The last hurrah

Every morning after Ireland play I wake up with an almighty hangover dwarfed only by the humiliation that preceded it the night before.
I fear for the worst tonight. It’s the last hurrah. Ireland’s last game of Euro 2012. Against Italy of all teams.
Thank feck the fans at least have done us proud, showed what it means to be Irish. The players too, in a way. They fought like lions. It’s not their fault they’re toothless geriatric lions riddled with arthritis fighting hoards of savage tigers.
The last hurrah? I’m still waiting for the first one. Jesus, wouldn’t it be great to have at least one hurrah, the first and last, before leaving this fine tournament with our heads held high.
Come on you lions in green.

Addendum; The next day – Well, there was no hurrah in the end, except from the Italians, one of whom deafened me in one ear and the rest who were quite gracious about it all. Gracious about winning I mean, not about my ear, or at least I think so anyway - I couldn’t hear them for the rest of the night.
But the whole thing is, of course, just a sideshow. Life goes on and nothing’s more important, as it has a habit of reminding us. Today I got news that puts everything in perspective. Nothing actually matters. Bon courage Eoghan. You’re evidently a much braver man than I am. All our thoughts, love, hopes and best wishes are with you.


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