Irish Republican Barmy

Well, dribble my rat milk down the thigh-high stump of a Beatle’s monoped ex-mate! There are just so many things in life I, like, ye know, HATE! And when I say “hate”, I really mean things which just get on my big floppy, flappy, florid, flurescent, flimsy, fleeting, flighty, flacid man tits. I actually mean things I cannae be bothered with, am very suspicious of and/or which make my flesh crawl. SO I don’t really mean “hate”, after all. If I hated them, I’d KILLL them. Get a fucking dictionary, Eck, ya fat git. And - MAN! - I have SO MUCH COMPANY when it comes to a cheap, confusing, some would say HANDY misuse of the word “hate”. It allows the twits of the world to laminate their childish pettiness with a sheen of gravitas.

“Oh, he doesn’t just find it a bit annoying - he actually HATES it … oh, dear - we’d all better be scared in that case … it must be a valid opinion after all ….”

And that’s the first thing I “hate” - when people use words pure wrong by the way. When they say “may” when they really mean “might” or when folk talk about a character being “ONE OF the MAIN protagonists”. No-one has a clue how to use the word “protagonist” - IT CANNOT BE PLURAL WHEN TALKING ABOUT ONE SCENARIO!!

I hate spin - media spin, political spin, the fact no-one realises they’re the same fucking thing. I hate Jamie Oliver, I hate hate FUCKING DESPISE Lorraine Kelly, I hate the whole myth surrounding Stephen Poliakof (Oh, it’s a big, posh building, some good camera work and a conveniently brain-dead upper-class hottie who looks like she’d suck yer knob in, like, a really POSH way - with distractions THIS good NO ONE WILL NOTICE THE SCRIPT IS FUCKING SHITE!!!!), I hate people who masticate loudly … and, yes, I hate people who deliberately mishear the word “masticate” to make some pathetic single entendre about wanking but if you turn round to them and say “oh, do you mean masturbate?” they turn to the rest of the office with an affected dropped mandible saying “Oh my god - I can’t BELIEVE you just said that!!! I mean, there’s no-one here under 40 years old but we’re so IN AWE of the PURE GALLOUSNESS of someone who says the correct word for WANKING, like OUT LOUD!”.

I hate Tessa Jowell.

I hate that they’re allowed to call those programmes where they create an artifical situation purely in order to make people cry and fall-out “REALITY” TV.

I hate that it took me til last weekend to discover that the best Kebab in Scotland is made by a sterile looking wee shop which is TEN MINUTES Walk FROM MY FRONT DOOR!!!, I hate people with no sense of personal space, I hate the simpering banal cunts who purport to read the “news” on BBC1 and ITV these days, I hate people who confuse posh with clever, rich with successful, wealth with intellect, and rain with cold (the latter are usually train and bus drivers who drive me around in a metal OVEN at the first hint of a grey cloud even if we’re in the middle of a July heatwave) and I and I hate all those FUCKING EVIL adverts for mobile phones which are underpinned by those horrendously sinister, microphone-swallowingly, saliva-amplifyingly, “intimate” songs sung by uppr-middle class adults bank-rolled ny mummy and daddy trying to sound like working class children with learning difficulties and maybe just a mum or a dad but not both.

Oh and, yeah, I really hate the ethos of Italian football.

And I hate the fact some git at Glasgow Uni was dragged into making some stupid romanticised statement about the fucking IRA … not because of the IRA being murdering bastards or because they’re actually brave freedom fighters or because I’m in the UDA or the UVF or because I give a flying fuck about the idea of “BRITAIN” or the Royal family or any of that PISH. No, I hate that Nicky Campbell sucked the “Celtic minded” manure from the mooth of that fud because coz now we’ll NEVER HEAR THE FUCKING END OF IT FROM BOTH SIDES!

That’s slur number 1508 of this season so far. That’s another one which can be tossed about between the tims with differing opinions on it and between the huns with differing opinions on it and, of course, it can be shoved into all those endless points-scoring sessions between the tims and the huns whenever the two meet. I can fucking see it now. Big Jock Knew versus Hullo Hullo versus Davie Cooper’s death being celebrated versus minutes silences being broken versus Donald Findlay versus bricks and bottles through windows on foreign fields and EVERYTHING EXCEPT FOOTBALL being argued about. I’m fucking sick of it. Who has the fucking time?!

This fuckwit in the news today thinks the IRA wurnae terrorists - well, if ye support them OF COURSE YE DON’T THINK THEY WUR TERRORISTS!! (Fuck, does she noh remember what Bobby Sands was all about???!!) and, don’t tell me, I bet she thinks John Reid IS a terrorist. I take her point on the use of the word “terrorism”. Murder is murder is murder. And, GOD KNOWS, I’ve posted my spleen with regard to some of the members of and proclimations by the Rangers Supprters Trust. I KNOW our trust doesn’t truly represent The Rangers Support so it’s not too difficult to apply that same logic to one mouthpiece at the Celtic version (NO! Don’t dare! I don’t want ONE FUCKING POST even BEGINNING to say “Aye, but Eck, we REALLY know that ALL Celtic fans REALLy think like she does …”. If they did, at least she’s one that’s had the fucking guts to say it - it makes the rest of them suddenly seem like mute nervous wrecks if that’s the case and, god knows, there’s not many Celtic fans who’re slow in expressing their opinions! John Reid was voted in by a fuicking landslide - actiond speak louder than wishful romanticising about conflicts in countries you’ve never lived in) … BUT … but …

… But, in even BEGINNING to get involved in this pathetic internecine war of the hoops, as they shit themselves about the final hypocritical nail being fired into their image as a pair wee charitable organisation for the oppressed (What is ANY football club if not that??!!), I’m playing that game I HATE so much. This is just the latest in a long-line of media-friendly old firm controversies. The more angry we we get about the other half of our FOOTBALL rivalry, as a result of this non-story, then the more the Daily Retard and Current Buns of the world have us in their grip. The irony of the whole fucking thing is that it’s not her SUPPORT OF THE IRA which drives this little media scrum around Dr Findlay - it’s the fact she SUPPORTS CELTIC!! The sooner we all fucking realise this the better. If there were no Rangers, Celtic would have to invent one. If there were no Celtic, I’d like to think that Rangers fans wouldn’t seek one out. Our reaction to this latest red rag - flaunted by the MEDIA rather than Celtic! - will prove me right or wrong.

Right now, I ain’t optimistic. Today’s wee controversy will probably be shoved straight into the next POINTLESS, INTERMINABLY CYCLICAL mutual masturbation session on the threads of this and a million other Rangers or Celtic blogs, websites and letters pages. It’ll be causing havoc on E-tims and the like right now; It’ll be creating merry mayhem on Follow Follow; no doubt it’ll be writ faithfully fullsome and loyally large on the paper fanzines of both sides whenever the next issues are out. Some James McMillan-type will have one off the wrist about it in the Sunday Herald letters page and some Daily Recordish scumbag will get on his King Billy-esque white charger and give it back equally large in the tabloids - and so on - and so forth - with EVERYONE involved in the “debate”, no doubt having “WHAT THEY ALWAYS SAID ABOUT THAT MOB” proved utterly, utterly correct.

Yawn, Yawn, Yawn - pass me the fucking Prozac to go wi my 75 ouncer of Smirnoff.

If there’s a story here other than the scummy Scottish media’s agenda, it is this: Yet AGAIN we’ve got politics shoved into sport just so some cowardly ARSEHOLE who gets slagged rotten by the leather-elbow-patch-and-pipe intelligentsia of her canteen can feel better about supporting a football team. SUPPORTING A FOOTBALL TEAM. Someone else declaring us “naive” for thinking sport and politics don’t mix. The classic nod-and-wink of those who think shite equals reality and that reality equals “brave”. The worst case scenario is always the “worthiest” to these people and always the truest. Accusations of naivety aimed at the quietly happy - this is the language of the hysteric, the paranoid, the emotionally frustrated.

I should fucking know!

Well seeing it’s a fucking GU doc. Well seeing she’s called Findlay. How many people in thid PATHETIC LITTLE country of ours resort to stealing the football from the very people they purport to be part of, and using it to immerse themselves in some little sick fantasy about their “working class credentials”. That’s yer only real story from today’s events.

GONNAE JUST LET US TALK ABOUT FOOOOOTBALLLL!!

Oh, shit - I’ve done it myself haven’t I? Yaah. I pretty much hate myself quite a lot too.

Never did I think that remembering Italy’s last-minute winner on Saturday would be compartively enjoyable. Well that moment has arrived now. While the Celtic Trust, like the Rangers Trust, shit themselves about how to save face with the little gansta audiences they’re playing to, the rest of us will have to struggle on, trying to keep ON TOPIC. The best laugh was when I heard some twat on the telly, after the Camera proclaimed John Reid Celtic Pontiff: “At Celtic we should leave our politics at the door”. Erm - wrong way round, mate. That’s as rabidly innacurate for Rangers as it is for the smellies: The problem with half the Old Firm supporters is that they COLLECT THEIR POLITICS AT THE TURNSTYLE, rant and rave for 90 minutes about something they know fuck-all about and have absolutely no intention to follow through on, then drop the baggage liek so much rubbish when they get back in their car and head back to the bungalow in Helensburgh: Job done, they’ve made themselves feel all “happening and hard” for a couple of hours - they’ll probably be able to get it up for the wife on Sunday morning. Maybe they’ll have a new “full-on” anecdote for the four-ball at lunch-time.

Cunts. They’d never dare watch the football for the football’s sake. Nah! That’s just “naive”, right lads?! That’s not the REAL story! Nod. Wink. Nudge.

BOAK!

Leave our fucking FOOTBALL CLUBS to us - to us who’re not ashamed of the fact they are just FOOTBALL CLUBS who happen to represent a certain group of people, as all football clubs are bound to do. The politics and geographics don’t have to be better or worse than anyone else’s - where ye come from, like whatever religion you are or aren’t, is not something to be PROUD of, simply because you had nothing to do with it’s making. These factors have to be totally subsumed when decalred under the banner of FOOTBALL! That in itself is as beautiful a gesture as you can make - to desire something of no inherent political or ethnic value make itself as aesthetically pleasing and creative and successful as possible, just because you have invested in it. It’s called art, folks. That’s my feeling - Youse Doctors and Lawyers and Composers of no real passion can have yer wee pseudo-intellectual wank on some other topic.

Yeah. Italy. Hampden. My fault. Mea culpa:

On Saturday morning there was no milk for my cereal. The internet wisnae working. I ran my bath and it was cold. I watched Footbal Focus and doffed my bowler hat to a magpie I could see on a tree out the back window … then realised Footbal Focus doesnae start til TEN PAST NOON!!!! NOT handykarma, dude!! There were a million changes to the plans for the game - which pub to meet in, who was coming, who wisnae, how to get their tickets to them and, long story short, I ends up walking from Vroni’s to Cathkin Park in 40 minutes of the heaviest rain of the year. Soaked right through and friend no4 was already on foot when we met, eager to get in well before the anthems, so I had no time to (a) jump in his motor for a quick blast of his heater or (b) neck either of the two large cans of Tennents I’d picked up at that Tesco Metro on Argyle Street.

It was a abd day from the get-go. I started it and Italy finished it.

And, one thing haunts me still: The greatest result of Scotland’s Euro 2008 campaign, the win in Paris, came at exactly the same time as the result which killed us: Italy taking all three points in Kiev. I’m afraid this reminds me all-too earily of The Rangers campaign in this season’s Champions League. I’ve a funny feeling Lyon’s win in Stuttgart, barely noticed by us as we held Barca to a draw at Ibrox, will be the one which comes back to shaft us on December 12th.

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot to mention that one - I HATE blind optimism.

…

So, an entire rant about bad stuff - sheisse Ich hasse - all done in a vein attempt to make that stuff go away.

Well, as per Stephen Fry’s legendary appearance on Room 101, it’s my duty to leave you with stuff I LOVE. And, of course, I won’t really list the stuff I “LOVE” - because if you LOVE it, you SHAG it! :-) And that’s personal!!

(yeah, Eck - thw fact you’re still a virgin really is quite personal …)

Ich Liebe, I LOVE …

Stephen Fry,
Withnail & I,
That line in Subterranean Homesick Alien which goes “I’d tell all my friends but they’d never believe me - THEY’D THINK THAT I’D FINALLY LOST IT COMPLETELY ..”
Kristin Scott Thomas,
Frasier,
Two and a half men (The comedy series!! HONEST! Cannae help it!),
Large Donner with Salad and Sauce and a can of coke in front of a film you don’t consider to be in yer personal canon but which ye bought the DVD of because something about it rated more than one watch - like Get Carter or Gross Point Blank - on a Friday,
Speaking conversational foreign with hotel receptionists and watching them wince,
Scoring goals - particularly at elevens, with a ref and strips and nets,
Wearing a good suit,
Wearing fuck-all.
Waking up from anxiety dreams,
Wynona Ryder when she’s not speaking,
Nietzsche’s dedication to his art - and it was a fucking art,
Der Tod In Venedig,
A tin of oxtail soup and some tuna-ala-Eck,
Getting into a cold bed,
Fresh air,
Visiting new football grounds,
Going through the results section in the Sunday paper and ticking off all the Scottish and English league teams I’ve seen live,
Keats,
Writing,
Going to German league games on my own,
Blokes who get their round in,
Football,
The Rugby World Cup,
Vienna,
That bit just below her waist line, just inside of the hips (no not THAT bit, ya animals!!),
New York,
A good comedian,
Rome,
Berlin,
Realising it’s Saturday morning,
Gerd Muller,
The Argentina Strip,
A slagging from real mates,
The look on a bully’s face when you put your forehead through the bridge of his nose,
A curvacious but self-contained bum,
European nights at Ibrox,
Roast beef,
A good valpolicella,
The sound of my own voice,
Iambic pentameter.
The two-week holiday I had in Italy in April 1999 - what a country!

About this entry

You’re currently reading “Irish Republican Barmy,” an entry on FatEck.co.uk

Published:
11.20.07 / 10pm
Category:
News