Ballix On The Brain - The Terrible State of Ignorant Public Perception in Northern Ireland

I was moved to write today's blog in reply to an article written very bravely and anonymously on Yahoo.  It starts well, for want of a better expression the history of Northern Ireland truly is 'fucking horrible', I don't know anyone who would argue on that front.  Any of us who were alive through any stage of The Troubles all have first hand encounters of various atrocities, and all our lives were touched in some way.

The country has changed since then, and dramatically so.  In fact beyond the realms of anything that any of us could've thought possible.  Now don't get me wrong, problems persist, entire communities are still separated by Berlin Wall-esque 'Peacelines' that haven't not only not come down, but were recently added to.  There is and probably always will rage a very fiery debate on the role of the Orange Order and the part it plays in our future together.  And of course, probably the most well known entity that hinders our progress, which serves to unite us all in loathing if nothing else, dissident republican terrorists.  Men who simply cannot alter a train of thought or opinion, willing to carry on killing in the name of a nonsensical utopian ideal.  A recent interview with an Óglaigh na hÉireann leader revealed that they were fighting for what they termed a 'socialist democratic republic', yet the fundamental basis of a democracy is that the majority rules, and by going against the majority's vote for the Good Friday Agreement and the peace that it brings, they are bastardising even their own beliefs.

In no small part Northern Ireland has its problems, but we have moved on, and more importantly we've moved on together, the road is long, rocky and often arduous, but there is finally a real belief that someday, maybe generations from now, we will get there.

Football in the country has its own issues.  Windsor Park, the national stadium is a dilapidated wreck, but what the original author doesn't reveal is how it got to that state.  He also doesn't mention the corruption within the Irish Football Association that lead to a 99 year contract being signed with Linfield to lease Windsor for the national side to play, at only 15% of all takings. Thus rendering one side, funded by the governing body, infinitely richer than any other team. You'd expect a team with such riches to run away with the league every year right?  Not quite, they're only human and do falter occasionally but four doubles in five years, a clean-sweep and currently 14 points clear at the top of the table upholds the point I'm trying to make.  Can you blame Linfield for this? Of course not! Who wouldn't take a gift like that? Certainly not Glentoran, who were saved by a whisker of going under by a mystery benefactor willing to donate £450,000 to save them.

But now for the positives, something very strikingly lacking from the original article.  The IFA is in the midst of an independent review, and has been party to a restructuring for the good of the game.  The outcome of the review is set to release the funds which have already been ear-marked for a regeneration of Windsor Park, to make it a truly international stadium.  Many, including myself would've preferred to see a move away from Windsor to a new Belfast stadium, but seemingly this is the only option available now and one which must be embraced.  It should also be noted how the national team's supporters embraced the political change in our wee country.  Windsor Park is set in a staunchly loyalist area of Belfast, there was a time when nationalists wouldn't turn up in any great numbers and preferred to follow the Republic of Ireland.  NI matches were vividly coloured in red, white and blue and loyalist party songs were very much the norm.  But in the space of just a few years that was swept aside by the Green and White Army and a new, inclusive Northern Ireland ideal was born, creating an atmosphere at Windsor which become famous throughout football.

Even Glentoran's darkest hour brought about a new dawn.  Constraints on the money being handed over included a restructure of the board of directors, handing power to the Glentoran Community Trust, meaning fans have a real say in how their club is run.  Appointed are three new directors, all big-name businessmen tasked with raising money and taking the club forward.  Already a brand new, state-of-the-art stadium is being mooted in connection with the George Best City Airport.  George still taking strides for Northern Irish football even after his death.

This is a direct quote;

Something much more sinister, much more reprehensable lies just beneath the surface. I say this of course with the absolute authority of a person who doesn’t go to local games. Does that undermine my position? No, because there is a reason why I can’t go to my local games (not that I would anyway) – it’s because I don’t feel comfortable and I don’t feel safe. Sectarianism is rife in Northern Irish sport, football being predominantly a Unionist sport.

In answer to your question, very simply, YES!  It does undermine your position, and indeed your entire article.  In fact, how can you make claims about feeling unsafe if you don't go?  That statement itself is idiotic.  You have an opinion, it's a closed-minded view based on some bias that you have inherited and chosen not to challenge in your life.  I was born a Catholic and a Glentoran supporter nearly 30 years ago, my father before me the same, I've never felt unsafe at a game.  For football being a Unionist Sport, why not go along and tell the fans of Newry City that? Or Cliftonville, or Donegal Celtic, or to step aside from labelling teams as 'one or the other' why don't you go along to any of the teams with a mixed support and tell them they're predominantly unionist?  Or for those that are, what exactly is wrong with that?  There seems to be a census among the people who slow to integrate and move on that there is something wrong with being a unionist.  It's just another viewpoint!  The same way that nationalists have come from a long line of ancestry that is natively Irish, unionists can trace their original roots back to Britain.  Irregardless of the scenario of what brought unionists to Ireland in the first place, they are now native to Northern Ireland, through many generations and are going to remain there.  So rather than restricting everything that's an opposing viewpoint, why not just work out how to disagree with it, accept it, respect it and embrace it.  Culture is based on differences.

The author then goes on to list a number of incidents that took place at matches.  There has been trouble at games here, there may well be in the future.  But there are many reasons why, and one of the main shoulders that should bare the blame are again the IFA.  They have forsaken the Irish League for the national team, there is little to no interest, investment or help for the league, trying to improve it, move it forward or even to sustain it.  And we are hopeful of change with the new restructure.  In addition the coverage of the local game by the media is shambolic, the Matty Burrows wonder goal that he speaks of wasn't even captured by local media, they didn't deem the game important enough to send a camera.  Thanks to Glentoran TV, a volunteer who has totally outdone himself, the footballing world was gifted a very special moment.  Yet the media loves to report on negativity, they race to show images of crowd trouble.  Last week the Sunday World printed a story taking great pride in revealing who they thought the Glentoran beneficiary was! Noting in the article that this may now jeopardise the club receiving the funds and ultimately staying afloat.  Furthermore, in complete contrast to your statement, football violence does take place in England.  I live in England and I've experienced it first hand on many occasions.  The difference is, it isn't reported on by the media, because it doesn't fit the face of football that they are trying to portray.

In regards to Loughall proudly claiming to have never had a Catholic play for them, I'll admit that was the first I'd ever heard that.  The first thing I did was check their website and look at the first team squad.  I don't enjoy pigeonholing so to speak, so let's just say there are a few names there that you're unlikely to hear around the 11th night bonfire.

The standard of football in the country is poor at the minute, I will grant you that.  Attendances are argued to not have fallen recently, but unarguably over the last 10 years and beyond they have.  But they have for everyone, and football everywhere at the minute just seems to be a bit…shit!  Man Utd, with one of the worst teams they've had in a long time are cruising. Celtic and Rangers win the SPL every year and then die in Europe.  Barcelona aside there are very few flair sides and numbers are down at stadiums across the UK.  Football, as I see it is in transition.  Growing up without technology that kept kids in the house, we all played football for the love of the game.  It was a passion and a dream to become a footballer, the game was a working man's sport.  Now days kids want to become footballers for the million dollar lifestyle, the blonde models, flash cars - celebrity culture has been a detriment to our society and to our game.  Sadly very few play solely for the love of the game anymore, and the working man struggles to afford a ticket to attend.

It remains to be seen how this transitional period will play out, and where the game will end up.  Northern Ireland has its issues, Northern Irish football has them too.  We can see small steps being taken on both fronts, and, can only hope that the future brings better times for all.

And finally to the author of the original article, I won't hide behind anonymity, I'd be happy to hear people's response to this and my mind is always open.  Moreover I'd love to hear from you, if football here is to change then we need to remove the mindset that you and many others like you share.  We'd love to have you along to a game to try and change your mind.

For the love of the game
Ryan McDonnell


www.ryanmcdonnell.co.uk






Original article is here - http://www.whoateallthepies.tv/scottish_football/62657/bullets-on-the-brain-the-terrible-state-of-football-in-northern-ireland.html/comment-page-1#comment-101441

The Joys of Text

Two things of note happened this week, firstly I saw my friend quoted in a newspaper and text her out of excitement.  The fact that she had changed her number without telling me didn't come as a massive surprise, after all I do drink far too much, and, when drunk I find that being drunk is THE best time to communicate via the medium of SMS. I also seem to have developed an issue that I can only describe as being fucking stupid, where I type out a message but when I go to send it, I inadvertently send it to the contact above or below the one I had intended.  Honestly, it has got so bad that I've had to reorder contacts under daft naming conventions just so they aren't near potentially sensitive ones.  Once I was having jovial drunken banter with a friend and instead of sending it to his mobile I sent it to his home number, immediately above it.  The only problem was he didn't live at home anymore and his poor mother was awoken at around 2am by her home phone ringing.  Realising that people only call at that time in emergency scenarios she raced to answer it and was then subsequently subjected to a sexually explicit verbal tirade by a computerised voice.  I checked the papers the next day, worried in case Professor Stephen Hawking had been apprehended by the law for making nuisance calls.  He hadn't, he'd just been beaten by his wife again.

So when I got a reply informing me I had the wrong number I apologised  and vowed never to make the same mistake again.  I then got another reply saying he'd had several calls from people he didn't know and that I should tell them it's not the right number.  This level of stupidity intrigued me, the rest of the exchange went like this...
Me: You'd like me, a faceless entity that you don't know, to contact other people that you don't know and tell them not to call you, people that neither of us know, because it's a wrong number?
Him: I just thought you might have known them
Me: So of all the people in the world that you don't know, you thought I would be on conversing terms with the ones who called you?
Him: You must know some of them, just tell them it's the wrong number.
Me: Ok, which ones?!
Him: I don't know, they're your mates!

Obviously this isn't verbatim, but not because I'm paraphrasing, because he was a fucking retard and spoke in text language.

Secondly, I was leaving the 'greenroom' of a gig at the weekend, I put that in inverted comas because it was actually a storeroom.  I also realise that I spelt 'comma' wrong, I was going to change it but then thought it was amusing.  An inverted 'coma' - that's just being awake!  I'm afraid your husband's been in a terrible accident, he's in an inverted coma - he's just lying on his bed listening to his favourite song over and over, I dunno what that's helping but he seems to be enjoying himself.  Anyway, on the way out of the greenroom I attempted to bid the show manager farewell with a customary peck on the cheek.  I don't think I've ever been as startled as I was with what happened next, and that includes the time at uni when I came home early and found my flatmate with his penis in the hoover.  Getting sexual gratification from any hoover is weird, but when it's Henry the Hoover it's also gay.  She reacted in a blind panic and jumped backwards into a corner! With humour being my only defense mechanism all I could do was mutter, 'Calm down love, it's alright!  I was only saying goodbye.  You've reacted like I just pushed you into a corner and tried to molest you!' - Now, lessons were learnt that night and I'd like to share them in an attempt to avoid anyone else from suffering a similar fate.  If you ever find yourself in a similar situation, dimly lit room, attractive young girl... whose first language isn't English...don't use words like 'molest', it's only going to exacerbate the affair.

So while the week kicked-off with a text conversation you're only ever going to have once in your life, it also concluded with one, that I hope to only ever have once.  In reply to 'How was the gig?' from the promoter, I found myself putting, 'Really nice thanks, cool crowd, acts all did really well and I didn't try to fuck your stage manager.'

I didn't put an 'x' at the end of it, it didn't seem appropriate.

Bob Dylan

On Saturday 3rd July I went to see the legendary Bob Dylan at Hop Farm Festival. I was so excited I lost all concept of what a reasonable amount of drink is and inadvertently purchased a liter of vodka with the distinct sensible recollection of, 'sure whatever I don't drink I can always bring back home.' Not wanting to give the impression of being a scum-bag by sipping Smirnoff en route, I also acquired six cans of cider.  A rather smooth move, I can only imagine that I must've resembled a suave, flame-haired Adonis as I availed of Bowtime, on a train, while simultaneously decanting a liter of strong spirits into a water bottle for what should be described as legal reasons.

Have you ever got so drunk that you don't actually realise that you are? Your legs don't work, you can't see without closing one eye first, and the only words that you can seem to communicate with any clarity are swear words with a distinctly Glaswegian twang? I half suspect this might account for the accent in Scotland's largest city, sober any one of the fuckers up long enough and they'd slip immediately into received pronunciation.  Well there was a man there in this state and he felt duty bound to look after me because he was the sensible one.

Bob Dylan was shit! I've complained to all and sundry about the lack of big name hits, no Rolling Stone, no Forever Young, no Blowin' In The Wind...  Then I read an article in the Mail (I found it online after Googling the gig I'm not a racist!) with the headline, 'Bob Dylan deliver a dream set at Kent's Hop Farm Festival'. It contained such lines as, '...he kept the hits coming...' and 'Dylan's attitude of playing fan favourites instead of valuing self-indulgence...' Then went on to mention a stirling renditions of Rolling Stone and an amazing set closer of Forever Young.  Oh dear. The irony of the latter isn't lost on me either, I decided to stay up all night drinking and get the first train home in the morning.  Do you know what's a great idea when you're 18? Do you know what isn't when you're rapidly approaching 30?

Sorry anyone that had the misfortune of speaking to me, sorry train passengers and sorry Bob, please don't die before I get a chance to see you again. But he still didn't play Blowin' In The Wind, the geriatric cunt.

Lucky bag

I came across a new phenomenon in Sainsbury’s today that excited me even more than the day I once found potato bread for 17p. Which is no mean feat in itself, I still look back on that day and rate it right up there as my favourite trip to Sainsbury’s of all time. I was going through some pretty dire financial turbulence with less than a quid to my name and needed some food. I hate to sound all stereotypically Irish, but begorra, I love potato bread, so I do. You’ve got potatoes AND bread in one flat square of deliciousness, fuck raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, they’re two of my favourite things! Work out a way to incorporate football in it and I’d probably have sex with the thing.

What’s better than that? What about a bladder of wine for £2.99? At least at the point of purchase you have to assume that it’s wine, wine that comes in a box, but no longer has the box. Just a big silver bag, with a sticker on it saying ‘Was £14.99, Now £2.99’ – Is that even a gamble? Regardless of what the liquid in the bag is, it’s still the stock market equivalent of buying BP shares. There’s at least a moderate chance that I’m now the owner of a big silver bag of donkey spunk, but at a price that would bring a tear to Eeyore’s japs eye, so who’s the winner? I’ve got it home now, I can confirm it is wine, white wine. I fucking hate white wine. And this one in particular tastes a wee bit like they’ve taken a glass of heartburn and then made it taste astonishingly like pish, and not just any pish, that first pish of a hangover, when the colour is so orange I can barely tell where pubes stop and urine begins. Not that I’ve ever actually indulged in sampling the flavour of this particular early morning delight, I’m going solely on the smell. I’ve used one of my senses to make up the mind of another, if you have difficulty accepting that, simply liken it to the fact that you don’t ever have to meet James Corden, to know he’s a cunt.

Am I disappointed by my purchase? There’s a big bag of it! And it only cost £2.99! In fact, work out a way to incorporate potato bread and it’ll be an early evening for the three of us.