An Spailpín Fánach was a little downbeat after debating the GPA with Dessie Farrell on Noel Walsh’s radio show on Northern Sound yesterday. I was a little perturbed, as I had said some harsh things about Dessie and the boys in this space, and I thought he might be thick. He wasn’t flustered at all, and as we discussed the issues, I realised why. Dessie has won; once Nicky Brennan and the GAA ran up the white flag, what some crackpot blogger said about the GPA was a matter of supreme indifference to Farreller, and was able to trot out the party line with practised ease.I was still brooding on it when I was back in the house last night, and I was thinking about everything that I thought the GAA stood for, and now no longer does. And then I feel asleep, only to wake up, somehow, at work, having spent all night listening to Billy Joel, and dreaming of a familiar, yellow, face from childhood...
It's half past ten on a Wednesday,
and I'm sitting here in my stall
Staring at a Dell computer,
and trying to make sense of it all
The office has gone for some feeding,
to O'Briens for some kind of salad
It's an early lunch or it's some kind of brunch
but I'll stay here to sing you me ballad
La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Bring back our youth, you're the Tayto man
Bring back nineteen eighty-four
Bring us back to the magical eighties
I don’t know this place anymore
I wish I was back in the 'eighties,
and so do all of my chums
When Charlie was running the country,
having got on so well running guns
And we were all on the dole but were happy,
with the occasional price of some beer
And we were taking the boat or staying afloat,
but life certainly seemed much more clear
Oh, la la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Then we knew what a sports hero looked like,
as Roche won the Tour with élan
And O'Hehir was the voice of the summer,
and Kerry had the brothers Spillane
But that's all part of the past now,
as the Cork hurlers all go on strikes
And that Dessie Farrell has us over a barrel,
because he thinks he can do what he likes
Bring back our youth, you're the Tayto man
Bring back nineteen eighty-four
Bring us back to the magical eighties
I don’t know this place anymore
In the eighties I didn't own nothing,
but stood in the rent supplement queue
Behind the clinic in Galway,
and you could have stood with me too
But the bank now owns a piece of me,
because I bought some real estate
I've two-up, two-down on the rough side of town
and my prospects ain't looking so great
I'm going to invent a time machine,
to return to old eighty-one
When Bagatelle sang summer in Dublin,
and things seemed so much more fun
When Gaybo was still on telly,
and people cooked cabbage and bacon
Pat Barry in Bracken, and dear Eddie Macken
and Tayto was all we were atin’
La la la, de de da
La la, de de da da da
Bring back our youth, you're the Tayto man
Bring back nineteen eighty-four
Bring us back to the magical eighties
I don’t know this place anymore
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