Paul McShane was on the paper yesterday – the traditional cue for domesticated mice to fling themselves into their traps, the green light for our budgies to nail themselves to the bars of their cages.
The carrot-topped Irish defender is playing the Patriot Game. Outrageously, he’s of the opinion that if you’re called up for Ireland, that you should show up and represent your country. Fancy that.
The Wicklow-born stopper has been the butt of a lot of cruel jibes from Irish fans and the hairy-arsed reptiles on the sports desks over the last number of seasons.
Nicknamed Calamity McShane, he’s identified as the source of persistent anxiety for Irish fans. Some recoil in horror when the ball arrives at his feet, others let out an Edvard-Munch-like silent scream.
Others, allegedly, cut straight to the chase and top themselves, while one adult male, the Samaritans on speed dial, just bursts out crying, a gibbering wreck: “There, there sir, Richard Dunne has tidied up. The ball is in the other half now.”
“But they’ll return,” he wails.
And indeed they will return to lay siege to the beleaguered Irish goalmouth , provoking a reaction from Irish fans not dissimilar to the brooding reaction of a battery of hens upon finding a fox in their midst.
For when you’re sitting amongst thousands of sports fans, a totally paranoid bunch of people at the best of times, the least little thing can set off the gnawing of fingernails, in much the same way as a rustle in the undergrowth can spook a herd of wildebeest into a stampede.
Maybe it’s McShane’s shock of red hair. Or maybe it’s his wholehearted approach to the game. At times he appears to have abandoned all reason as he tears around the penalty area – not so much a loose cannon as a detached arsenal – a tsunami of collective trepidation trailing in his wake.
If we are to believe the reports, McShane is related to the non-league lunatic who had most of the fans at his particular club in such a state of consternation that they used to all exclaim the one word in unison when he received the ball.
Then again, maybe we’re just taking the urine. I reckon that Paul McShane – leaving aside his tendency to cross the heart sideways on the nation – is exactly the type of player we need.
For Paul McShane wears the Irish shirt with pride. And if I had a choice between him and the fuckers Stephen Ireland and Anthony Stokes, the Wicklow man would be in my starting eleven every time.
Meanwhile, the repellent Sepp Blatter was yesterday “elected” to office for a fourth term as President of football’s governing body.
Blatter, a virus attached to the hard-drive of the world’s most popular sport, was returned unopposed in Zurich after his two main rivals were suspended. How convenient.
FIFA, a collection of thieves, gangsters, liars, sycophants, sybarites and assorted bastards, is now being run like a third world dictatorship. It’s only a matter of time before the UN send in a team to oversee their elections.
Following a week in which almost everyone associated with FIFA have been accused of taking bribes, if most football fans had their way they’d send in a team of US Navy SEALs – with the same instructions they had when they entered Osama bin Laden’s compound.
The FIFA Ethics Committee – now there’s an oxymoron – have vowed to investigate all accusations of chicanery – and in breaking news the Papal Nuncio has just inked a three-year deal to play in central midfield with Glasgow Rangers.
The World of football was prepared to overlook FIFA’s various transgressions until they awarded the 2022 World Cup to Qatar. Most people ignored this at first. Under the impression that Qatar was a wrist watch they assumed it was a sponsorship deal.
Then we were assured that Qatar is an actual country, with temperatures of up to 50 in the summer. Qatari lizards only venture out in sombreros, slathered in sun block.
Holding the World Cup in this particular Arab Emirate is the equivalent of running the Winter Olympics in Barbados.
Speaking before yesterday’s “coronation”, Blatter, reacting to claims that he is an unmitigated fucker and that Qatar bought the World Cup with bribes, said that football’s governing body is not corrupt, not in crisis and there won’t be a new vote for the venue for the 2022 World Cup.
So you can now take it that FIFA is corrupt, is in crisis and that the 2022 World Cup won’t be held in the middle of a desert. With Blatter – who couldn’t be arsed making up proper lies anymore – it’s just a matter of reversing everything he says to arrive at the truth
“Our pyramid is intact, the base, the foundation is strong and together we have four years to continue on our path and do our job.We will put FIFA’s ship back on the right course in clear, transparent waters. We need some time to do it, but we shall do it,” he lied after he was elected for a fourth term.
Our neighbours England, backed by Scotland, were the only ones to raise an objection as the World’s football association’s – including, I presume, our own crew – shamelessly applauded Blatter.
The English and Scots were seeking to have the election postponed to enable an investigation into FIFA corruption but were isolated to pave the way for a dictator to sneer his way back onto the throne.
The game is up folks.