Sunday, July 7, 2013

Seven days and one week

A round-up of the week's major news stories as seen through the eyes of an inattentive, misinformed moron.


Remember when you were a little 'un and your Mother told you not to play with (insert name of local ruffian here). You dutifully obliged like the good child you were, but all the while you wondered what it was about that boy/girl that made them so undesirable. Occasionally you'd question your Mam and ask why you couldn't play with him/her, to which the response would be “You just can't, that's why”. Now that I'm older I understand why I couldn't play with that little scamp, it was because he was a menace to society and spent his evenings terrorising the local village folk. Thanks Mammy, I would have hated to spend my formative years in a young offender's home.

But our mothers didn't make those decisions flippantly. Oh no. They knew every kid's family background inside out and their suitability as a friend was based on their findings. On the rare occasion that you made a friend whom your mother knew nothing about she would spend a few minutes assessing his character before passing judgement. If he said please and thank you and looked like he'd bathed within the previous week then he usually made the cut. But do you know what the funny thing was? Even as children we were aware of class, albeit subconsciously. Think back to the kids that were your best friends when you were lickle – they invariably came from a similar environment to you. We naturally gravitate to those we feel most comfortable with, see Mammy all your fretting was for nothing!

But our mother's should consider themselves fortunate – back then we were all either called Johnny, Jimmy, Micky or Paddy, so the notion of avoiding someone based on their Christian name was unheard of. It's a lot tougher these days apparently, take poor Katie Hopkins (no seriously take her), she has an awful time deciding which children are worthy enough to spend time with her precious offspring. Luckily she has a foolproof method which ensures no scallywags come within ten feet of Poppy and India. By simply ruling out children who possess a 'working-class' name she ensures that her own little angels remain unharmed and oblivious to the evils of the world.

So if you're called Tyler, Chardonnay or Brandon this is your lucky day, you're not going to be invited over to the Hopkins' for afternoon crumpets and tea. Phew. Lucky escape there. What the tiny-minded Katie fails to grasp is how damaging this is not only to those children whom she so fecklessly labels but also to her own. What kind of world are they going to grow up in? One where they're taught to turn their nose up at those who are inferior to them. The saddest thing is that those precious little minds which are so eager for information will eventually be polluted by their idiot Mother, until, a few years down the line, they are preaching the same shit to their own progeny.


I don't particularly like rugby but I can still say without any hesitation that Brian O'Driscoll is one of, if not the, greatest Irish sportsmen of all time. Very few Irish athletes reach the pinnacle of their sport on a global scale, even less stay there for a protracted period of time. He has been universally regarded as among the best in his sport for the past ten years, in recent times only Roy Keane and Padraig Harrington could lay similar claims. 'BOD' is one of our nation's favourite sons, at least among the rugby fraternity anyway. So when another Lions tour trundled round there was much talk of O'Driscoll finally laying to rest his own personal ghosts. It would be his fourth, and last, tour and his final opportunity to actually win a series.

A less than stellar performance in the second test was summarily dismissed, “you can't drop BOD, it's unthinkable”. But someone was thinking about it, and he just happened to be the most important man of all. Warren Gatland must have expected some raised eyebrows when he shunted O'Driscoll out of the squad for the final test, but the shitstorm that followed must have exceeded his very worst expectations. Like I've said previously I'm far from what you'd call a rugby fan, therefore it's not for me to weigh up the merits of O'Driscoll versus some Welsh meathead. But what I can weigh up is the sheer idiocy of the moronic masses.

These are the same people who campaigned for Ireland's game against France to be replayed in the wake of Henry's infamous handball. These are the same people who spout the same reactionary bollocks every time something not to their liking happens in the sporting world. Off they go creating their Facebook groups, brandishing everything 'an absolute fuckin' disgrace' and generally frothing at the mouth at the sheer injustice of it all. Numbskulls. Football has become infested with nu-age fans with little or no understanding of the game and now it appears to be rugby's turn.

Thanks to the success of the Irish teams in the Heineken Cup rugby is now more popular than ever. And with popularity comes new supporters, people with high expectations and little or no patience. I'm sure most time-worn rugby fans accepted Gatland's decision to drop O'Driscoll. They might not have agreed with it but they understood it and saw the reasoning behind it. And I'm almost completely sure that those same dyed in the wool supporters cringe every time they listened to another outraged caller calling for Gatland to be hung, drawn and quartered for his crimes against humanity. Imagine if the Lions had lost the final test. Imagine how happy those imbeciles would have been. How justified they would have felt. As it was the Lions romped to victory and O'Driscoll got the honour of contributing to a test-winning team. So really everyone's a winner. Except Warren Gatland, 'cos he's a cunt. Right?


Who'd be a football referee eh? 22 tosspots acting the maggot on the pitch and thousands more giving you grief from the stands, it truly is a thankless task. FIFA constantly harp on about respect within the game but let's face it referees are treated like shit by players and managers alike and that's unlikely to change any time soon. They could always follow rugby union's lead and issue the refs with microphones so we can listen to Ashley Cole's foul-mouthed tirades but even that is unlikely to change things. No, what's needed is a more hands-on approach. For too long these overpaid nancy boys have been taking liberties with the man in the middle. My suggestion? Corporal punishment.

Let us arm our referees. That's right arm the poor sods. How many times have you watched a footballer eyeball the man in black and wonder how on earth he can restrain himself? Well now we won't have to wonder any more. Before each game they'll select their weapon of choice, whether it be a tazer, a cattle prod, pepper spray or maybe just a big fuck off stick. And then, with their armament carefully concealed in their shorts, they will take to the pitch ready to do battle with anyone stupid enough to question them. This new legislation should be trialled at an El Classico in Spain, and of course the players shouldn't know anything about it.

So two minutes in Ronaldo takes a theatrical dive and straight away the ref is surrounding by the loathsome Busquets, Ramos and Pedro. Back off he'll say (or whatever the Spanish equivalent is), back off lads I'm warning you, but it's no use the whinging little fuckers are waving imaginary cards, doing that tiresome pleading to God gesture and generally being a pain in the arse. Then BAM! A tazer to the chest. Down goes Ramos. And for once he's actually hurt. Immediately all the rest of the little shites go on the retreat. No more nonsense.

So what brought on this idea I hear you ask? Take a look at this story. This was a referee that truly meant business. But bringing a knife onto the pitch is a step too far in my opinion. That's just asking for trouble. I mean that's the kind of thing that's likely to get a fella beheaded - or something like that anyway.


Sadly we're unlikely to see football referees armed with anything more than a whistle and a few pencils for the foreseeable future. But one establishment that has access to a veritable cornucopia of artillery is the US police force. And by fuck they're not afraid to use it. The debate on American gun law and it's effect upon society seems to intensify any time some fucked up teenager goes on a killing spree, but it's essentially become a Catch 22 scenario and stripping the police of their firearms is not the way to go. However in saying that they should be taught to exercise a little restraint when engaging with the general public, and nothing underlines that point more than the following video.

Horrible to watch wasn't it? I don't have access to US police protocol but if it really says 'shoot a poor defenceless animal if it barks at you' in their rule book then it's probably time for an update. Their motto is “To Serve and Protect”. Who was being served or protected by that cowardly act? It could be argued that the dog was a threat and therefore had to be pacified, but shooting it? Come on. I refuse to believe that the officer in question had no other option. That he couldn't have reached for his pocket and produced something other than a deadly weapon. That he couldn't have subdued the dog in another, non fatal, way. The officer in question has been taken off the streets indefinitely, finally some justice. 'Fraid not – he has been removed for his own safety and has received the full backing of his superiors. 

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