I don’t even want to do this anymore. I’m sick of it. I don’t care about the team no more. Why should I? They played like a team who doesn’t care about me. They played in a style like the old Commodore 64 games where everybody is always in the same place doing the same thing, like animatronics. The only problem was Spain, Croatia and Italy were more like a Playstation 3 game.They can move multi-directionally and have artificial intelligence, where as alls we have is the Control Key and Shift Runstop.
It’s a big pile of silly bollocks. Trap is a silly old bollocks. He made us look silly and made this little sailor cry. Keith Andrews, our best player of the tournament, took 15 shots and four were on target. Then he got sent off. We looked like the original Master-League team in PES, slow and witless with ridiculous names like St Ledger and Cox.
I’m sick of it all. What’s the point in me doing a critique, doing all the hard work for Trap? Looking at all these lads in action across the water when he’s just going to take the memo and wipe his ageing olive-oily arse on it. What’s the point? I spend sleepless nights rigorously researching all these players and Trap has probably never heard of any of them.
The great irony was Ireland’s best team did in fact go to Poland to the Euros, but sadly only in a spectating capacity. Hoolahan, Coleman and the man whose got more flow than KRS One, Notorious BIG and Spiral combined, Kevin Kilbane.
Trapattoni does not operate with any kind of democratic hierarchy. He’s more of an evil dictator. Normally you can overthrow a dictator but alas we’re stuck with him for the next two years because John Jerry McGuire Delaney showed him the money long before Paul Green was gloriously introduced against Spain. The real heroes that day were Xavi, Iniesta, and Alonso for not physically breaking into laughter when they saw this inanimate bag of cow droppings with legs saunter on to the pitch.
What must Ciaran Clark be thinking? Coleman? Wes Hoolohan? And even James McClean brought on with 20 minutes left against Spain? It was like handing Tom Hanks a johnny in his last scene in Philadelphia. What is the point? The whole thing has left a sour taste in my mouth.
I still refuse to accept that Keith Andrews played well. He played as well as Keith Andrews can play which is still a long way short of what is expected at this level. Indeed Richard Dunne, and in my opinion James McClean, were the only players who, if they are was an X-Factor show to prove that you were actually a professional footballer, might have had a some chance of getting in to the next round.
I’m sick of it all. Our manager’s English was noticeably lapse and it seems to be receding, thus suggesting that perhaps he’s becoming senile and that the whole debacle is not his fault. I might as well be pissing against the wind. There’s more chance of Hitler doing a duet with Barbara Streisand singing Scorpion’s Winds of Change down at the synagogue next Saturday than Trapattoni altering his ways.
But will he change? Will Trap talk Aston Villa’s Fan’s Player of the Year last season, Stephen Ireland, down from the ledge and into a legend, where he looked to be headed a few years back. There is talent. Seamus Coleman, Clark, McClean, Pilkington,Tierney and a lobotomised Gibson (who didn’t get a minute of playing time despite showing good form for his club at the end of last season) alongside the current players like Given, Dunne, O’Shea. There’s plenty of young talent out there and what about that young lad from Mayo, John Joe Finn, who plays with Real Madrid? He’s only 8 but it’s best that we get him playing for us quick before he realises that he’s from Mayo and is a perennial loser.
What’s the point in me writing this? It’s just pie in the sky, like watching porn. I spend my days looking at pornography wishing that it was for real but it isn’t. It’s just perception (except the voyeur stuff, that’s real.) I digress. Trap must stretch his net a bit further. There is far more to England than Stoke-on-Trent, Wolverhampton and Birmingham. What about Norwich? It’s as lush with green as they come. Why not take a trip there? Or why not think outside of the box and make an ostensible trip to Aston to see Dunne and Given or Ciaran Clark while at the same time getting an excuse to run into Stephen Ireland.
And perhaps while on that journey Trap can bring Paul Green on a sojourn out to the countryside, along with Darren O’Dea, Sean St Ledger, Paul McShane and many of those other Hall of Famers that are currently sans club. And while out in the glorious open countryside, beat them to a pulp with baseball bats like his fellow Italians did to poor did Joe Pesci in Casino. I know plenty of people who will be willing to chip in with manpower. I’d be top of the line.
Just look at this sh*te:
Cox, Ward, St Ledger, Whelan, Green
I would pick Andy Reid’s left arse cheek ahead of Paul Green. But it’s not going to change, is it? Is Trap going to devise a system that allows us to play with gay abandon.
Gay abandon, another fine idiom and one of the few that Didi Hamann didn’t use regularly .
“At the end oof the daaaaay”
“the rolling stone gathers no mooosss” and his personal favourite.
“The muuunkey on the baaaack”
Just look at what’s currently available:
Coleman/ Duffy/ Dunne/ Clark/ O’Shea/ Tierney/ Pilkington/ Hoolohan/ Wilson/ McGeady/ Gibson/ Ireland/ McClean/ Keane/ Long/ Doyle/ Walters.
It’s good viewing and debunks the myth that we have to play this turgid cancer football. But I’m just the little guy. He ain’t gonna listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. I told JFK to wear a hurling helmet. I told John Denver to take the bus. I told Chapman to shoot Ringo. I told Mark Bolan to wear a seatbelt. I told Freddie to wear a johnny and I told Graeme Taylor not to pick Carlton Palmer.
So I’m pleading. LISTEN to me Trap, for I’ve seen it 10 times or more (David Bowie)
I am The clever man who cries, not The catch cries of the clown (William Butler Yeats.) I am not Just a fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench. The pain in the ass (John McClane). This has to change. Now.
Songs on the iPods of Irish players:
Where is my mind? – The Pixies
St Ledger, McShane, Ward and Simon f*cking Cox
Why? – Annie Lennox
Coleman, Clark, Hoolohan, Tierney, Pilkington, Duffy and the 8 year old young lad from Mayo who signed for Real Madrid
Quando, Quando, Quando? – Engelbert Humperdinck
Winds Of Change – The Scorpions
Come Back and Stay for Good this Time – Paul Young
Slimer Green/ Patrick Swayze Andrews/ Casper Whelan
Ghost in the Machine – The Police
Keane, Duff, Dunne and Given
The End of the Road – Boys II Men