No one ever said it was going to be easy.

Right, no one ever said it was going to be easy.
This is keeping me calm as I think of an Aftershave Ocean, The Vaccines




My 5 year old who has up to now shown little interest in music took me to one side the other night and asked to get this song on the radio in my car. I was intrigued, Brazilian Hip Hop wouldn't have been my forté, he's a great lad



Here's a little extra this week, a little modern day 80's, I was introduced to this by my friend K-Hill and when I told him it sounded like the Blue Nile mixed with Go West , the young fella hadn't a clue but it does. Twin Shadow - The One.

Right Here, Right Now

Right, here's what's on the ipod at the minute.
Best Coast and a tune called Do You Love Me Like You Used To?




The XX hve a new album out called Coexist and this is the standout track, Sunset.

All Apologies

All Apologies

The youth of today just won’t understand

What life in the eighties was like

Food on the table was paramount

And very few kids had a bike.

England was being run into the ground

A battle scene version of Hades

Labour Left Liverpool cast adrift

By Margaret the Iron lady

What happened on that April day

Embodied that Tory decease

Third class fans in rundown grounds

Impunity for the police

Duckenfield, clueless, out of his depth,

Up to his neck in pain and death

In Devon where he lays his head

May that day haunt your every breath

Pitiless Poppers post-mortem

Deliberate, callous and cruel

Accidental death at three fifteen?

Who were you trying to fool?

Thatchers police had served her so well

Waving notes at the down trodden miners

Cover up, statements were altered

How evil was blood testing minors?

Tory Boy Patnick went to work

Casting shame on the dead and the dying

For planting lies a knighthood earned

We always knew you were lying

And now the truth is out at last

They spout their sickly faux sorry

They’ll get what’s coming soon enough

Justice will see them the quarry

Thatcher now old and quite senile

Still an icon of anger and hate

No rejoicing til she’s safe and sound

In the Hades she tried to create

Great to see the truth finaly come out, a disgrace it took so long.

This poem equally applies to the Graham Kelly, Boris Johnson, the evil Kelvin McKenzie and all the other fools who believed the lies.

Your apologies are worthless.

Through a young boys eyes

Through a young boys eyes.

Are we still eighth in the table dad?

My small lad asked of me.

We are, I said with heavy heart

Curse of the devotee

He’s witnessed 12 home games this year

He’s cheered and clapped like me.

But left mostly in sadness

We’ve won only the three

When he walks back in the door

His mother asks the score

“Disaster mam” he utters

As more points drain down the shore

And just like his dear old dad

He won’t stop going to games

Cos we support Cork City

Though our season is in flames

And if we lose another few

I’ll elucidate just why?

Players, Gaffers, come and go

But we’re City ‘til we die

Still eighth with the teams below us closing fast.
We could be in trouble if we don't win a match soon.

Corky

Corky
Corky the cheetah is number 84
He came knock knocking upon my door.
When he looked through the window,
We were hiding on the floor.

We were scared, you see,
Of his sharp and shiny teeth.
So we dived on the carpet
And hid under our seat.

We then found out
He was a cute and kindly cat
Plays football with the kids
In Douglas every Sat.

So if you see Corky
He won't eat you alive
Don't be scared of him
Just give him a high five.

Sasha O'Keeffe
Aged 9

Published in the Cork City match day programme for the game against St Patricks Athletic on August 13th 2012.

Also acclaimed as Football Poets poem of the week on August 30th 2012

One in Ten

One in Ten

One in ten and fading fast

Victories, all in the past

As Vera said, we’ll win again

Don’t know where, don’t know when

So if we take the lead

We totally recede

We sit back and defend

Afraid that we’ll distend

Without fail we concede

No more shall we lead

Supporters groan and frown,

Players’ heads go down

And if we are consigned

To cruelly go behind

We all sit there disgusted

The game is done and dusted

We’re fragile and frail

Leaderless, we fail

Facing the unknown

Sinking like a stone

Deemed unstuitable for the official match programme.
Too critical.
After one win in ten it's not critical enough for me.

Friendlies

Away

Welcome all to Turners Cross

The Devils, Hornets, Barstool

I won’t be there I’m afraid

I’ll be sipping beer by the pool

A well deserved break in the sun

Somewhere foreign, beyond the sea,

Sun and funshine for everyone

Underneath a shady palm tree

As the wind whips across Section A

I will be well out of reach

Don’t bother thinking of me

As I’m sipping Sagres on the beach

Enjoy the half time hot toddy

As I’m buried in sand by the sea

Flor Griffin there with fingers crossed

As they lose yet another TV

In essence games of no importance

As the waves just lap on the shore

But if you can still feel your fingers

Don’t forget to text me the score.

This was written a few weeks back for the friendlies against Watford and Manchester United and while it wasn't deemed suitable for those match programmes (sigh).
I'm putting it up here for your delectation.

Listen Up Pop Pickers

Right, here's what's in my ear piece this week.
Dark Horses and a tune called Radio.



This is by Howler and it's called This Ones Different.




The Vaccines are back with the nicest song i've heard in a while, catchy choon.
It's like me "No Hope".

Clap-Trap

Clap-Trap

Trappatoni doing it his way, damn the nation

An old man with an old plan, dull formation

His way or the highway, sure he’s misunderstood

Like it or lump it, we would if we could.

Six years since Duffer last took on his man

We yearn for the days of Kev O’Callaghan

Cap grabber Given, hurt or run of the mill?

Robbie’s retired to the Hollywood Hills

First four halves, we conceded early on

Rained on us consistently, no one shone,

Ward used to rampage down the wing in his prime

Transformed, dodgy full back, not the boys’ crime

Too many hacks hungry for sensation

Straw grabbing latest juicy revelation

Looking for a scapegoat like Dunphy long go

Roy’s hatred of losing provides the ammo

Deflected the focus from pitiful stuff

Haven’t real Irish fans suffered enough?

Trap has presided o’er the worst ever seen

And insulted our nation by using Paul Green

It's Great To Be Back

It's Great To Be Back

Been out of the game these last seven weeks.

For reasons quite boring and trite

The telly’s not bad with the Croats or Greeks

But you can’t beat the live Friday night

With the country all gripped in a fever

While Irish players huffed and they puffed

Explaining to daydream believers

As to whether it’s pumped or it’s stuffed

The Olé brigade sing a powerful ditty

While average players stand by

But I’d rather be shouting for City

Than some field in far off Athenry

It’s Derry this week with Jonah McCourt

Curragh Road with Lucas and dad

Joining my brethren in sacred support

To watch my dear City, how bad?

This Friday will be my first game in 7 weeks, I cannot wait.

I'm back

After a few months of study hibernation, i'm back.
College was hard first time round, it's harder 20 years later.
Anyway I heard this choon by Bleech and I thought it was good, it's called Adrenaline Junkie.

 

and then there's this by Beach House, it's called Myth

Piteous

Piteous

Due to this horrendous streak

I’m in confession every week

Trying hard not to seethe and fume

With my children in the room

My tongue is almost bitten through

Before me things I can’t construe

That Carroll lad stupidly falling

Cringe worthy and duly appalling

I’ve a simpler solution to stalling

Put the ball in the net before sprawling

Who were Pardews lot trying to fool?

Is the keeper Dan Simpson or Krul?

Cissés second would not be denied

As he stood three or four yards offside

With Linesman inactive, the crime

Though his eyesight improved over time

Time now to regroup and retrench

“King” Kenny, he emptied the bench

That could backfire I said

Pepe using and losing the head

Poor Perch he was shot by a sniper

As Pepe bit hard like a viper

Still wounded escaped second yellow

Hauling Suarez down, dastardly fellow

Always going to be lambs to the slaughter

When no one on the team could pass water

There’s so much to improve and discuss

Played like lads introduced on the bus

It’s now become such a drag

The search for the on-i-on bag

There’s only one fix to promote

A banquet of nice curried goat

Another pitiful display at Newcastle on Palm Sunday, I don't know what was harder to endure, the longest mass of the year with two restless children or 90 minutes of sheer hell from the Loadsamoney Arena.

Alan Pardew let the cat out of the bag afterwards by announcing that the secret of Papiss Cissés success is a diet of curried goat.

Liverpool were unlucky with key decisions that went against them but when it comes to the crunch they are just not good enough.

Music Update

Right, here's what I'm listening to at the moment.
A New York band called We Are Augustines, this is Chapel Song.



This is by the Wonder Villains they are from the North and this is called Ferrari.




Don't forget to purchase the new album by the Frank and Walters called Greenwich Mean Time.
Here's the recent single "Indie Love Song".



and also the new Wedding Present album Valentina is being released next week.

The Barn Door

The Barn Door

Just close your eyes, picture this if you can

Mad money each week, yet still only a man

You’re given the chance from just twelve yards away

It’s now four defeats in the last seven played

Fortress called Anfield is a thing of the past

Four wins in thirteen, faithful sit there aghast

Opposing teams keepers who a cold couldn’t catch

Coincidence they’re all getting man of the match?

Always conflict and drama surrounding the club

Would have been better handled by a few down the pub

Fire fighting not football the name of the game

Cantankerous Kenny adding fire to the flame

Why can’t they just put the ball in the net?

Creating the chances without being a threat

That barn door from training will just have to go

Relying on Bessie and her five string banjo

6 penalites missed already this season (not including shoot outs). Again last Saturday you had players fighting over the ball, this should be all sorted out in advance.

Dire home form resulting in no chance of Champions League qualification.

An appalling 8.5% success rate from chances created.

If only Torres had stayed, he'd have 40 goals.

Deception

Deception

That lad Sturridge, he’s so cool

Clint Hill taken for a fool

Why isn’t his head hung in shame?

This is no longer a fair game

Adam Johnsons in the box

Thinking of who he’ll outfox

Ahead Chris Baird and falling snow

Who put him down? We’ll never know.

A dive inside the Chelsea area?

No, not that cad from far Bulgaria

The Serb removes his leg to show

Daniel Wellbeck, callous throw

All the Spurs fans gaily sing

Bale goes marching down the wing

Agger takes his leg away

Here’s hoping he’ll stay up one day.

The game is plagued by cheating but it's become far worse in recent weeks.

I wasn't even going to write about it because its endemic but when I saw that Alan Shearer on MOTD last Saturday night condoning Adam Johnson's blatant dive, that was the last straw.

It's ruining the game.

Good article here on the whole sorry mess.

Poor Gareth Bale.

This week I'll be mostly listening to...

Nice melodic offering from School of Seven Bells
It's called Lafaye.



A song from Australian artist Gotye featuring New Zealand singer Kimbra called "Somebody I Used to Know"

Despair

Despair

Sometimes I get the feeling where

In order to write I need despair

Cue Bolton away

Last Saturday

And clumps of my remaining hair.

Glen Johnsons defensively weak

Maxi’s too scared and too meek

Charlie Adam, not pretty

Andy Carroll, a pity

That’s just my shortened critique

Dirk and Pepe, our always secure

Looking out of form and unsure

Not fatalistic,

Uncharacteristic,

It’s all quite hard to endure

Tactics must be stared in the face

A defensive midfielder replaced

Standards need mending

The Season is ending

Will the Carling Cup save us from grace?