Jack Kyle - An Gaiscíoch Ba Ghile i bPáirc an Chrócaigh Dé Sathairn

Bhí an slua ag imeacht nuair a tháinig sé ar an bhfód. Bhí an fhoireann a rug ar an nGrand Slam i 1948, an t-aon uair riamh a bhuaigh foireann rugbaí na hÉireann é, á thaispéant don slua ag an gcluiche idir Éirinn agus an Bhreatain Bheag Dé Sáthairn, ach rinne Bord Peile Rugbaí na hÉireann praiseach de, mar is gnáth leo. In ionad laochra na ndaichéadaí a thabairt amach ag leath-ama, fágadh go dtí deireadh an cluiche é, nuair nach raibh fonn ag éinne ar tada ach imeacht. Bhí RTÉ imithe chuig an Albain agus an cluiche idir Sasana agus an Albain; chaill siadsan an uair freisin.

Ach is cuma. Tá Jack Kyle níos laidre ná éinne acu, agus nuair atá eachtraí an lae cailte sa stáir, beidh ainm an Ultaigh beo fós i mbéal lucht tacaíochta an rugbaí, mar is é Jackie Kyle an t-imreoir is fearr a chaith an léine ghlas riamh, agus ní dóigh do Spailpín Fánach go n-athróidh an scéal le déanaí.

D'imir Jack Kyle mar leath-cúlaí amuigh ar son Ollscoile na Banríona, Bhéil Feiriste, Éireann agus Leon na Breataine, agus d'éirigh sé den scoth le gach chuile céann acu. Ba é tuaras na Leon i 1950 an chéad uair a chaith na Leoin an léine dhearg atá clú agus cáill uirthi ar fud an domhain anois, agus ba é an chéad tuaras ab fhéidir leis na Leoin dúshlán ceart a thabairt do na Glan-Dubhaigh. Tá clú Kyle ann sa Nua-Shéalainn fós, agus tá fios maith acusan cé h-iad togha na bpeileadóirí rugbaí.

Tá scéal deas ag Frank Keating in a leabhar den scoth The Great Number Tens a n-insíonn gach rud faoi Kyle mar imreoir agus mar duine. Bhuaigh Cliff Morgan, laoch mór uimhir a deich Rhonnda, Cardiff, na Breataine Bige agus Leon na Breataine, a chéad cáibín riamh i gcoinne na hÉireann i 1951, agus bhí Jackie Kyle ag imirt leis na nGaeil fós ag an am. Bhí fios maith ag Morgan cérbh é Kyle, mar bhí Kyle in a laoch mór ag Cliff Morgan agus eisean ag fás i nGleannta na Breataine Bige. Bhí faitíos ar Morgan roimh an laoch mór seo.

Ag tús an cluiche, chuaigh Kyle comh fada le Morgan, agus an lámh sínte amach aige. "Comhghairdeachas as ucht do chéad cháibin, a Cliff," arsa Kyle. "Bhíos ag breathnú ar do chuirt imirte le fada anois agus tá an léine tuillte go maith agat. Go n-éirí leat inniu."

D'fhoglaim Cliff a chéad cheach ansin - ba fear uasal é Jackie Kyle. Leanadar ar aghaidh leis an imirt, agus bhí cúrsaí cothrom go leor i rith an cluiche. D'imir Kyle go maith ach bhí Cliff ag fanacht ar ghaisce éicin ó Jack Kyle, agus níor tháinig sé. Seans níl ann ach duine cosuil linn go leir, a dúirt sé leis féin. Agus an cluiche ag dridim chuig a chróich, bhí clibirt ag na Gaeil tuairim fiche slat amuigh ó líne na Breataine Bige. Tháinig an liathroid amach chuig Kyle, agus rinne Morgan é féin reidh chun stop a chur ar Kyle. Ach nuair a d'fhéach Cliff suas, ní raibh an tUltach ann. Agus a chroí ag titim síos chuig a bhróga, d'fhéach Cliff thar a ghualainn, agus chonaic sé Kyle isteach idir na cuaillí, agus an t-úd á scórail aige.

"A Thiara Dé," dúirt Cliff leis féin. "Is fíorlaoch é tar an tsaoil." An dara ceacht a d'fhóglaim Cliff.

Ach dar leis an Spailpín, rinne an tUltach a ghaisce is mó agus a saol sa rugbaí caite. Agus an domhan faoi lámh aige, thug Jackie Kyle a dhrom do. Chuaigh sé amach chuig an tSaimbia, agus chaith sé a saol gairmiúl ansin, ag dochtúireacht don lucht íseal an domhain, agus gan fios ag duine nó deoraí acu cad é an rugbaí nó cé hé Jack Kyle, leath-chúlaí amuigh na hOllscoile Banríona, na hÉireann agus na Leon Breataine. Bhí fios ag Jack Kyle go raibh an rugbaí tabhachtach, ach nach mbanann faic leis ag an am céanna. Tá níos mó sa saol na an liathróid ubhchruthach.

Agus sin é an fáth mar is cuma gur rinne Bord Peile Rugbaí na hÉireann praiseach don thaispéantas, agus thug an slua másla don peileadóir rugbaí is fearr na hÉireann. Tá sé níos laidre, níos loinnreach nó gach uile duine acu. Go maire sé an céad.






Technorati Tags: Gaeilge, Seachtain na Gaeilge, spórt, rugbaí, Jack Kyle

An Spailpín Fánach in This Morning's Irish Times

An Spailpín Fánach is deeply flattered this morning that the Irish Times has chosen to republished a slightly edited version of last week's post on the "Quiet road girl milk" Carlsberg ad. In the print edition, I'm on the same page as Vincent Browne himself. It's like being seated at the right hand of the Lord. Online subscribers can check it out here.





Technorati Tags: Ireland, culture, Irish Times, Carlsberg ad

"Ceart nó Mícheart," Mórshaothar Sheáin Uí Ruadháin, Foilsithe Arís

Tá deascéal ag bhur Spailpín Fánach inniu, deascéal a chuirfidh gliondar is athas i gcroithe na ndaltaí Gaeilge, ní h-amháin an triúr dhalta dathúil ar mullach an bhlaig, ach amach sa domhan mór.

I rith na seascóidí, scríobh Seán Ó Ruadháin alt rialta san irisleabhar Feasta. Ba í an Ghaeilge á phlé ag an Ruadhánaigh, agus gach mí dhéanadh sé a bhreithiúnas ar Ghaeilge, mar a chuala sé i mbéal an phobail í nó mar a scríobhadh í ag an am. Bhí cúrsaí lán-shimplí leis - ba bhreá leis Gaeilge ceart, agus b'fhuath leis an Ghaeilge mí-cheart, cosúil le Gaeilge bhocht bhriste seo, mo léan, mo léan!

Agus an Ruadhánach comh dian diongbháilte ina chuid tuairimí, scríobhadh litreacha chuige san irisleabhar ag ceistiú is ag cáiniú cad a scríobhadh seo. D'fhilleadh an Ruadhánach comh maith mar a bhfuair sé, agus tá macalla an lámhaigh le cloisteal fós ina scríobhnóireacht.

Agus tá an macalla níos airde anois, toisc go bhfuil Ceart nó Mícheart foilsithe arís - eagrán nua faoi eagarthóireacht Liam Mhic Pheaircín, fear a rinne sársaothar féin ag bailiú na h-ailt agus na litreacha a scríobhadh faoi na h-abháir a phéadh i rith na sraithe. Tá roinnt fonótaí ag an bPeaircíneach ar an mbuntéacs - ba fear léanta go leor é an Ruadhánach, agus bíonn sé deacair gach targairt a adhmaigh.

Más féidir leat Seán Ó Ruadháin agus an leabhair seo a chur i gcompáráid le aon saothar eile, is é HW Fowler, an fear a scríobh The King's English i 1918. Sáreolaí graiméir iadsan beirt, agus bhí gach botún mar ghearruchán feola dóibh, peaca in aghaidh Dé agus in aghaidh an phobail. Comh maith le sin, bhí an árd-stíl acu beirt; bhí an Ghaeilge ag Seán Ó Ruadháin ón gcliabhán, ach ba fíor-scolaire é freisin, agus rinne sé gach iarracht a Ghaeilge féin a chur chun cinn i rith a shaol. (Agus ba fhada an saol é freisin - bhí seacht mbliana is seachtó d'aois aige nuair a thosaigh sé ag scríobh Ceart nó Mícheart!)

Cáinadh saothair Uí Rhuadháin ó am go h-am; tá tuairim ann go raibh sé ró-dhian ar an ndroch-Ghaeilge - tá litir sa bhailliuchán seo ó Mhuiris Ó Droigheán ar a cháineadh as ucht a dhiongbháilte. Tuigeann An Spailpín cad atá i gcéist, agus an baol a mbaineann leis an modh scríobhnóireachta seo. Uaireanta, agus an Ruadhánach á léamh aige, tar sé mar bheith ar ais sa rang scoile duit - tá tú á cheistiú ag an múinteoir agus fios maith agaibh beirt níl an múinteoir ag iarradh tú a mhúineadh, ach ag fanacht go rachfaidh tú amú, agus a ionsaigh a dhéanamh ansin, mar a fhanann an cat ar an luch. Ba bhreá an clisteacht leis an Ruadhánach agus ligeann an focal searbh i gcathú é uaireanta nuair b'fhéidir gur chóir do fanacht ina thost.

Nílim cinnte gur mhaith liom Seán Ó Ruadháin a bheith agam mar múinteoir, ach mar scríobhnóir nó sáreolaí na Gaeilge tá sé gan smal. Tá an méid saibhris ina chuid Ghaeilge, tá sí comh beo bríomhar leis, gurbh fhéidir leat fíorbhlás an teanga beo a fháil uaidh, mar a dheirtear gurbh fhéidir blás móna a fháil i ngloine bhreá fuisce. Is cóir duinn cumhnaigh gur deacair an rud é breitneamh a dhéanamh ar cad atá ceart nó mícheart maidir le aon theanga dá laghad, fiú amháin an Ghaeilge. Mar shampla, tógann an Ruadhánach sampla ó scríobhnóireacht éigin chun a thuairim a neartú, ach ar an lámh eile tógann sé sliochta eile mar shampla droch-Ghaeilge go deo, an drochGhaeilge a téadh idir é féin agus a chodladh. 'Sé mo thuairim féin go rinne sé an gaisce mar a rinne Fowler roimhe - rinneadar beirt cad ba mhaith leo, agus gach aon duine eile chun an ndiabhal.

Tuairim nár chóir bheith mar sin, gur chóir rialacha a bheith ann maidir le cad atá ceart nó mícheart, ach ní fhéidir é sin a dhéanamh, toisc go bhfuil teangacha ag athrú go deo. Ba é an dlí an rud is ansa leis na Románaigh, agus tá easactaí fós sa Laidin. An rud is tabhachtaí, ní hé go bhfuil na freagraí go leir ag Seán Ó Ruadháin, ach go bhfuil sé ar a dtóir, agus go bhfuil caghdeán na Gaeilge á phlé comh bríomhar seo aige.

Agus sin mór-oidheacht Uí Ruadháin, agus an fáth go bhfuil Ceart nó Mícheart comh tabhachtach. Tá droch-meas aige ar "Gaeilge na leabhar," ach is é an scéal brónach anois na go bhfuil an teanga bheo, an teanga inár dtógadh an Ruadhánach féin, marbh anois. Scríobhann Ó Ruadháin faoin bhfear seo nó an fear siúd nach bhfuil Béarla aige ón gcliabhán - níl an dream sin againn in Éirinn sa lá atá inniu, agus má tá, is í an Phólainnis nó teangacha eile atá ina mbéal acu, in ionad an Ghaeilge féin. As ucht an leabhar seo, tá fíorbhlás na Gaeilge nádurtha againne, scríofa ag fear léannta ar son daoine léannta fréisin, agus is rud fíor-thabhactacht don dteanga go bhfuil sí scríofa ag na léinn ar son na léinn, comh maith leis na leabhair eile. Ár gceol thú go deo, a Ruadhánaigh, rinne tú do dhualgas ar son an sean-teanga, agus ár gceol tú fréisin, a Liam Mhic Peaircín, go bhfuil seoid mhór na teanga seo foilsithe arís. Tá oidhreacht na tíre níos slána inniu as ucht bhur saothar beirt.






Technorati Tags: Gaeilge, Seachtain na Gaeilge, Seán Ó Ruadháin, Ceart nó Mícheart

Support Fergus O'Callaghan's Head Shave for Cancer Research!

Your Spailpín Fánach has a favour to ask of the loyal readership. Take a moment, before debauching yourselves at the weekend, to skip over here and support An Spailpín Fánach’s good friend Fergus O’Callaghan, who is having his head shaved next week to raise money for a children’s cancer charity.

You may say head shaving doesn’t seem that big a deal. You have not met the O’Callaghan. There are few hairs left on that great pate, and those that are there won’t be hanging around for long. He remains willing to sacrifice such hair has he has to the blade however, in order to raise money for St Baldrick’s, an international charity that helps fund research into children’s cancer and leukaemia.

As you can see from the link, Fergus is currently resident is bonnie Scotland, a long way from the beautiful city of Cork by the Lee. An Spailpín Fánach has studied the Corkman at home and abroad, and has noticed that no-one gets homesick like him. The homing pigeon is as a speck of dust in comparison to the Corkman abroad; that is, anywhere beyond the ringing of those Shandon bells might be as darkest Peru to the poor eejit. Pity then the O’Callaghan, trudging the highland heather, watching the locals eating herring and porridge and going to kirk, and dreaming all the while of crubeens and Miah and Cha and all that other weird stuff down there.

An Spailpín and Fergus are friends because we did time together. We both did a FÁS course in 1998 – ten years ago, the Lord save us! – in an effort to re-invent ourselves in the workplace. Only those who have done FÁS courses can know what they are like; watch a few of those old World War II prisoner of war movies, like Stalag 17 or Von Ryan’s Express, and you’ll get the general idea.

If that FÁS course, conducted in Middle Abbey Street and Portobello, Dublins 1 and 8, were The Great Escape, the O’Callaghan would be Flight Lieutenant Danny Velinski, as portrayed by Charles Bronson in that picture, only with less hair of course. He didn’t get involved in some of the strange politics that went on; he just simply went down in the hole every day and desperately dug his way to freedom. (Your correspondent would have been Flying Officer Archibald Ives, by the way – you know, the little buckeen that keeps getting caught by Jerry and eventually goes insane in the lockup? That’d be me down to me shoes).

No matter. Fergus made his way out, via Milan, Rome and finally Scotland, now it’s time for him to pay something back. If you have doubts about the fact that the charity is outside the Green Isle of Erin, think on these two points. Firstly, cancer can’t tell if you’re Irish, English or Welsh; it recognises few national boundaries. And secondly – how likely is it that our own bucks will be finding a cure for cancer anytime soon? Hoping the Jocks do it and Ryanair provides cheap flights over is our one hope. Donate now, and thank you.






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Quiet Road Girl Milk - What the Carlsberg Ad Tells Us About the State of the Irish Language

This is Seachtain na Gaeilge, that one magical week in the year when the nation’s lip service towards the First Language is extended – to about the tip of the nose and the point of the chin, as far as An Spailpín Fánach can make out.

The 2006 Census tells us that there are 53,471 people who speak Irish, daily, outside the education system, 97,089 who do so weekly, and a rather stunning 581,574 who do sometimes. Only 412,846 said they never speak Irish out of the 1,656,790 surveyed, which means, using simple arithmetic, that we have a population of one million Irish speakers in the state. One million! An Tomaltach likes to note how odd it is that, even though the Polish population here is smaller than 100,000 it is not at all uncommon to hear Polish spoken on the streets, while hearing Irish spoken in public remains a rarity. An Tomaltach doesn’t miss much.

It’s reasonably clear, therefore, that most people who claim to be Irish speakers in the census are talking through their hats, and doing so in English at that. In Seán Tadhg Ó Gairbhí’s review in Foinse of the recently published “A New View of the Irish Language,” edited by Caoilfhionn Nic Pháidín and Seán Ó Cearnaigh, Ó Gairbhí makes the point that if that 100,000 Irish speakers existed, there would be no point in discussing New Views of the Irish Language in a language other than Irish. His point is well made.

David McWilliams made the point in The Pope’s Children that the Gaeilscoil movement was indicative of the new role that the language will lead in the Ireland of the 21st Century, that paradise run by Hibero-whatsits, where the Budland of today is but a distressing memory. One of the signature moments of the TV show of the book of the newspaper column was McWilliams breaking into Irish himself while interviewing a rather startled Gaeilscoil principle. An Spailpín has grave doubts about the whole Gaeilscoil movement, especially in the capital; your constant quillsman simply notes how many columns McWilliams himself writes in Irish, and moves on.

The search for the true status of Irish in the nation in 2008 is a little like the search for Schrödinger’s cat. You may remember that, in creating his famous metaphor illustrating the sometimes counter-intuitive nature of quantum physics, Professor Schrödinger posited of a certain cat that may or may not be in a certain box, and the nature of the box is such that we can only tell by opening the box whether or not the cat is inside. Only thing is, opening the box offs the moggy. How then do we open the box without killing kitty? So it is with Irish; once we start asking the question people start lying to the questioner. It’s simple human nature.

Therefore, to find out the true status of the language in Ireland we have to surprise the nymph while bathing. We need to take a snapshot of the nation and the language while the nation isn’t looking, and thus find out how we really feel about the language.

And Carlsberg have done just that, with their Irish-in-the-nightclub ad that’s currently running on the telly. It isn’t so much the ad itself, but the public reaction to it, which seems – on anecdotal evidence alone – to be quite positive. We throw the shoulders back when we see it, and bask in a certain glow.

The ad, for those that haven’t see it, goes like this. Three young Irishmen are on holidays in some foreign city. They go into a nightclub, and shout three Carlsberg. The barman asks them where they are from, and they reply “Ireland.” The three boys are then asked to do something Irish – you know the way French people in bars here are always asked to do something typically French, like eating cheese or surrendering to the Germans? Or Germans are asked to invade France in the first place? Same principle.

Anyway, our three heroes put their heads together and they decide to speak Irish. So the leader turns around and says falteringly “An bhfuil cead agam dul amach go dtí an leithreas?”

His confidence builds then and he begins orating wildly to an eager crowd. “Agus madra rua. Is maith liom caca milis. Agus Sharon Ní Bheoláin! Tá geansaí orm. Tá scamall sa spéir. Tabhair dom an caca milis!”

The scene ends with our hero cutting a rug with the local talent. “Speak more Irish,” she asks him. “Ciúnas bóthar cailín bainne” he tells her, dancing away. She laughs seductively. Fade to black.

And that ad sums up everything the nation as a whole thinks about the first language right now. We like the idea of Irish, the idea of it being there, but is has no semantic meaning for us. It means nothing. Such word we have are only those we remember from school, in brief incoherent snatches. We like the language, in the same way we like that old fool of a dog that always chases parked cars, but fundamentally it’s a joke, not something to be taken seriously. “Ciúnas bóthar cailín bainne.” “Quiet road girl milk.” Gibberish. We think Irish is gibberish, and its only purpose is to give us another reason look down on foreigners, something we love doing all the time.

Somehow, eighty-seven years after independence, it doesn’t seem that much to be proud of.





Technorati Tags: Ireland, Culture, Irish, Gaeilge, Seachtain na Gaeilge, Carlsberg Ad

What Dublin Bus Really Thinks of the Commuter

An Spailpín Fánach is seldom a man to attack reading, that most wonderful and endlessly rewarding of hobbies. This evening, I am making a very special exception.

I took the above picture a little after six o’clock tonight. Sleet and snow arrived in the city this evening – great flakes of snow that melt immediately on impact and that leave you drenched and freezing in seconds. In the ten minutes it took me to walk from the office to the bus stop I was soaked, perished and eager to get somewhere warm.

Dublin Bus, however, had other ideas for me.

There was a queue of maybe ten people waiting for the bus. There were two buses at the stop. You’ll notice that the lights are on in the bus in the picture, the engine is running and the radiators are on. Did the driver open the doors to let the people on? No. He did not.

As far as he was concerned, the people waiting IN THE SNOW could damn well stay there. Eventually, once his thirst for literature was sated, this constant reader switched off the out of service sign, put up the correct number and opened the door.

You see, even though the “Out of Service” sign was lit, the bus was not “out of service” at all. It was the driver that was out of service. He was going to read his buke and anyone out in the cold could damn well stay there and catch ever damn type of pneumonia going. He didn’t care.

And do you know what puts the tin hat on it for me? He’s only starting the damn book. It’s not like Rudolf Rassendyll is facing a final, deadly showdown with the inexpressibly evil Rupert of Hentzau in the dark dungeons of the Castle of Zenda and this bus driver can’t wait, just can’t wait, to find out what happens next. He’s just acting out of principle, and that principle is that any Dublin bus driver can do what he damn well pleases and nuts to commuters freezing in the snow. Isn’t that why Joe Hill was shot, so Dublin Bus drivers wouldn’t have to suffer torment and slavery by opening the doors on a bus before they're good and damn well ready?

An Spailpín Fánach has edited the pic as I don’t want to personalise this about the driver concerned. He might have only just learned how to read for all I know, and can’t get enough of it. But everyone involved in fostering this culture in Dublin Bus, the culture that says the drivers do what they damn well like when they damn well like and only if they damn well like ought to be deeply ashamed of themselves.





Technorati Tags: Ireland, Dublin, Dublin Bus, commuting, books

Straining Against the Laois - Fishy Business in the Mayo Forward Line

Laois 1-13
Mayo 1-13

“What might have been” always has an electric effect on the Mayo supporter; it is generally best not to bring it up, as tears may quickly ensue. As such, the Laois county board were playing a dangerous game with their program for the game last night at Páirc Uí Mhordha, Portlaoise.

There was a thought-provoking picture of Kieran McDonald on the cover, as the status of Mayo’s Gile Mear remains unknown as the sod firms and spring advances. Even more heartbreaking though, the program had two lovely reports by Pat Delaney of matches past between the teams, one from 1980 and the other from 1973. Mayo won both games, thanks in no small part to the input of their full forward lines. In 1980, the inside line was Jimmy Burke, Jimmy Lyons and Joe McGrath – between them, they contributed 2-03 to Mayo’s total of 2-08. Not bad, but 1973 – my God, what a full-forward line wore green above the red that day. They were Ted Webb, Willie McGee and Jinkin' Joe Corcoran, legends all, and they contributed 2-04 to the Mayo total of 2-10.

Can you see where your Spailpín Fánach is going with this?

Last night, Mayo played with a two man inside line, with Austin O’Malley dropping deep, which is hardly the spot for him. The logic of this formation is hard to entirely understand – the only two-man inside line that really cut sides up that An Spailpín can bring to mind is Meath’s from 1999 to 2001, when Ollie Murphy and Graham Geraghty terrorised defences across Ireland. The thing about those two boys though is that they were able to win independent ball – An Spailpín has fallen hopelessly in love with that phrase since hearing Jack O’Connor use it one summer! – and having won it, they were able to use it.

Andy Moran and Conor Mortimer are who they are, and it is unrealistic to expect them to behave as Murphy and Geraghty. But it is a little worrying that they are currently expected to do these jobs for which they don’t seem entirely suited.

Rumours of discontent in the camp constantly emanate from Laois, but they didn’t look too bad at all from where An Spailpín was sitting last night. Padraig Clancy lorded midfield against an out of sorts James Gill and David Heaney, forcing O’Mahony to spring Ronan McGarrity from the bench after twenty minutes to calm things down a bit there. The Laois inside line looked particularly tasty, with the old bull Parkinson in one corner, the young bull Tierney (nine points, three from frees – can’t ask for more than that) in the other, and Brendan Quigley of Timahoe between them. Quigley was in midfield last year and played some Aussie Rules before that again, experience that allowed him to wreck no small amount of havoc in the Mayo defence. Quigley will take watching in the Leinster Championship this summer.

For Mayo, not as much to be hopeful about right now, to be honest. Aidan Kilcoyne made up for last week a little when he came on at half-time for Michael Mullins yesterday, but if the Mayo forwards were crustaceans they would be crabs – constantly scuttling sideways, eyes out on stalks and never making progress. The ideal denizens of the deep to name in the forwards would be a great big blue whale at full forward, two sharks playing off him in the corners, a dancing seahorse at 10, a leaping trout at 12 and a dirty great ugly brute of a pike at 11, pulling the strings and exerting his authority.

These are unlikely to manifest between now and June 22nd, of course, and Johnno and the travelling support must make do in the meantime. Minds now turn to Castlebar, and a game against Kerry on the day before St Patrick’s Day. It will be a glorious day out, and Mayo are not quite relegated yet. It looked like Laois and Mayo would descend hand in hand into Roinn a Dó next year at half-past eight last night, but now I’m not quite so sure. A result against Kerry would be heartening in more ways than one. However, having seen parts of their game against Derry on TG4 today, it’s hard to see it happening I’m afraid.

But what matter? Isn’t it only the League?





Technorati Tags: Ireland, sport, GAA, football, Mayo, Laois