This country is one sneeze away from bankruptcy, and the IMF are camped just outside the door.
Next week we are about to enjoy the next best thing to a general strike.
Over four hundred thousand people are out of work.
To say the country is in a crisis is like saying that Everest is a bit of a hill.
And what is our government worried about? Questions in the Dáil, and representations by Biffo to the French government?
A fucking football match!
For fuck’s sake – get a grip!
This is a game we are talking about. Nothing less and nothing more. A game where a few nancies prance around after a piece of plastic for an hour and a half or so. It is nothing to get worked up about. There is no need to get any knickers in a twist. It’s a fucking GAME.
If the French had come over here and deliberately burned down Guinness’s Brewery, we might have something to complain about, but what actually happened was that a bloke touched a ball with his hand. Boo fucking hoo.
Suppose Ireland had one the match, then that means that they would be playing in South Africa. Half the Knuckle Draggers in the country would be mortgaging their grannies to travel to see Ireland get thrashed in the next round, and we would end up with more debt; more home repossessions and more broken marriages.
The Knuckle Draggers of this country should be grateful to the French for putting the team out of its misery.
Biffo should be sending telegrams of thanks instead of whinging like a petulant child.
So let’s forget about it. OK?
Let’s worry about something more important.
Such as planning to handle Biffo’s balls with a baseball bat.