I saw a golden retriever on a golden summer’s day, rolling on his back, running upside down and laughing. They really shouldn’t eat dogs in Korea. Later a dyed in the wool, a true blue and black fan told me that Frankie was above in Heaven and happy. I think the dog knew something too.
Jamo saw it all in conspiratorial numbers, at 19 all, their number 19 ran onto the field with 19 minutes left. I liked his conspiracy but couldn’t add to it, the average age of an American soldier killed in Vietnam wasn’t relevant to the 2009 AIL final.
Thomand Park’s bling is acceptable on cup final days when Shannon win, otherwise it’s tiresome when a north side Dub presumes I stand somewhere other than under the Heineken sign on the popular side. It’s not there anymore, but we know where is used to be.We don’t need to queue to get tickets, for more queuing and subsequent tearing up of tickets, by another northside dub. There were less than five thousand souls last Saturday, there were hundreds of officials. There was eighteen thousand at that Garryowen match, no waiting, no ticket purchase, no northside dubs, ten officials. And hey, if I want to drape my jacket over your advertising sign, move your sign. And there’s a good reason is there, that these signs aren’t made of metal anymore? Yes? Well no actually, cause we used to make some racket when we banged on the old ones.
After the cup and the Isle, after hugging and kissing and jumping the fence which we should not have jumped, after walking back to our non-bling clubhouse and reacquainting with old friends whom we see only on these occasions, after a couple of pints we form a circle of nearly fifties, and make out like bandits. It’s sympathy I’m looking for, not for the quietened devil within, no, but for my forlorn lament on the passage of time. The man with the big job and the Elvis curled lip empathises, and flicks his hip. Tony and Anna, a century together, laugh loudly and heartily with and at me. Anna remembers the time I nearly drowned late that night, before we got chips in Ranelagh. Thirty years ago it made perfect sense to jump the canal at Leeson St Bridge, to jump too far and hit my knees against the far wall, underwater, and nearly drown except for being starving for a single of chips.
My lover, who has never explored any of the fifty ways to leave, is home with communion boy two. His soul sanctified today at the battle of Clontarf, he is busy collecting for a Nintendo DS lite and trimmings. For a man, there’s predictability about the closing configuration of an Irish communion, it’s a celebration of the feminine and of leftovers, which I went looking for, sheepishly. Emma, the first great grandchild, didn’t wake when I felt her feather light breath on my finger.
Monda said this one was for Frankie, so did Becks, and I think the dog did too. Look, if Shannon need motivation to do this for the tenth time let them look no further then at the smiling Rockies or the laughing dog.