IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE
A
life is a long time, hell I'm only a young(ish) lad and I feel like I've been
going forever. If you were to ask me to sum up my existence so far you'd most
likely have died of boredom yourself before my story's conclusion, and I'm
really interesting! So when I meet my maker another hundred years (yes I intend
to live that long) down the line I'll hopefully have left behind many a fond
memory and cheerful anecdote, certainly enough to fill a funeral service I'd
imagine. Because that's the bit we all remember about funerals isn't it? They
are incredibly painful experiences but through those tears we can sometimes
smile as a loved one recalls the lifetime of the dearly departed. It brings a
human side to what can often feel like a clinical and impersonal goodbye to
someone you cherish.
But
not everyone agrees. Bishop of Meath Dr Michael Smith has moved to ban funeral
eulogies in his diocese, his reasoning being that the ceremonies have become
“dumbed down” as a result. And here was
me thinking the Catholic church was out of touch with modern day society?!
Clearly a balance has to be struck here, as much as I'd like to have Biggie
Smalls played at my funeral I know it's never gonna happen. Instead I'll be
more circumspect and plump for some Stevie Wonder, that's okay right? And
herein lies the problem, the Church fully believes that secular material has no
place in their house, but who decides what's appropriate and what's not?
It's
not just music that they have a problem with however, Dr Smith has banned all
texts devoid of a Christian context. So that beautiful poem which sums up
everything great about your loved one? No we can't have that I'm afraid, why
not read this indecipherable scripture instead? Sadly there is only one
solution here, and it involves yet further distancing from the church. If the
priest isn't willing to give the deceased the send-off they deserve then we'll
just do it ourselves. And this is the way we're headed, most of the upcoming
generation have no more than a passing interest in the Church and it's arcane
ways. They see it as a decaying institution ravaged by scandal and
unwillingness to change. Do you think this latest ban is going to change that?
Of course not, it's just going to drive them away further. The times they are
a' changing and if the Church doesn't keep up it's going to be left behind, way
behind, until it's extinct.
IF
A TREE FALLS IN AN EMPTY FOREST
Jimmy
Magee, George Hamilton, even Ger Canning, they're all part of Irish folklore,
and they've all helped define our sporting memories over the years. Whether
it's Hamilton's “the nation holds it's breath”, Magee's listing of every Irish
Olympic medallist as John Treacy won his and Ger Canning's...um...let's skip
that one. When we think back on our favourite sporting moments it's inevitable
that we remember the words that accompanied them, it wouldn't be the same
without them. After all we don't prosper on the international scene all that
often, so when we do we like to replay the moment over and over and over again,
ad infinitum.
And
yet as of today, just a few hours after Rob Heffernan became only the third
Irish person to win gold at the World Athletics Championships, I have yet to
see anything more than brief highlights of his joyous victory. And worse still
those highlights were voiced not by Magee or any of his colleagues, they played
out to the backbeat of a British commentator on Eurosport. When I first
realised our state broadcaster would not be covering these championships I
stated that it would hardly inspire our athletes to greater heights. The
knowledge that their country's TV network couldn't be bothered televising their
exploits must have been quite demoralising for the eleven Irish athletes
competing in Moscow.
Or
perhaps it had the opposite effect, maybe it served as a motivational tool –
they think we're not worth showing? Well we'll show them! And while most of the
Irish competitors performed exactly as those at RTÉ had expected one man has
left them with large portions of egg on their face. Heffernan's gold should
assure him of legendary status in his native Cork but really he should already
be a national hero. We saw what the Olympics did for Katie Taylor and the sport
of boxing so why shouldn't it be the same for Rob Heffernan and his discipline.
Okay so the 50k walk might not be the most glamorous of events but the very
fact we have the world's best proponent of it should count for something. But
sadly it won't. If we're lucky we might get to see his medal ceremony tomorrow
evening but that's about it. And if we want to relive his victory? I hope you
have that mute button at the ready.
GINGER AND PROUD
Barely
a week can go by in this country without a march of some description. Whether
it’s gaudily attired Northerners, proud homosexuals or irate pro-lifers we’ve
grown accustomed to seeing swathes of people troop up and down our main
thoroughfares. For the most part these protests pass off peacefully and the
intended message is received loud and clear. Indeed some might say that the
Irish don’t gather in unison to state their collective case enough, we’re too
laissez faire they say, we should be more like the French. But the problem is
that despite being a tiny little island with a meagre population we possess
numerous, wildly varying, opinions on the issues that matter. And as a result
we can barely agree on things long enough to stand side by side for a second
never mind organise a march.
But
salvation is at hand. I don’t know the exact figures, but there is one thing
that unites at least a quarter of the population. No it’s not the latest Gallup
polls which show the re-emergence of Fianna Faíl, nor is it the shared belief
that Giovanni Trappatoni should have been quietly escorted back to Italy after
the debacle at last year’s European Championship, it’s something that thousands
upon thousands of Irish people are born with, and something that they’re
persecuted for during their every waking minute. Ginger hair.
We
all know a few gingers, and we’ve all taken great delight in besmirching them
for their unfortunate shade of follicle. But now they’re fighting back, and
about time too. The first ever Ginger Pride March took place in Edinburgh this
week, how fitting that it took place in a similarly plagued country, that of
our carrot-topped Celtic cousins. It was a fairly low key event with just 100
participants, but this is surely only the start of a movement, even the civil
rights action began as a small-scale event. And the ginger nation equals, if
not outnumbers, that of it’s sinned against predecessors.
The
worry now for us normal folk is that the gingers will find strength in numbers,
they’ll come together and start a revolution. Their goal? The eradication of
the sallow-skinned, raven-haired members of society. They’ll stop at nothing,
and only when Ireland is restored to it’s rightful state – a country of pasty,
freckled redheads – will they be sated. We’ve had our fun, we’ve made our
jokes, but it looks like the last laugh will be on us.
KID
A
The
day I received my Leaving Cert results has long since receded from memory. I
vaguely recall ripping open a piece of paper and shrugging my shoulders before
asking one of the bigger lads to accompany me to the off-license, the rest of
the day (and night) is something of a blur. The contents of that envelope just
confirmed what I already knew, that I’d wasted my school years due to an apathy
which completely overwhelmed me. Ho hum. It wasn’t that I considered myself too
cool to try, and it certainly wasn’t down to being a bit fick (did I spell that
right?), I just couldn’t be bothered. What a little shit I was.
It’s
probably fair to say that Mark Berney is the polar opposite to my young self.
The child prodigy was the only student in the country to receive nine A1s in
his Leaving Cert results this week. And even more incredible he only took up
one of his subjects in February! I wonder what he does for fun? Of course I’m
just jealous, it took me another ten years before I realised that life required
hard work if you were to prosper. Clearly Mark is way ahead of schedule on that
count, he’s worked his clever little arse off and is now set to reap the benefits.
I wish him every success in his future endeavours, not that he needs it.
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