Croke Malarkey

Having recently been welcomed into the bosom of my long lost Irish relatives, both north and south of that most curious invisible fence, I feel I can comment on anything I want when it comes to things Irish. I’d also like to add that upon meeting the folks in the homeland, I have found out where that part of me that requires vocal freedom, comes from. Also that part of me that could quite happily swim in alcohol for the rest of my born days, oblivion warming me in milk soaked dreams of silk and velvet.

But I digress. I am just about to go out and watch the England Ireland game that is, due to the scrubbing up of Landsdowne road rugby football stadium, being hosted at Croke park, the home of Gaelic football.

Croke park is hosting a rugby match iagainst England, the old foe, for the first time in it’s history. There has been the most vocal disapproval that not only are the English going to walk on hallowed turf, but that god save the queen will be played in a place where Irish people were murdered by the black and tans in an act of pure spite.
Now not only is this the second time that god save the queen has been played (the first time was at the para Olympics where nobody seemed to mind), but Ireland is a country that has now outstripped the UK in it’s per capita earnings, and has in all other walks of life learned to forget the past. Isn’t it time therefore to go that extra mile, and teach those in the North who still harbour resentment that peace is for our time, and that we have other more pressing things to unite us, not divide us.

Right, I’m off down the pub ;0)

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