D'oh! Sir Clive Does a Homer

There's a remarkable report in this morning's Irish Independent that could explain why Brian O'Driscoll got the doing that he got in the First Test at Christchurch.

As you may remember, Sir Clive got an email from "a Maori" before the tour saying that the correct way for the opposition to show respect for the Haka was to pick up a blade of grass and throw it away. Michael Campbell, the US Open Golf Champion who's in the K-Club for this week's European Open, was quizzed about this yesterday (Campbell is a Maori himself) and Campbell said that that this was exactly the wrong thing to do. Picking up the grass is accepting the challenge yes, but then throwing it away is the most shocking insult there is. This obviously registered with the All-Blacks, hence their pop at O'Driscoll.

Whether what they did to O'Driscoll was within the laws or not is an endless debate, but it does seem odd, when Sir Clive loaded up the Lions' touring party with all manner of specialists, that nobody could have got on the phone to find out exactly what is respect for the haka and what is not. Poor Woodward and Bernstein had to find not one but two confirming sources for any of their Watergate stories - looks like Sir Clive couldn't be arsed finding even one, and hence O'Driscoll got drilled. Very careless indeed.

Lions in Even Bigger Trouble Than It Appears

Anyone with any spare in cash in an online betting account could do worse than plunge the lot on an All-Black whitewash, only the third ever in the history of Lions tours to New Zealand. You'll only get 2/7 with Paddy Power, but a price is never too low on a winning bet.

The scutching the Lions received at the hands of the All-Blacks on Saturday wasn't that surprising. You can't expect to pick a side for a 2005 tour on 2003 form, as remarked earlier in this space, and then expect to go out and win. It's also highly ironic that, after bringing the biggest touring squad ever, Sir Clive could only offer a clapped out Will Greenwood, another man past his sell-by date, when Brian O'Driscoll was whacked in the second minute. Not much planning for the rainy day there.

But there is another problem at the heart of this Lions tour, and that is that the whole Lions ethos is fading, just as the traditional international tours that have been part of the rugby calendar since Victoria reigned are quickly becoming a thing of the past. The Lions tours were, above all things, about glory. Rugby legends made their names on Lions tours - Tony O'Reilly's 22 tries on the South African tour of 1955, Matt Dawson blazing onto the international arena in the tour of South Africa in 1997 and, at the zenith of the Lions experience, the coronation of Barry "King" John in New Zealand in 1971.

The common theme of rugby tours is, what a treat it was that the South Africans got to see Tony O'Reilly at his pomp, getting a supply of ball on the wing that Ireland could never have hoped to supply. What a treat it was to see Barry John reach heights of out-half play that haven't been dreamt of since in New Zealand in 1971. And in converse, what a treat it was here in 1989 to see Buck Shelford bringing his World Cup winning All-Blacks to the Northern Hemisphere. What a treat it was to watch Australia's Mark Ella in 1984. What a treat it was to see New Zealand and the Baa-baas in the Arms Park in 1973.

What treats have Sir Clive's Lions given the New Zealand rugby playing public? Henson and Geordan Murphy were as good as it got, neither considered good enough to even sit on the bench for the first test. Sir Clive thinks that it's all about the Tests but he's wrong; Lions tours are all about the glory.

When this Lions tour gets from the All-Blacks what the chicken got from the axe, it's not like it's the first time - that '71 side are still the only Lions side to win a series in New Zealand. So Sir Clive would be forgiven for losing the Tests, as he wouldn't be the first and - if the tours continue - he won't be the last. But what he can't be forgiven for is legislating glory out of the Lions tours, because if it's not about the glory, then what is the point?

Wimbledon on TG4 - Liathróidí Nua, le Bhur dToil! Ó, Deirim!

Of all the zany programme scheduling decisions that TG4 have made during the eleven glorious years of their existence, nothing seems as incongruous to An Spailpín Fánach than the fact that the station is currently broadcasting the All-England Lawn Tennis Open Championships from Wimbledon, London, England, for this week and the next.

It really is the damnedest thing. Wimbledon was so long a part of the Irish summer, as Jim Sherwin and Matt Doyle droned on and on and on as one big kraut followed the next in booming serves and curtseys to the Royal Box. Then it suddenly disappeared, only to pop up again, from out of nowhere, on TG4. If you can imagine R na G broadcasting the Ashes you get an idea of the shock of it.

The mystery of it all was: why Wimbledon on TG4? I have no doubt that it gives the Fíorghaeil a vicarious thrill of pride to think of the ancient language of the Gael being spoken and broadcast from the beating heart of Empire, but a lot of Fíorghaeil don't approve of TG4, and it would be a lot of money to spend on making a point that most people wouldn't get - An Spailpín Fánach will not quickly forget the fact that when Carrie Fisher first heard Irish on TG4 she thought it was "the language of the elves."

And then, after co-incidentally discussing the language and issues arising there from in a public house during the week, An Spailpín began to wonder if the tennis broadcasting isn't a sneaky means of maintaining the Gaelscoileanna kids, to keep them speaking a language that the majority have used in school but not at home.

While there are no doubt many idealistic parents who send their children to Gaelscoileanna for the most idealistic of reasons, it would be naïve in the extreme not to realise that the reason the vast majority of children are sent to Gaelscoileanna is to keep the sons and heirs as far away from pikies as humanly possible. But it has to be having the effect of giving these children a very strong Irish vocabulary, too strong for it to wither on the vine, as An Spailín's school Irish did as soon as he arose from the second paper in the Irish in the last Leaving Cert of the 1980s. Is it possible that the language will be saved by a bizarre alliance of stealth and co-incidence? Is it possible that the presence of leadóg on TG4, and rugbaí before it, will slowly hook in that great decision making mass of humanity that is identified in the mass Irish psyche as Dublin 4? That these movers, shakers and decision makers, when they arise to power as they inevitably, inexorably, will, that they will say let's cut out the nonsense, Ireland will speak Irish once more?

An Spailpín doubts it too. Still, even if that never happens, at least somebody in Foxrock is pissed off. That's something to be going along with, and An Spailín Fánach has enough circuits of the block under the belt not to be grateful for small mercies.

U2 in Croke Park

Hello Dublin! How are ya!

[Cheers, "We love you Bono!," screams]

How you all doing out there tonight? You know, we've been all over the world, but if there's one thing four Dublin lads like U2 - THE GREATEST ROCK BAND IN THE WORLD! -

[Cheers, the sound of women fainting]

- if there's one thing that four Dublin lads like us look forward to, IT'S BEING BACK IN DUBLIN! YEAH! ROCK 'N'ROLL!

[Cheers, delight, pride (in the Name of Love)]

But, you know, not everyone can live in a mansion in Dalkey, pay no tax and ponce all over the Western World. Sometimes we have to think of those less fortunate than ourselves. But we have, Ireland, we have. Only the other day I said to the Edge, 'Edge,' I said, 'what about the debt?'

He said he thought it was parked at Balmoral. I said 'No man, no. You're great Edge and I love ya, but I'm not talking about the Jet, I'm talking about the debt. Third World Debt.'

[Cheers, waves of sympathetic pity flood onstage for the politically naive guitarist]

People of Dublin, I was talking to President Bush the other day -

[Boos, shouts of 'bastard!' 'warmonger' 'yank!]

- I was talking to the leader of the free world yesterday and he said 'Bobby, what are we going to do about the Debt?' And I said "Georgie, we're going to rock and roll!

Did I disappoint you;
Leave a bad taste in your mouth?
I know you'd prefer a sandwich
And a cooling pint of stout.
Well it's too late, tonight,
Muffins are nowhere in sight,
I'm a bun, and I'm not the same
You're gonna eat me one after another
One after another
Bun.

An Spailpín can wait.

The Motorway Through Tara

Was there ever a stronger argument in favour of the proposed motorway through Tara than the sight of these eejits on the front of this morning's Irish Times?

In what we can only presume was an attempt to name and shame on the part of D'Olier Street, we find out that we are looking at a picture of Bean Draoi Áine Ní Mhurchú (left), Tara, Co Meath; Adge, a druid from Kells; Yamann Brady, Navan; Bean Draoi Annette Peard, Hill of Tara; and Martin Dyer, Navan. Better than Pixie and Tinkerbell I suppose, although I have my doubts about Adge, the druid from Kells.

I wonder how you get to be a druid, anyway? Where does on apply? Or does one just sit in one's pelt at the bottom of the garden beating one's head with an Ogham Stone? I wonder did anyone at this Tara shindig conduct any human sacrifice of the kind described by Tacitus in Germania or the Venerable Bede in De Ecclesia Anglorum et Gentes? Here's what Tacitus has to say about the worship of the Earth Mother Nerthus, who would no doubt have been one of the "sacred feminine" that Dan Brown insisted on bleating on about in that awful book:

"In an island of the Ocean there is a sacred grove, within which stands a chariot covered with a cloth, which none but the priest may touch. The priest can feel the presence of the goddess in this holy place. When she goes out in her wagon drawn by oxen, he attends her with the utmost reverence. A season of rejoicing and festivity reigns everywhere the goddess honours with her presence. All weapons are ... locked away, no one goes to war; peace and quiet are known and welcomed... Afterwards, the wagon, the cloth, and even (believe it or not) the goddess herself are washed and purified in a secret lake. This rite is performed by slaves, who are immediately afterwards drowned in the lake..."

Makes you think twice about answering an ad in the Meath Chronicle placed by a Bean Draoi looking for an open-minded assistant, doesn't it? Roll on the JCBs.

The Irish Times and the Irish Language

There's a lot of huffing and puffing in today's Irish Times about the Irish language, the money we (meaning the State, of course) spend on the Irish language, and the money we plan to spend on the Irish language in the future.

In an editorial that so reeks of political correctness that An Spailpín Fánach will bet cash money that it can only have been written by the High Priest of D'Olier Street, Fintan O'Toole (see the reference to "cultural totems"? If that's not the spoor of Toolers, ithfidh mé mo cháibín), the Irish Times condemns the further spending of cash on the language. The first two paragraphs damn with faint praise; the final three drive the steel home. "Great damage was done to the cause of Irish in previous decades with many children leaving education harbouring something close to a hatred for the language. The approach of Minister for the Gaeltacht Éamon Ó Cuív, those measures already taken and many more to follow, risk causing further alienation." It certainly will call further alienation, with the IT stirring the pot for all it's worth.

The editorial also makes reference to a story on the front page that's clucking about the cost of translating Government bodies' advertising into Irish. Aer Lingus has a good whine about it, as Aer Lingus likes to do, with the Aer Lingus spokesman bitching that the cost was "not a small amount of money." Considering that the Times were not only running the story but editorialising about it as well you'd think they'd have squeezed a better quote out of Aer Lingus than "not a small amount of money" - the Cromwell comparison is always popular - but maybe they couldn't because the whole basis of the story is utterly spurious anyway.

For the first time in An Spailpín's lifetime, the State is doing more than just paying lipservice to the language. It certainly will cost money but so does everything else. The question is if it'll cost too much money, which is a question that any public or private venture has to answer. Naturally it is not one that the Irish Times bothers to ask, simply assuming that any spending on Irish is too much. We can only hope that the guy that writes the Teanga Bheo section of the paper on Wednesdays keeps his CV updated.

The editorial remarks that "promoting the language, no more than any other aspect of the State's governance, should not be conducted without regard to cost or, apparently, any analysis of the likely benefit," implying that nobody has done there sums at all, without providing any evidence that this is the case. Which is profoundly lazy and rather mischevious of a paper of record, by any reckoning.

The only figures between the two pieces concerning the language are in the Liam Reid piece, which reports that the Department of Social and Family Affairs has set aside €500,000 to cover its obligations under the act, and is one of twenty-five bodies that will have to do so. Now, let's do some sums.

If we take the 2003 Finance Accounts as the most recent figure available to us, they tell us that in 2003 the State hauled in €32,102,931,000 in revenue from taxes. So, if twenty-five public bodies are going to spend half a mil each on Gaeilge, that's a full bill of twelve and a half million Euro to be paid. Which is 0.0004% of the Government's income from tax.

Therefore, if my figures are correct, for the Irish Times to kick up about that sort of expenditure would be the equivalent of a besotted suitor spending five hundred sheets on a flight to Paris this weekend with his beloved, and then turning around and telling your wan that no, he would not buy her a box of matches at the airport. The lady is not impressed, and neither should we be by such shoddy work in what is an essential debate about who we are as a people, and, even more importantly, who we want to be.

Radio Johnno

Sitting at home, in exile, tuning into Radio Johnno on MWR, and the live feed is accessable here. He's hopping some balls, the wily old fox.