This week there was no point in getting het up about NAMA and property taxes, water rates, or Liam Carroll possibly getting away with it. There was little benefit to worrying about the Lisbon treaty, Bono’s fancy French villa going up in flames or Vincent Browne returning to our screens. No, the biggest concern this week for the upstanding citizens in towns around Ireland was that the Junior Cert results came out yesterday. ....

Y’see it’s bad enough when the Leaving Cert students start celebrating, but at least you can understand that after thirteen years in the school system, they deserve to let off a little steam. Sure meself and the brother, from the goodness of our hearts even bought loads spirits from the off licence for them. Y’see eighteen-year-olds, may be a bit wild, but at least ya can relate to them on some level, even talk to them. But fifteen-year-olds are a whole other kettle of fish. They’re like something from another planet. Every town quaked last night as hoards of zombie-like young fellas with barely a pube between them went on the rampage, all alco-pops and hormones. With their Twilight haircuts, their Bebo talk and the latest chart ‘shit’ blasting out of their mobile phones, these strange creatures can send a shiver down the spine of any adult passing by. Of course they grow out of it eventually, but these hormone enraged, toddler teenagers are unique and utterly terrifying. Unlike the Leaving Certers, the Juniors have no ‘off’ switch and as this is there first big achievement in life since their Confirmation; they go wild with it. Pissing in post boxes, waving their mickeys at nuns, vomiting competitions and drinking themselves senseless. There is nothing more scary in this world than Junior Cert celebration night….well, except maybe Halloween, when they congregate again and cause even more mayhem as they’re just a little too old to be trick or treating!....

Podge....

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It’s bad enough to have to go up to Dublin in the first place and then to have them try and enforce their laws on us country folk. As a proud culchie, I have the God-given right to run amuck on the hallowed grounds of Croke Park if my county wins the final. I find it hard to believe that a red-blooded culchie like Christy Cooney doesn’t understand the urges and the passions of a proud GAA fan. What happened on Sunday when the Cats played another blinder and the pitch was invaded is just tradition. So what if the grass gets a bit squashed? How come it’s ok for U2’s audience to trample all over the place and it’s not ok for true fans to join their local heroes on the pitch when the championship is won? ....

And now they are seriously considering putting up a fence in Croker. That would be like what they did in Berlin in 1961. I know it feels like we’re living in a communist country right now what with food rations and blackouts, and dictators running the place with an iron fist, forcing taxes on us and telling us to say ‘yes’ to a treaty we had said ‘no’ to already, but at some point there will be a revolution and a poxy wire fence isn’t going to hold back 82,000  proud GAA fans. Like the great Bob Marley said ‘Don’t fence me in’ or was that Dr Alban? I dunno, but you get me point.....

As you can see I do get passionate about some things, the GAA is one of them, the new Late Late Show isn’t. I mean fair play to him, he did a ‘grand’ job, in fact he probably is the best man for the job, and pulling in 1.6 million rubber neckers is no mean feat but honestly, are you really going to bother wasting your ESB turning him on for two hours tomorrow night to watch what, let’s be honest, was Tubridy Tonight on Friday nights? Nah, me neither!....