YOU CAN'T BUY CLASS
Remember
when you were a little 'un and your Mother told you not to play with
(insert name of local ruffian here). You dutifully obliged like the
good child you were, but all the while you wondered what it was about
that boy/girl that made them so undesirable. Occasionally you'd
question your Mam and ask why you couldn't play with him/her, to
which the response would be “You just can't, that's why”. Now
that I'm older I understand why I couldn't play with that little
scamp, it was because he was a menace to society and spent his
evenings terrorising the local village folk. Thanks Mammy, I would
have hated to spend my formative years in a young offender's home.
But
our mothers didn't make those decisions flippantly. Oh no. They knew
every kid's family background inside out and their suitability as a
friend was based on their findings. On the rare occasion that you
made a friend whom your mother knew nothing about she would spend a
few minutes assessing his character before passing judgement. If he
said please and thank you and looked like he'd bathed within the
previous week then he usually made the cut. But do you know what the
funny thing was? Even as children we were aware of class, albeit
subconsciously. Think back to the kids that were your best friends
when you were lickle – they invariably came from a similar
environment to you. We naturally gravitate to those we feel most
comfortable with, see Mammy all your fretting was for nothing!
But
our mother's should consider themselves fortunate – back then we
were all either called Johnny, Jimmy, Micky or Paddy, so the notion
of avoiding someone based on their Christian name was unheard of.
It's a lot tougher these days apparently, take poor Katie Hopkins (no
seriously take her), she has an awful time deciding which children
are worthy enough to spend time with her precious offspring. Luckily
she has a foolproof method which ensures no scallywags come within
ten feet of Poppy and India. By simply ruling out children who
possess a 'working-class' name she ensures that her own little angels
remain unharmed and oblivious to the evils of the world.
So
if you're called Tyler, Chardonnay or Brandon this is your lucky day,
you're not going to be invited over to the Hopkins' for afternoon
crumpets and tea. Phew. Lucky escape there. What the tiny-minded
Katie fails to grasp is how damaging this is not only to those
children whom she so fecklessly labels but also to her own. What kind
of world are they going to grow up in? One where they're taught to
turn their nose up at those who are inferior to them. The saddest
thing is that those precious little minds which are so eager for
information will eventually be polluted by their idiot Mother, until,
a few years down the line, they are preaching the same shit to their
own progeny.
IT'S A FUCKING DISGRACE
I
don't particularly like rugby but I can still say without any
hesitation that Brian O'Driscoll is one of, if not the, greatest
Irish sportsmen of all time. Very few Irish athletes reach the
pinnacle of their sport on a global scale, even less stay there for a
protracted period of time. He has been universally regarded as among
the best in his sport for the past ten years, in recent times only
Roy Keane and Padraig Harrington could lay similar claims. 'BOD' is
one of our nation's favourite sons, at least among the rugby
fraternity anyway. So when another Lions tour trundled round there
was much talk of O'Driscoll finally laying to rest his own personal
ghosts. It would be his fourth, and last, tour and his final
opportunity to actually win a series.
A
less than stellar performance in the second test was summarily
dismissed, “you can't drop BOD, it's unthinkable”. But someone
was thinking about it, and he just happened to be the most important
man of all. Warren Gatland must have expected some raised eyebrows
when he shunted O'Driscoll out of the squad for the final test, but
the shitstorm that followed must have exceeded his very worst
expectations. Like I've said previously I'm far from what you'd call
a rugby fan, therefore it's not for me to weigh up the merits of
O'Driscoll versus some Welsh meathead. But what I can weigh up is the
sheer idiocy of the moronic masses.
These
are the same people who campaigned for Ireland's game against France
to be replayed in the wake of Henry's infamous handball. These are
the same people who spout the same reactionary bollocks every time
something not to their liking happens in the sporting world. Off they
go creating their Facebook groups, brandishing everything 'an
absolute fuckin' disgrace' and generally frothing at the mouth at the
sheer injustice of it all. Numbskulls. Football has become infested
with nu-age fans with little or no understanding of the game and now
it appears to be rugby's turn.
Thanks
to the success of the Irish teams in the Heineken Cup rugby is now
more popular than ever. And with popularity comes new supporters,
people with high expectations and little or no patience. I'm sure
most time-worn rugby fans accepted Gatland's decision to drop
O'Driscoll. They might not have agreed with it but they understood it
and saw the reasoning behind it. And I'm almost completely sure that
those same dyed in the wool supporters cringe every time they
listened to another outraged caller calling for Gatland to be hung,
drawn and quartered for his crimes against humanity. Imagine if the
Lions had lost the final test. Imagine how happy those imbeciles
would have been. How justified they would have felt. As it was the
Lions romped to victory and O'Driscoll got the honour of contributing
to a test-winning team. So really everyone's a winner. Except Warren
Gatland, 'cos he's a cunt. Right?
THE REFEREE'S A.........GONER
Who'd
be a football referee eh? 22 tosspots acting the maggot on the pitch
and thousands more giving you grief from the stands, it truly is a
thankless task. FIFA constantly harp on about respect within the game
but let's face it referees are treated like shit by players and
managers alike and that's unlikely to change any time soon. They
could always follow rugby union's lead and issue the refs with
microphones so we can listen to Ashley Cole's foul-mouthed tirades
but even that is unlikely to change things. No, what's needed is a
more hands-on approach. For too long these overpaid nancy boys have
been taking liberties with the man in the middle. My suggestion?
Corporal punishment.
Let
us arm our referees. That's right arm the poor sods. How many times
have you watched a footballer eyeball the man in black and wonder how
on earth he can restrain himself? Well now we won't have to wonder
any more. Before each game they'll select their weapon of choice,
whether it be a tazer, a cattle prod, pepper spray or maybe just a big
fuck off stick. And then, with their armament carefully concealed in
their shorts, they will take to the pitch ready to do battle with
anyone stupid enough to question them. This new legislation should be
trialled at an El Classico in Spain, and of course the players
shouldn't know anything about it.
So
two minutes in Ronaldo takes a theatrical dive and straight away the
ref is surrounding by the loathsome Busquets, Ramos and Pedro. Back
off he'll say (or whatever the Spanish equivalent is), back off lads
I'm warning you, but it's no use the whinging little fuckers are
waving imaginary cards, doing that tiresome pleading to God gesture
and generally being a pain in the arse. Then BAM! A tazer to the
chest. Down goes Ramos. And for once he's actually hurt. Immediately
all the rest of the little shites go on the retreat. No more
nonsense.
So
what brought on this idea I hear you ask? Take a look at this story.
This was a referee that truly meant business. But bringing a knife
onto the pitch is a step too far in my opinion. That's just asking
for trouble. I mean that's the kind of thing that's likely to get a
fella beheaded - or something like that anyway.
CEASE AND DESIST
Sadly
we're unlikely to see football referees armed with anything more than
a whistle and a few pencils for the foreseeable future. But one
establishment that has access to a veritable cornucopia of artillery
is the US police force. And by fuck they're not afraid to use it. The
debate on American gun law and it's effect upon society seems to
intensify any time some fucked up teenager goes on a killing spree,
but it's essentially become a Catch 22 scenario and stripping the
police of their firearms is not the way to go. However in saying that
they should be taught to exercise a little restraint when engaging
with the general public, and nothing underlines that point more than
the following video.
Horrible
to watch wasn't it? I don't have access to US police protocol but if
it really says 'shoot a poor defenceless animal if it barks at you'
in their rule book then it's probably time for an update. Their motto
is “To Serve and Protect”. Who was being served or protected by
that cowardly act? It could be argued that the dog was a threat and
therefore had to be pacified, but shooting it? Come on. I refuse to
believe that the officer in question had no other option. That he
couldn't have reached for his pocket and produced something other
than a deadly weapon. That he couldn't have subdued the dog in
another, non fatal, way. The officer in question has been taken
off the streets indefinitely, finally some justice. 'Fraid not –
he has been removed for his own safety and has received the
full backing of his superiors.
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