This just in: football is shit.
I’m getting old.
Yesterday was St Patrick’s Day. I did get to the Celtic Club down the road for lunch, but when I ordered a Coke the double take I received from the guy behind the bar was Herculean in nature. There were a couple of Irish Government ministers being introduced to some of the punters to ask about their part in the Irish diaspora, and of all of the emerald-clad, stout-drinking, oversized-novelty-leprechaun-hat-wearing crowd present the G-men went straight for the two business-attired folk – my mate and I. And instead of shifting the green gears into 5th last night by giving my drunkenest rendition of The Irish Rover, I was at home. Kids were in bed, wife was out practising her choiring, me sober as a whistle. Then the TV told me that it was Monday night, and Monday night on the ABC is Q&A night. And the episode of Q&A to be aired in an hour’s time had within its panel one of my all-time heroes: Billy Bragg.