unironedman

I WHICH WE, SORT OF, RECAP THE YEAR… WELL, FINISH WARBLING ABOUT THE YEAR MIGHT BE A BETTER WAY OF PUTTING IT… ANYWAY, ON WITH THE SHOW, I SUPPOSE…

So what’s with the title, I hear you ask? Well, I’m glad you did. It is, for you Eurovision-lovers, an easy single down to long on. Johnny Logan sang this at the 1980 Eurovision song contest in The Hague. It was the winning song that year, written by the late Shay Healy, a bit of a legend in the Irish music business. (And for a bit more music trivia, when the original singer decided against recording it, the song was rearranged for Johnny. And who tweaked the tune that would go on to make such waves in the contest? Why, one Bill Whelan, the man who would create a seven-minute piece of music for the interval period of the 1984 contest in Dublin. And that was called? Riverdance, of course.)

Eurovision is in the news of late, as you may have noticed. Indeed, the aforementioned Mr Logan has come out recently to voice his support for RTÉ’s decision not to send anyone to this year’s contest. Indeed, they have gone one further and refused to even broadcast it. Not that this will stop hardcore fans (yes, they are out there). They will simply switch over to BBC, as it is highly unlikely that the Beeb will follow the lead of other European countries, including Ireland. Fun fact: Google the origin of the word Boycott.

It’s hard to see how the Eurovision can be anything other than a hollow farce this year. Cynics would say it’s always been like this. But the way large swathes of the world seem to be able to ignore what’s happening in Gaza makes the impending contest in Austria this May something of a grotesque slow-motion car crash. And if you’re wondering what that looks like, find some footage of Gianni Infantino awarding Trump the inaugural, never heard of before, FIFA Peace Prize. For more, check out this superb and scathing article from which I will borrow this one line:
You can think of Infantino giving Trump the prize as akin to the world’s most historically corrupt sports body giving a trophy to one of the world’s most corrupt leaders.

If the Eurovision is any metric, then things look very gloomy indeed for the World Cup. Mind you, the ever-forgiving and magnanimous world seemed to whistle softly past the graveyard when Qatar hosted it three years ago, so maybe I underestimate (yet again) the power of money to corrupt officialdom, not least when it comes to sport. You’ll always find folk who insist that politics should be kept out of sport. The same folk will also argue that politics should be ‘kept out of music’ too. Because, as we know, singers and songwriters in general are famously quiet on matters of politics and social issues.

So, as part of my review of the year, FIFA gets zero stars for their performance. The Premiership, on the other hand, seems to be shifting slightly away from the traditional big four teams, with others shouldering their way to the top, albeit briefly in most cases. Most likely, another ‘big’ team like Arsenal will win it again, but for now, it’s fun to have Aston Villa, Sunderland, Crystal Palace and other lesser mortals slugging it out for European places (which, lest we forget, is once again all about the money…). So, two stars there, methinks.

My own team is Manchester United, which has been a labour of love of late as a supporter. Not that I have any direct link to the team. I think I picked them as a nipper because one of the older lads on the lane supported them. That ‘lad’ went on to become my boss in the fire station. The whole ‘why do Irish people follow English football teams’ question is a fun one that we may revisit one day, and it’s worthy of a book I am not qualified to even contemplate writing. But in simple terms, one of the main drivers is generations of Irish menfolk going to work in the UK decades ago, and bringing back a love for a particular team which was then passed on to their offspring. Nor was the Irish equivalent league at the time particularly glamorous. Indeed, talented Irish footballers seeking a living from their sport ended up in the English leagues too.

But to finish off this subject, it’s worth examining some nuances on this interesting topic. An argument will often arise when, for example, England play Ireland in footie. Or indeed, When England play anyone! Irish pubs will be full of Irish lads, all roaring and shouting for Anyone But England. You would expect the home supporters to shout for their own team, of course, but now this becomes a visceral thing; grown men cheering on Cameroon, a team they’ve never heard of before and couldn’t find on a map to save their lives. But it doesn’t matter as long the Old Enemy lose, that’s the main thing. [It’s actually a vibe beyond these shores, I should add. Anyone who follows footie will recall the famous and oft-quoted outburst from Norwegian commentator Bjørge Lillelien (“Maggie Thatcher, can you hear me? Your boys took a hell of a beating!”) after Norway beat England in a World Cup qualifier in 1981. It’s a thing.]

So the simplistic and often smarmy argument goes something like this: ‘you’re in the pub every weekend, roaring on your English team – Liverpool/Chelsea/Arsenal (delete as appropriate) – and now you’re shouting for Cameroon/Azerbaijan/Mexico (delete as appropriate) against England… that doesn’t make any sense!’

It does, really. But sure look, one day, come over for a big game and we’ll have a feed of pints and I’ll explain it in more detail.

I can’t recall any great new films this year, but a few old ones resurfaced. Last night, for example, we watched the original Christmas movie, Die Hard. It holds up well, though the one thing about tech is that it ages very badly. The computer log-in screen in the foyer of the Nakatomi Building is really quite jarring on the eyes for the modern viewer. Not to mention the mobile phones, or perhaps, the lack of them. Yippee-Ki-Yay, and all that.

And a few weeks back, I watched The Graduate, and was reminded what a great film it is. It came out in 1967, which was a great year, of course. Plenty of fantastic music, including The Beatles and Woodstock; culturally-significant in many ways: the Summer of Love, Vietnam, Martin Luther King… and in a small town hospital in Leicestershire, a young baby came in to the world who would go on to become the unironedman.

Anyway, I digress. The film is one of Mike Nichols finest in a stellar career, and the thing that struck me most (apart from the obvious fact that Dustin Hoffman, aged 29, was playing a college graduate, and Anne Bancroft was the much older seductress, aged 35 during filming) was how much time the director was willing to dedicate to what is an admittedly cracking soundtrack from Simon and Garfunkel. There is no way a modern film would allow a song to play out in full. Nichols not only did that, but followed it up with another. It seems back then, directors were allowed to develop their ideas and lavish time on them. Like I said, they made quality stuff that year 😉 Five stars!

Regular readers of this blog have noticed how the past few years have been punctuated with death. ‘Tis a part of the whole gig, so we accept it with as much grace as we can and move on. The year has ended with yet more funerals. One of my old friends who was connected to our first band lost his mother in tragic circumstances. To reach 85 and be knocked down by a car seems oddly cruel. Philippa was a painter of renown; you can visit her website here. She did try and teach me to paint with oils many moons ago, but I think the impetuosity of youth and other matters (beer, music, girls, etc.) took priority.

And then yesterday I was at another funeral, this time another Mum of a close friend. 96. A good innings, to add another cricket analogy to the mix. But always sad when you lose a parent, at any age. I am hoping 2026 brings less funerals, but I am reluctant to even put that thought out into the universe in case the universe hears me and answers back…

I had a fun trip to Donegal during the week, for work. I was delivering a ride-on lawnmower and it was a journey of about 220kms, including a large chunk across Northern Ireland. If you are not from these parts, you won’t have a sense of what that means. In my lifetime, the border was manned by British soldiers and crossing it could become an ordeal at times, not least at the height of The Troubles. And yes, calling guerilla warfare, extra-judicial killings, bombings, shootings, murders and abductions and good old-fashioned terrorism on all sides ‘the troubles’ is a peculiarly Irish thing. These days, the only clue you’ve passed into another jurisdiction is the speed limit signs changing from kilometres to miles, and back again. Progress. (Though the roads could do with some work…).

In other sports-related news, Rory McIlroy scooped both the BBC and RTÉ Sports Personality of the Year Award. Of course, he is ‘claimed’ by both territories, and the poor divil spends as much time fending off daft questions about this as he does hitting a golf ball down the fairway. Deserved award, I suppose, though I would have gone for Kate O’Connor, the Irish heptathlete. C’mon; Rory only does one thing, Kate does seven!

We’ve had some great gigs this year, and are already booking out next year. We don’t actually want that many, to be honest. Every weekend is too much. We play this coming Tuesday, and wrap up the year with a New Year’s Eve gig in Portlaoise – a town that has been good to Cool Hand Luke, to be fair.

The other official way to wrap up the running season is, of course, Lock Up The Year, which is back at its rightful home of Leixlip, having been moved to Kilcock last year due to canal towpath works. Though St Coca’s AC were fabulous hosts, it must be said. I may drop down to the 10k. Traditionally, I did the half, but I am one of two event organisers, so feel I should be around. Again, regular readers know this as a casual, out-and-back, free and fun run along the Royal Canal towpath. There are no medals, marshals or T shirts. So if you are in the vicinity, you know what to do!

All in all, not the most adventurous year for running, though there was the comeback of sorts in April with the Connemarathon. It meant I peaked rather soon, and thereafter, work and life in general took over. I won’t make any rash statements about 2026, though a few outings have already been mooted, and hopefully I can add another short film to the collection.

Wishing you and yours all the very best for the Christmas and New Year. Hope Santa is good to you 🙂

See you on the other side.