The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Saturday, June 19, 2010

odd ditties

German pop music film on television.
The best thing in it is a blatant rip off of the old Beetles song Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds.
The Kraut hero sings without a hint of irony:
"Picture a colonel big in ze reich,
Looking for Sergeant Kruger.
He says to a feldwebel: Vere is zat tyke?
I vant to give him a Luger.
And ze Feldwebel says...
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Ahhh, ahhhhhhh.
Ze German army vun thing it does fear,
Attacks zat come in ze night.
Needing night vision zey raise a big cheer
For ze feldwebel vith kaleidoscope eyes.
Vere is he by ze way???
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Kruger's in the tank with Steiner.
Ahhh, ahhhhhhhh."

Friday, June 18, 2010

The Premiership

(Heelers league table list of enemies. Counting down to the number one position. Matches for the coming season will be carried live on Sky Sports.)
!0. Baldy Joe. The ersatz scruff whom Starbucks have put in charge of their outlet on Dawson Street Dublin. A woeful little dude-where's-my-car who has long since surpassed his niveau d'excellence. Baldy Joe through his pisspoor rudeness is single handedly ensuring that the Starbucks organisation continues to haemorrhage customers and cash.
9. Nelson and Winnie Mandela. There is no longer any meaningful newspaper reportage of internal politics in South Africa. Winnie's murder of a child called Stompie Moeketsie with a garden shears goes unmentioned in assessments of the communist couple. Nelson apparently is not to be held in any way accountable for the proclivities of his wife. Now ex wife. But she was still hitched to him back in her child killing days. Mother of the nation indeed. Meanwhile South Africa under the Mandelas has approximately 15,000 murders a year. No one is suggesting that Winnie is responsible for all of those. But still. The body count might be worth an odd mention now and again. I wonder what the pop singer who styles himself Bono ("I, I, I, ain't gonna play Sun City.") thinks of it. He was so keen to install government of the Mandelas, by the Mandelas, for the Mandelas in South Africa. You know folks, I happen to think that the people who saddled South Africa with the revolutionary tradition bear some of the responsibiltiy for the mayhem currently unfolding there.
8. Amnesty International. Working tirelessly to keep Islamic terrorists free to commit mass murder all over the world.
7. Monica Leech and the Irish government Minister who gave her hundreds of thousands of Euro in public funds to design a website no one ever visited. I would name the government Minister only his name is similar to that of another government Minister and I keep mixing the two of them up. Both are kleptocrats you understand. One is a kleptocrat who likes his ridies.
6. Ireland's corrupt kleptocratic Fianna Fail government. They've been bribing the near defunct Green Party to help keep themselves in power. The country is paying one hell of a price. Fianna Fail have quite literally spent Ireland overnight into the Third World. Fianna Fail did this by borrowing multi billion dollar sums in order to prop up a minor financial institution called Anglo Irish Bank. Anglo Irish Bank was a niche bank. It was not in the top three banks in Ireland. Its niche was servicing the financial needs of corrupt supporters of Fianna Fail. Its losses exceed the losses of all Ireland's other corrupt banks (Allied Irish Bank, Bank of Ireland, Irish Life And Permanent, Trustee Savings Bank, et al, particularly Al, the dirty kleptocratic barsteward) put together. There was no need to sign the public up to cover Anglo Irish Bank's losses. But yes, Anglo Irish Bank is the bank of choice for members of Fianna Fail, their friends and associates. So it had to be saved. Future generations of Irish people are being impoverished to cover Fianna Fail's gambling losses. The irony is that even after pouring billions of dollars of my money into Anglo Irish Bank coffers, Fianna Fail will not be able to save Anglo Irish Bank. Anglo Irish Bank is dead as the dodo. And keeping its shell temporarily afloat will bankrupt the nation. Fianna Fail have engaged no less a personage than the philanderer Alan Dukes a former leader of the opposition party Fine Gael to head up Anglo Irish Bank. The idea is to use Alan Dukes to give the theft of our national resources some cross party credibility. I'm not joking. Fianna Fail actually consider Alan Dukes a credible figure. Any adulterer in a storm, eh Fianna Fail. Alan Dukes recently called for the resignation of every Catholic Church bishop in Ireland. Hilarious no. Not only does this enabler of Fianna Fail kleptocracy think himself qualified to run a bank, he also and most delusionally thinks himself a moral leader of the nation. The pension Fianna Fail are guaranteeing Alan Dukes from Anglo Irish Bank is the third pension Alan Dukes will collect. I mean, the third so far. He's already been guaranteed two pensions that we know about for his failed career in Irish politics, one for being elected to parliament, and the second for a few months he spent as a government Minister a half century ago.
5. The Black Jackets. A Muslim Al Qaeda terror and crime franchise operating in Dublin, Galway and other Irish cities. The gang is multi national. The Arabs have come out of their comfort zone to include Nigerians, Malaysians and not a few Pakistanis. Gang members meet in the O'Connell Street branch of the Kylemore Cafe in view of The Spire monument. A Pakistani black jacket manages the Kylemore Food Court in the Stephens Green Centre. A black jacket who wears the name tag Vicki also works in the Food Court as a clumsy thug waiter. Black jackets are prominent in security jobs around the city, particularly in the Stephens Green Centre, in the MacDonalds on Grafton Street, and in the Ilac Centre on Henry Street. Their unifying ideology is Islam. Many gang members can be seen posing as sign holders on Grafton Street Dublin. They pretend to work as open air advertisers for city businesses while in reality their sole job is crime and terrorism. Their cover activity as sign holders allows them to loiter with intent at city centre locations, monitoring the streets, distributing merchandise, and most importantly getting the Irish accustomed to the public projection of Muslim power.
4. The Islamic Republic of Iran. Last year the Islamic Republic of Iran murdered Iran's nascent democracy movement before the eyes of the world. At the moment the Islamist Iranians have created an alliance with the Islamist government in Turkey in hopes of wiping out the State of Israel. The Islamist government of Iran has continued to develop nuclear weapons which it will use to devastate western cities just as soon as it can.
3. Archbishop Diarmuid Martin. The liberal atheistic infiltrator of the Catholic Church who has forged an alliance with the Irish Times, Independent Newspapers, and RTE, manipulating sex abuse scandals in order to remake the Catholic Church in Ireland in his own image. Yes I consider him worse than the Iranians. When the Iranians commit murder they are being true to their nature. There's no excuse for Archy's murder of reputations nor for his blatent attempts to hijack the Catholic Church. Pound for pound he's more evil than the Muslims.
2. Al Qaeda. They dream of plunging the world into black Islamic night. With an appeaser in the White House, and weak socialist atheistic governments dessicating Europe, Al Qaeda are winning this war.
1. The Johnston Press. The near defunct English newspaper group that bought the Leinster Leader and fired me three weeks before Christmas 2007. They still top the league table. They're still public enemy number one. With a share price in pennies and no buyers for their loss making titles, the great men of the Johnston Press are slowly discovering the consequences of their own atheistic Hyrum And Fyrum hubris. The Johnston Press is said to own 318 newspapers in Britain and around 28 newspapers in Ireland. All of these will die with the Johnston Press. Hey Johnston Press. Yeah spivs. I'm talking to you. In a prize fight, the winner is the one still standing at the end.

Thursday, June 17, 2010



the monica leech muslim in

Hannibal Qadaffi paused from beating the living daylights out of his filippino maid.
In the midst of raining down blows on the defenceless girl, a thought had struck him.
"Hey," he mused cheerily, "let's declare war on Switzerland."

an open letter to piers morgan, michael moore, mike bloomberg, cnn, sky news, et al. (Particularly al. I hate him.)

Maybe muslims are the master race.
You don't see them ratting each other out for a percentage.

die hard with a heelers

Hans Gruber stood with his remaining henchmen in the Nakatomi building.
They had hijacked the building an hour ago but their plans had gone awry.
In the labyrinthine corridors of the skyscraper, someone was hunting down their men and killing them.
Of twelve terrorists who had taken part in the initial raid only seven were left.
First Ian Stewart had gone.
Then Mick Sneeran.
Then the little badly bollix John Whelan who'd edited the Leinster Leader for a full five minutes.
Then some Chief Executive Officer of the Johnston Press whose name I can't even remember.
Then little Sylvia Plath the former Assistant Bitch to the editor.
It had all happened very quickly.
Hans Gruber, played by current Johnston Press Chief of Staff John Fry, was frothing at the mouth.
"We are still on track but I need those detonators" he roared at his men. "Who is he? I want him dead."
The walkie talkie Hans had left on the table suddenly came to life.
A sardonic, sarcastic, vaguely droll voice filled the room.
"Hans, Hans, Hans," said the Bruce Willis voice. "You've got to calm down. You'll give yourself an enema. Or worse. You'll get what Sneeran and Stewart have."
Hans whirled and grabbed the walkie talkie.
With difficulty he controlled his anger.
"You have me at a disadvantage," he murmured with improbable gentleness. "You know me but I don't know you."
There was laughter from the other end of the line.
"Hans," said Bruce, "I'm just the regular fly in the ointment, the monkey in the wrench, the zorgotron in the vorgonuts."
Hans looked briefly confused.
"Are you a priest?" he ventured. "Your blog often seems to have religious themes."
Bruce Willis made a buzzing sound as though Hans had gotten a question wrong on a television game show.
"Wrong answer Hans," Bruce rebuked. "You wanna try for double jeopardy? You can win a holiday in heaven."
Again Hans Gruber tried to master himself.
"You seem very witty," he murmured, "for a recently fired member of the advertising staff."
Bruce repeated the now familiar buzzing sound.
"Wrong again Hans," he intoned. "One more wrong answer and you're dead."
Hans Gruber gave up trying to fish for information and let his anger flow.
"I know what you are," snarled Hans. "You are just another Irish peasant who's spent too much time harvesting turf to see the wood for the trees. Another sadly bereft product of an outmoded decaying proto Catholic culture."
Again there was laughter from the other end.
"I've always preferred Lutheranism myself," said Bruce Willis. "Yippekayay you Johnston Press motherf******."

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

fortunes of war

In 1940 the British writer PG Wodehouse was captured by the Nazis as they advanced through France.
PG Wodehouse was a non combatant and was not captured on the battlefield.
He had a home in France and that was how he came to be anywhere near where heroic British soldiers were fighting and dying for the freedom of the world.
PG Wodehouse agreed to make some broadcasts for the Nazis while they held him in captivity.
By all accounts these broadcasts were fairly innocent.
Light hearted accounts of concentration camp life showing the basic humanity of all concerned.
PG Wodehouse was not detained alongside any Jews.
Now here's the rub.
PG Wodehouse is probably the finest writer of English of the past 300 years.
His talent was certainly unrivalled in his own lifetime.
There was literally no one like him.
It would have been so easy for the British when they had won World War Two to make excuses for PG Wodehouse.
Many of us would have been reluctant to write off the genius of a generation.
Particularly a genius who was so very British.
We would have looked for some way to accomodate him in the post war world.
We would have said: "Oh he didn't know what he was doing. He was bringing his own warmth and humanity to a hellish situation. One shouldn't really consider him a Nazi collaborator."
PG Wodehouse was a Nazi collaborator.
At the only time it mattered, on the only occasion when he had a choice about collusion or resistance, he chose to give the Nazis every help he could.
He spoke for them.
And the generation of British people who saw off the Nazis never quite forgave him for it.
After World War Two, PG Wodehouse spent the rest of his life in America.
He continued to write his marvellous books.
From the point of view of sheer artistry the books continued to be better than anything else that was being written.
But for most of the rest of his life almost no one in Britain pretended that PG Wodehouse was anything other than a Nazi collaborator.
And PG Wodehouse knew exactly where he stood.
He remained a permanent exile.
Fast forward to the present day.
For ten years the human race has been engulfed in the First World Jihad War.
This conflict controlled by Al Qaeda, Iran and their allies, features a plethora of sub conflicts taking in every country on the planet earth.
They are at war with all of us.
Muslims are waging separatist terrror wars against communist China (in Xinkiang), against Putin's totalitarian Russia (in Chechnya and throughout the Russian south), and against the world's most populous democracy India (in Kashmir).
Muslims are continuing separatist terror wars against the Philippines, Thailand and Armenia.
Muslims have successfully seceded regions of Cyprus and Serbia creating new Muslim countries where no Muslim countries existed before.
In the past decade Muslims have killed 3000 people in New York on Nine Eleven, torched French cities, attempted to poison Rome's water supply with cyanide, slaughtered a Dutch Prime Minister in waiting called Pym Fortyn and a Dutch film maker called Theo Van Gogh, blown up trains in Madrid and blown up trains and buses in London.
So we are at war.
Whether we like it or not.
Our enemy in this war is worse than the Nazis.
Many of the Nazis could read.
Some Nazis even occasionally exhibited vestiges of civilisation.
You don't get civilisation, recognition of mutual dignity or even acceptance of a shared humanity from our present Muslim enemies.
Because the Muslims don't think we're human.
Their purpose is to destroy us.
Our generation too in the midst of war has seen the rise of PG Wodehouse type figures happy to work for the other side.
Unfortunately in our generation the PG Wodehouses betray us without any consequences for themselves.
Unlike the previous generation of Brits, we have allowed these traitors to thrive among us and profit from their work on behalf of the Islamic fascists who are attacking us.
An editor at Newsweek called Fareed Zakaria published a false story alleging American soldiers at Guantanamo Bay prison had flushed Korans down the toilet.
Fareed Zakaria is of course a Muslim.
The story served as a massive propaganda coup for Al Qaeda.
The Jihadis went on a frenzy of murder inspired by that story.
The story was utterly false.
How has Fareed Zakaria fared since his blatent attempts to help Al Qaeda through the publication of false stories in Newsweek?
Well Newsweek is almost extinct.
It's still being published.
But the debts are astronomical.
And it has no readers.
Fareed Zakaria on the other hand has gone from strength to strength.
CNN rewarded him for his Al Qaeda propaganda efforts by making him the presenter of a prime time feature show on their news network.
It's still there.
Fareed Zakaria still draws the pay checques.
Treachery without consequences.
Although ironically CNN itself is now close to bankruptcy.
Certain consequences will tend to kick in eventually one way or another.
Mark my word.
Michael Moore is another traitor who has consistently sought to help Al Qaeda with books and films designed to criminalise the Bush Presidency and weaken the western response to Muslim terror.
Has he been ostracised like PG Wodehouse?
Not a bit of it.
Michael Moore has been rewarded with million dollar publishing deals, Hollywood film contracts, and the Palme d'Or prize at Cannes.
Then there's Piers Morgan.
Piers Morgan was editor of the Daily Mirror at the height of the war against the Jihadis.
In the Daily Mirror Piers Morgan published pictures he knew to be faked, of British soldiers urinating on Muslims.
Like Piers Morgan, the photos were totally fake.
The photos had been staged by people looking to make some money.
Piers Morgan paid them for the fake photos and splashed the fake photos all over the Daily Mirror.
Once more the effect was to give new inspiration to the Jihadis.
Our soldiers died because of what Piers Morgan did.
And how has Piers Morgan prospered?
He has been rewarded with multiple television deals in Britain and America where he does regular stints as a judge on talent shows.
Most recently he has been rewarded with a prestigious contract to present an interview programme for CNN.
A pattern is emerging.
Once more we see treachery without consequences for the traitor.
There are always consequences for our soldiers of course.
And for our societies.
But not for Piers Morgan and not yet, or not yet finally, for CNN.
It is difficult to avoid the conclusion that collaboration with the Jihadis has almost become the norm in this the tenth year of the First World Jihad War.
CNN gives jobs to traitors.
Sky News takes sponsorship from the Royal Family of Qatar which also finances the Nazi channel Al Jazeera.
Bloomberg Television similarly obtains most of its revenue from Gulf Arab Muslim sources, a fact which helps explain the station's proprietor Mayor of New York Mike Bloomberg making statements after Muslims tried to blow up Times Square, to wit: "I will not tolerate any backlash against Muslims."
Yeah Mike.
But how long are we going to tolerate you?
I am reminded of the objectionable exploitation science fiction horror film Alien.
An heroic sexy girl astronaut is battling an alien life form which is methodically wiping out the crew of her space ship.
The sexy girl's position is complicated by the fact that one of her crew members is secretly trying to help the alien life form as the company he works for thinks they can make money out of it back on earth.
When the sexy girl catches him she says bitterly:
"Maybe they are the superior life form. You don't see them ratting each other out for a percentage."

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

results of the heelers enquiry into the events of bloody sunday

The Irish people owe the British army an historic and unrepayable debt of gratitude.
If the British army hadn't spent thirty years attriting the IRA in Northern Ireland, the IRA would have extended its terror war to the entire island of Ireland, obliterating the institutions of our democracy, and handing over the Republic of Ireland lock, stock and barrel to the Soviet Union.
That is all.

watching the defectives

I came across a few copies of the Leinster Leader recently and leafed through them for old time's sake.
You should know gentle travellers of the internet that I am not an objective judge of this particular publication.
I was fired from the Leinster Leader a few weeks before Christmas of 2007 by the new owners Johnston Press.
Since then things haven't gone entirely swimmingly either for the Leinster Leader or the Johnston Press or the management, journalists, advertising executives and janitors at either organisation.
The firings became wholesale.
Even the Chief Executive was forced to take a "long planned" retirement.
Then the editor who'd fired me was canned. (For firing me.)
Ha, ha, ha, as we do say in the trade.
The blood was on the dance floor.
It was like the French Revolution at the Leinster Leader.
Once they started firing people they couldn't stop.
It wasn't too clever getting rid of the advertising staff though.
Those guys used to bring in quite a bit of cash in between boozing sessions.
The shares of the Johnston Press have collapsed since then from £4 a share the night they fired me to a few pennies a share today.
I wonder.
I wonder were the wrong people getting fired.
Ho, ho, ho, as we do say in the Dole office.
But it's interesting to see how the old rag is holding up.
So I had a look at the copies that chance had placed before me.
An article about a church burning in the town of Athy caught my eye.
Not bad.
Some of the salient facts were there.
A person or persons unknown had attempted to torch the church in Athy.
Of course the Leinster Leader abjectly failed to report that the same week a similar church burning had been attempted in a neighbouring town.
Hardly worth mentioning, eh Leinster Leader?
Probably means nothing.
A second church burning in the locality isn't really news, is it?
And then a third one.
Probably no connection.
You unutterable clowns.
And how are your sales figures and advertising revenue holding up?
Sun still shining for you all is it?
I heard the viewership figures had risen for your internet publications.
Been pressing a lot of refresh-bars on your own computers lately?
The refresh-bar records a new visitor to your website every time you hit it, doesn't it?
Work those index fingers baby.
Work em.
Yeah baby, yeah.
Your readership among fingers must be in the millions by now.
I scanned on.
My eyes alighted on an editorial.
The identity of the present editor of the Leinster Leader is unknown to most of us.
A total of four separate idiots, I mean individuals, have held that poisoned chalice, I mean job, since the Johnston Press individuals, I mean idiots, fired me.
But no one knows who the hell the present guy is.
He must be someone, mustn't he?
The bally thing could hardly be editing itself.
There's an editorial in it anyway.
But you know folks the presence of an editorial does not conclusively prove there really is an editor.
The atheistic scientist Richard Dawkins maintains that the Leinster Leader was created by a non existent blind watchmaker with an index finger fetish.
I kid you not.
If he was blind Richard, he was also thick as a plank.
And his index finger has no taste.
The standard of English in this editorial is woesome.
I'm betting they got the cat to write it.
The editorial did have quite an interesting slant on one of the great issues of the day.
It suggested that the Irish government was wrong to try and ban Head Shops.
Head Shops are the drug dealing shops (referred to as head shops by their owners and by those who advocate on their behalf) which have been opened by crime gangs simultaneously in every town in Ireland.
The editor of the Leinster Leader quoted a front organisation established by the drug shop operators which endeavours to pose as a legitimate traders group.
I don't know why the editor of the Leinster Leader thinks any of us are interested in what drug dealers have to say about their drug dealing shops.
There were no quotes from the millions of people who want these drug dealing shops shut down.
The editor of the Leinster Leader asserted that the government policy of closing the drug dealing shops was an example of "the road to hell being paved with good intentions."
Really hitting the zeitgeist there aren't you Leinster Leader?
Really in synch with your twelve remaining readers on that one!
Lovely lovely people.
Going in to bat for drug gangs.
You unutterable clowns.
Some months ago after I began referring openly to head shops as drug dealing shops and after I pointed out that the drug dealing shops had been established simultaneously in a coordinated move by drug dealing gangs, no less a publication than the Daily Mail began to investigate my postulations.
The Daily Mail discovered that the gangster behind the drug dealing shops was an IRA terrorist with links to the Russian mafia and other organisations worse than the Russian mafia.
Hoo boy.
Incidentally, my information is that the drug dealers behind the drug dealing shops include certain fun loving Muslim organisations with a marked propensity for self detonation.
Ireland's Al Qaeda groups are up to their neck in the drugs trade.
The Leinster Leader really knows how to pick em.
What next?
An entertainment special on Osama Bin Laden's new pop group?
Allah U Want Some Drugs, as we do say in the Leinster Leader canteen.
I found another article.
It was by Baldy Meara.
The pithescene sports journalist.
Let me this way put it.
He's less literate than the cat.
His sports articles are wearisome extended exercises in saying one thing, then saying the complete opposite, then coming to absolutely no conclusion in a welter of inchoate misspelled cliches.
The present Meara article held to that tried and tested formula.
Whatever you say, say nothing, eh Baldy?
Interestingly enough the present article was not sports related.
Apparently the Johnston Press consider his talents are so great that he can turn his hand to just about anything.
For lo!
The present article was an attempt at feature writing.
The article asserted that recently released figures for complaints against the police in Kildare were exceptionally low.
The police.
My old pals.
The institutionally and individually corrupt police force of the Republic of Ireland.
The police force which styles itself An Garda Siochana.
Guardians of the peace my Aunt Fanny.
Now recruiting.
Come one come all.
The Irish police force is an equal opportunities employer.
But favour will be shown to candidates who are murderers, rapists, and/or drug dealers.
I kid you not.
And now the Leinster Leader is going in to bat for them.
Say it ain't so Baldy, say it ain't so.
Arghhh, arghhh, oh sweet mercy, no, no, nooooooooo, as we do say while being beaten to death in the cells.
Badly Meara's article didn't question the official complaints figures.
The article didn't suggest any alternative explanations as to why the complaints figures might be so low.
The article didn't mention that people had been discouraged from complaining about the police because out of thousands of complaints last year only five got any redress at all.
The article didn't mention that Conor Brady the former Irish Times editor who heads up the Ombudsman organisation charged with investigating complaints against the police, had explicitly appealed to people last year not to complain at all unless the complaint was really serious.
The article didn't mention that our corrupt kleptocratic Fianna Fail government had cut funding for the investigation of complaints against the police by 25 percent.
The article didn't mention the two people who died recently in the cells at Naas Garda Station.
The article didn't mention the person who died at the side of the road a few years ago while in conversation with police officers based at Naas Garda Station.
The article didn't mention allegations forwarded to me that Gardai in Athy have been colluding with drug dealers.
The article didn't mention the Garda in Kilcullen who violently compelled a young man to leave a bus after the bus driver accused him of stealing a wallet, and then violently searched the young man, and then called a female Garda to search the young man's girl friend, and then looked a bit sheepish when the bus driver found his wallet. (The young man was paid twenty thousand Euro in compensation by Bus Eireann the State run bus company. That is to say, you and me paid the compensation for the corrupt cop and the clown bus driver out of our taxes.)
The article didn't mention the teenager who phoned Kilcullen Garda Station one afternoon to warn of burglars he could see casing houses across the river, and who was then himself arrested by the police for drinking alcohol at the riverside, and then threatened with a beating by the cops, who so put him in fear that he risked his life to leap from their vehicle and then too terrified to go home, spent the night in the open air.
The article didn't mention the Kilcullen police officer who has built his house on land belonging to an elderly relative of mine who lives in vulnerable circumstances.
The article didn't mention the corrupt Sergeant James Dominic O'Mara who threw a photo on the ground from my wallet, attempted to terrorise me at the side of the road, compelled me to stand in the rain in a tee shirt while he shouted in my face "You should know that light is broken," accused me of stealing my own car, and engineered a trumped up court appearance for me before a Lebanese thug judge called Desmond Zaidan where I was fined 200 quid for the vile crime of allowing a light on my car to fuse in a downpour.
The article didn't mention the profound disquiet among people living in Kildare and elsewhere at the sheer unmitigated thuggery and incompetence of the police force.
The article didn't mention the death of an honourable and decent police officer who was found dead at the side of the road near the town of Naas, and who my sources in the police force tell me had recently had a "run in," ie some sort of a dispute, with police officers with a reputation for corruption, and whose death has been dismissed as a hit and run accident, and is not being investigated further.
Baldy Meara didn't mention any of these things.
Badly Meara probably doesn't care to know any of these things.
Baldy Meara is not that sort of journalist.
The article was a confirmation of Badly Meara's career long mediocrity as a reporter of events.
Let's be clear.
Baldy Meara is someone who has worked in journalism for twenty years.
In all that time he has only ever said or written one interesting thing.
Even the cat or a thick blind watchmaker would have a better strike rate.
I tell you again.
Baldy Meara has only ever written one insightful sentence.
In his whole life.
It happened like this.
A decade ago Baldy Meara was writing about the Kildare football team whose nickname is The Lily Whites.
Badly O'Meara in using this nickname, hit the wrong letter on his keyboard and so his article as published in the Leinster Leader contained the gem: "The Lily Shites will have to train hard for their next encounter."
It's the only time he's ever been right about anything.
It's the only interesting thing he ever wrote.
And it was a misprint.
Oh pale Johnston Press, how thou hast conquered.
Seriously though, they're doing a wonderful job.

a hundred million dollars worth of journalism

The newly installed leader of Kyrgyzstan has called on resovietising Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin to send Russian troops into Kyrgyzstan to restore order.
None of us saw that one coming did we?

Monday, June 14, 2010

great moments in bathos number 157

A phone call from my brother Pete who is in Spain.
"Howya Jim," sez he.
"Not too bad," sez me, "I've been having a week of miracles."
"What miracles?" wonders the brother.
"Well," quoth me taking a deep breath. "All this happened in the past seven days. A friend in England who was going to need a kidney transplant told me that his kidneys had suddenly regained 40 percent function. A retired army guy with growths in his arms suddenly had all the growths fall out after a visit to a supposed faith healer. Baby Tomas reached five pounds weight and is able to drink milk. I found 500 quid in the pocket of the tracksuit you gave me. Laure Heysch in Brussels just got engaged. One of my cousins is having a baby. Hammy died but it was such a lovely peaceful way she went and I got so much extra time with her and I saw a cloud in the sky after she was gone shaped like a hamster and I felt God's presence, so you know I'm counting the blessings there too."
"Hang on Jim."
"Go back a few."
"You mean about Laure Heysch?" sez me.
"I mean the tracksuit," sez Pete.
"Oh that," sez me.
"Yeah you went by that one pretty quick," quoth he.
"Not at all," sez me. "It's just there's been so many miracles. I wanted you to hear them all."
"Tell me more about the tracksuit one," quoth Pete.
"Okay," sez me. "I was going through the bag of clothes you left me. I was going to give the tracksuit to Cleaning Lady. Cleaning Lady loves tracksuits. I bet she'd have loved that one a staggering amount. Truly her hoover would have runneth over. By chance I checked the pockets in it before I gave it to her and there was 500 Euro in there."
"No way," said Pete.
"Way," insisted I.
"Really?" quoth he.
"Really and truly," proclaimed I. "To be precise there was 350 Irish and 150 dollars. Oh and a checque for 200 Euro. I wasn't going to bother mentioning that."
"You still have the checque anyway," mused the brother. "You wouldn't have been able to cash that."
"You'd be surprised," I told him.
"How do you mean?" asked he.
"Uncle Scutch would probably cash it for me," I explained.
"You've thought of everything," said Pete.
"I sure have," sez me.
"Okay." said Pete. "Here's what we'll do. Don't cash the checque. Don't try to cash it with Uncle Scutch or anywhere else. Keep it for me. But you can have the money."
"I'm way ahead of you Pete," sez me.
"You are?" said he.
"Of course I am," sez me. "But I gotta tell you. Much as I like the idea, I really can't accept this kind of money from you. It wouldn't be fair."
"Are you serious?" said he.
"I'm trying to be serious," I elaborated cautiously. "I'm certainly serious in saying I intend to repay you. Scholars remain divided as to when that repayment might actually happen."

an open letter to miriam lord of the irish times

Stop ripping off my blog you evil nazi bitch.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

football crazy

The soccer World Cup in South Africa has begun.
A cursory viewing of the games shows the malaise into which association football has sunk.
International soccer shows a chronic absence of sportsmanship, fair play and creativity.
Players are aggressivised, violent, unskilled and prone to infantile tantrums.
In fact these supposed stars of the sport are nothing more than overpaid prima donnas shouting at each other, pulling jerseys, feigning injuries, and bawling at referees.
And they're not worth the money they're paid.
Of course they're not.
Fifty grand a week can only be paid to someone by a company for whom that person is generating at least fifty grand a week.
But soccer clubs are all losing money.
Hand over fist over ankle hack.
Most soccer clubs exist in a state of perpetual bankruptcy, shored up by idiot banks who have gone bust themselves precisely because of their unwillingness to say no to the likes of Juventus, Man United or Real Madrid.
And the malaise in international soccer goes deeper.
Even the officials charged with stewarding the matches are corrupt.
Referees and match officials have been bought by mafia gambling syndicates.
The whole morality of soccer is debased.
The emperor is naked and there is a grotesque mole on his penis.
Soccer has become a crass negation of positive human values.
What has prevailed within the sport all over the world is a spirit of anodyne fervourless cynicism.
The effect of this on the game has been cataclysmic.
The beautiful game no longer exists.
Soccer is bor-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ring.
Any player who can play well tends to spend most of his time dodging kicks at his ankles.
The jersey pull from behind is the most skilful and consistent move practiced on the field.
The most entertaining games feature eighty nine minutes of ankle hacking and then if we're lucky one minute during which a random player, wandering on the edge of a melee, flukes a goal.
This is not new.
The greatest players to emerge in world soccer over the past fifty years were Mr Pele of Brazil, George Best of Northern Ireland and Johann Cruyff of the Netherlands.
These players could entertain.
Unfortunately they spent thirty years of their professional careers having their ankles hacked from under them.
They spent about five minutes each out of the thirty years playing the exciting visual style of football which might have made soccer worth watching had it not been all but stifled by the cult of hack and slash football.
The strategy that prevailed among football managers all over the world is Safety Soccer.
Hack the good guys down.
Then do nothing for ninety minutes.
Then maybe just maybe, snatch a goal.
That's what soccer has become.
The managers compelled their players to play a violent dishonorable cheating fouling game so that any potentially entertaining players were unable to function at all.
The strategy has resulted in the cult of Nil All and One Nil football.
Safety first.
Ten men defending goal.
One man vaguely waiting to snatch a goal if he gets lucky.
Ninety minutes of this debased nothingness.
Ninety minutes of boredom and one goal at best.
That's their business model.
This won't wash.
Soccer is all but dead.
It's been killed by the cynicism I've just described.
It's been killed by Hack And Slash soccer eliminating the capacity of good players to play.
It's been killed by managers advocating the unimaginative uninspired obduracy of Safety First Defend Defend Defend For Ninety Minutes Then Snatch A Goal.
Soccer is nearly gone.
The tragedy is that in every tournament such as the World Cup or the European Cup or the British Premiership, in every tournament I say, you've got thirty teams playing Bore Fest Hack And Slash Safety Soccer, and you still get just one winner.
The other twenty nine teams lose just as surely as if they had actually taken a chance and tried to entertain us.
Here's what to do.
Reduce the teams from eleven to seven a side.
Safety soccer can no longer be played with just seven men on a team.
They'll have to actually play the game if there are fewer players on the field.
Stigmatise the strategy of hacking good players to the ground.
Make it genuinely a shameful thing.
Hold it in contempt.
Stigmatise the jersey pull.
Stigmatise the feigned injury.
Put ten referees over each match instead of one.
It will not be as cost effective for the Mafia to buy referees if there are ten of them on the pitch.
Use video replays to prevent dubious decisions by referees in the pocket of the mafia.
Send off the players who try to reassert the old debased values which have nearly killed the game.
Shoot John Fashanu and Bruce Grobelaar pour encourager les autres.
End the off side rule.
Foster the notion that a soccer match should consist of a spectacular display of soccer skills by soccer teams who are actually trying to score goals against each other while providing inspirational life affirming entertainment to the general public.
About thirty goals a game should be the average.
Let's make this thing worth watching again.
Let's save soccer from itself.
Let's bring back the beautiful game.