a giant bingo game!
Ted: And how are we going to do that?
Dougal: We’ll print up some bingo cards on our printing press and… oh.
Ted: Yes, it’s the lack of a printing press that lets us down there. Or bingo balls. Or a PA system. Or in fact, any bingo paraphernalia at all.
Dougal: Damn. So near, yet so far.

When Roy Keane weighs in with a spittle-flecked rant aimed at the Football Association of Ireland, you know it’s time to throw in the towel. The same way the sight of a drunk, hiccupping girl weeping in the kitchen marks the end of a house party, his tirade is are the full-stop in a traumatic week for Irish football.

We jumped the shark, as a nation, when a group of men – not even kids – picketed the French Embassy today. It’s beyond a Craggy Island parody. I think now is the time to fold away childish things.

I am however confident we will win the European Championships. Not that I’m overreacting to what was, let’s remember a phenomenal 1-0 win in Paris.

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The world, inexplicably, is still turning – but feeling is still raw today after last night’s game. Here’s a round-up of the reaction on the web:

Barry Glendenning gives his video verdict.

The BBC has kicked a soapbox in our direction and are running a live feed of fans’ emails and texts.

Irish Justice Minister Dermot Ahern calls for a replay. Shameless, cynical politicking – but he did the same with the Lisbon Treaty I suppose.

The excellent Sport Is A TV Show offers some perspective. as usual

Apart from his great trebles every Friday on the Last Word, this is why I love Tony Cascarino

Top 10 World Cup handballs

Robbie Keane blames seedings. I’ll argue with anyone this weekend who tries to defend this system.

Those Facebook pages keep growing exponentially.

Henry admitted his handball, says Dickie Dunne

The customary Wikipedia vandalism screen grab.

The Frontline heckler has his say
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Forget Paris

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When Chairman Mao was once asked what he thought the repercussions of the French Revolution had been, he famously answered: “It’s too early to tell”.

Certainly a mere matter of hours after Irish hopes were guillotined in the Paris, there is little perspective in Ireland. Facebook groups denouncing handball culprit Theirry Henry are growing exponentially. Twitter is creaking under the weight of bile directed at the Barcelona striker’s apparent account. Men cried openly in pubs. And to be honest, I can understand every bit of it.

Henry has just come out and – far from apologise – insisted it’s the referee’s responsibility to ensure fair play wins out. This is utter bollix, of course. Without getting all Mrs Lovejoy on it, I have to say I was reminded of walking towards Croke Park on Saturday before the first leg when the French team coach sped past. It was empty, having just spewed a file of iPod-listening Frenchmen onto Jones Rd. But a young father pointed at the bus and told his excited little kid “That’s the bus that Henry was on!” What a joke that seems now.
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I’ve written (gushed) about Michael Phelps before, Here he displays his Movember effort and his speed putting skills.

dodgear

LIKE many, I’m sure, who bravely lined out throughout the ages in white-soled sneakers and crotch-hugging shorts on a Saturday morning for Dodgeball, I allowed my mind to – but for a moment – wander from silly team names, funny costumes and the 5 D’s of sport: dodge, duck, dip, dive, and dodge.

Yes, for an instant, despite the quiver of spongy, vivid spheres arrowing about and upside my hungover head, it wanders, naturally enough, to Wordsworth.

“Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very heaven!” he wrote of the French Revolution. However, I’m confident that had he come upon a host of Dodgeballs rather than daffodils in his time, than perhaps he may have poetically praised this noble sport as well.

And it was grand to be young and be in the Mardyke Arena in Cork for the first heat of the National Dodgeball Championships one morning recently.
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Dock Phillip Ellis played baseball for the Pittsburgh Pirates and famously threw a no-hitter in 1970 – apparently under the influence of LSD. Here, the tale is re-imagined with narration from the man himself. Top drawer stuff.

NOTE: I’ve come across this in a few places this week (Sport is a TV Show, Tripping Along the Edge, Funny or Die are three)

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So we’re not going to the World Cup again. And New Zealand are.

Croke Park was absolutely rocking again on Saturday night. I brought Gavin‘s Flip camera with me and hoped to get some videos and interviews in the mixed zone in an attempt to go all multi-platform but due to lack of time, and poor content (Bacary Sagna speaking in French in a press scrum, for example) they’re not really worth posting.

Unlike, of course, the above picture taken, badly, on my phone. It was good to mess around with the technology though and I’m certainly going to purchase one soon.

As I was only doing player quotes and stuff after the full-time whistle I wasn’t under any real pressure during the match itself so I tweeted from the press area quite a bit – something I’d never done before. And the reaction was pretty impressive. There was about 200 hits, I think, on pictures, like the one above and below, that I posted.

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I went into town after I clocked off and they mood around the place was still, I must say, delusionally optimistic, with lads I got chatting to on the way in still hopeful. I think, however, the reality is starting to bite this morning.

I’m ashamed to say I’m pleased I didn’t book a trip to Paris. At the moment though, the Eurostar is packed with Irish guys on their way to the French capital. And the airports will be creaking with seasoned campaigners in moth-balled jerseys. For their sake at least, I hope we make a game of it at the Stade de France and maybe bring it to extra time. Who knows then? If we got to penalites, you have to fancy Shay Given.

Jesus, I’m lying to myself again.

Finally, I want to know if The Story will be filing a Freedom of Information request to learn how much it cost me, the tax payer, for a tardy Graeme Souness to get a garda escort from Dublin Airport. He could’ve got the 747 or 746 all the way to Quinns and walked to Hill 16 in five minutes.

Souness also claims to be partaking in Movember (or as he put it, some charity thing for the month of August, Bill. August, Graeme?). Those who saw him play however, will not be surprised to learn that Souey is cheating in that he has sprouted a full-on beard. This is contrary to the spirit of the Movember law. I shall be writing to the Minister for Communications and the RTE DG.

We may not be seeing Souness and his co-pannelists on Wednesday night with a deal yet to be struck for the TV rights. The French always blindfolded victims of the guillotine, of course. l

26LG.CARELL.OFFICE

Here’s a few interesting bits and pieces that people have been saying and writing this week. Incidentally, the increased post count here can be attributed to me abstaining from alcohol for the month. Like when George gave up sex in Seinfeld and ended up learning Portuguese.

Crystal Meth is a helluva drug. So says my favourite tennis punk Andre Agassi in a 60 minutes interview.

Meet the guy who has caught 3000 baseballs at MLB games.

The remote-controlled bowling ball. At last.

Fighting styles that’ll get your ass kicked. I’m looking at you capoeira.

Everyone watching Chelsea beat Man United last Sunday saw a guy in the crowd behind the bench, brushing his teeth. Here, he explains his actions. He’s a playa.

We bend, touch, pause and engage with Hollywood’s take on the 1995 Rugby World Cup on the Irish Examiner sportsdesk blog. Thanks to Simon Lewis.

Being part of Manny Pacquiao’s entourage means you get to sleep at the end of his bed. They’re a wacky bunch.

And for those who haven’t heard, a diplomatic incident erupts over the French Federation’s request for a box for President Sarkozy at Croker.

The wild west

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Portumna and Loughrea will meet on Sunday in the county senior hurling championship final. Much delayed by the controversy surrounding the alleged assault of a referee after one of the semi-finals, there may yet be another few dirty strokes pulled in anger.

These two wildly successful clubs are the Stadler and Waldorf of Galway sport – but the last time they met in county final the neighbourly rivalry boiled over into a graphically violent affair with Portumna’s young star – the game’s brightest talent – sufferring appalling injuries.

Last summer, After I asked Canning about his WWE “you-can’t-see-me” celebration, we spoke about that ordeal. Shrugging his shoulders, he admitted a reunion was on the cards but insisted any revenge would be earned with the sliotar.

And then he fired a few penalties at my head.

Signs the experiment has failed and we should beg the British to leave us back in the Commonwealth: our Taoiseach thinking it’s a good idea to post a YouTube clip, lecturing on the importance of set-pieces and extolling the virtues of the Manchester City goalkeeper while, you know…. that whole, NAMA thing is going on.

Signs we’re up against it versus the French: someone from Offaly is giving Mr Trapattoni advice.

The opportunism is Charlie-esque.

Three tenners

3tenors

The French Football Fedration have returned 1,000 tickets for the match on Saturday. They’re mostly Hill 16 but there’s some for the stands too apparently. Try here.

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