Sligo Rovers 2, Dundalk FC 2
By Robert Cullen in the Showgrounds
Sligo Rovers sterling work in gaining a two-goal cushion against visitors Dundalk FC was undone by three minutes of madness late into the second half as the opposition scored twice to level things in this Airtricity League tie played in squally rain and heavy underfoot conditions.
Gary McCabe earned a place in the starting 11 thanks to his goal last Friday against Drogheda and the winger with the sweet strike was in form again tonight, scoring the opener for Sligo and setting up the second.
The frantic opening 25 minutes saw half-chances falling for both sides. Padraig Amond came closest for Sligo early on, when a fortunate bounce fell into his path, but he failed to beat goalkeeper Peter Cherrie from close range.
At the other end, Stephen Maher was adjudged to have fouled Richard Brush when going for a loose ball inside the penalty area. Fortunately for Brush, as the ball had broken free of his hold in the challenge.
Conor O’Grady was the first of a number of names to go into referee Noel Doyle’s notebook, for his foul on Maher, which although not malicious, was late.
Sligo showed ominous signs of breaking through in the 20th minute when a move started by striker Matthew Blinkhorn eventually fell back to his feet, but he blazed just over the crossbar.
But Dundalk had their chances too and Sligo hearts were in mouths when Ross Gaynor’s inviting pass flashed across the Sligo goalmouth, but there was no Lillywhite there to meet it.
The opener, when it did come, was straight out of the top drawer. Gary McCabe picked up the ball after it pinged around in front of the Dundalk goal. Spotting Cherrie off his line, the winger unleashed a left-foot strike which curled just over the netminder’s reach and in to the top corner of the net.
The goal sparked Sligo into life and they put Dundalk under the kosh for most of the remainder of the first half, but the visitors defended resolutely and Sligo were restricted to speculative efforts from outside the area.
After the break injured striker Neale Fenn made way for Johnny Breen in the Dundalk attack, but it was Sligo who again looked strong.
Danny Ventre presented Dundalk with a scoring chance for his cynical foul on one-time Showgrounds favourite Fahrudin Kudozovic, but the self-same winger sent the free kick just over the crossbar.
A double substitution for Sligo, with Mark Doninger and Dean Marshall, replacing Padraig Amond and Eoin Doyle, reflected the fact Sligo had played two games in four days, but it did Sligo few favours.
However, before things got worse for Sligo, they first got a whole lot better. In the 69th minute Gary McCabe’s corner kick on the left curled over the Dundalk defence to the far post where Doninger and Almeida was waiting, the latter heading it into the net for Sligo’s second.
Two up and in control, Sligo looked for a third to kill off the game, and nearly got it when Mark Doninger’s cross into the penalty box was cleared only as far as skipper Conor O’Grady, whose strike screamed just inches wide of the upright.
But then the tide turned most decisively. Kudozovic sent striker Ross Gaynor free and he rounded two Sligo defenders to slide the ball under Richard Brush.
A goal to the good, Dundalk sensed the momentum turn and within two minutes they were on level terms. This time a sloppily conceded corner allowed Kudozovic to send the ball into the Sligo six-yard box and substitute Ciaran McGuigan rose unopposed to head the ball beyond Brush at the far post.
The Showgrounds were stunned into silence and Dundalk looked hungry for all three points, chasing down every Sligo pass. When an innocuous backpass came to Brush, the Showgrounds faithful held their breath for an agonising moment as the goalkeeper’s strike rebounded off Breen and beyond Brush’s reach. The netminder’s blushes were saved when the ball bounced off the upright and he smothered the rebound.
Sligo could have won it themselves with five minutes of normal time remaining. Richie Ryan picked up the ball in the centre of the park and struck a stinging drive which Cherrie could only parry into Blinkhorn’s path.
The striker, who has yet to get on the score-sheet this season, failed to beat the Dundalk ‘keeper and the deflected strike was eventually scrambled to safety by the visitors.
There was just time for Dundalk to be denied by the woodwork once more, in the second minute of injury time when Kudozovic’s corner to the near post was chipped by Breen and deflected by a Sligo boot onto the crossbar. The resulting corner was cleared and shortly afterwards Doyle brought this thrilling game to a conclusion. Final score, Sligo Rovers 2, Dundalk FC 2.
Sligo Rovers: Richard Brush, Danny Ventre, Alan Keane, Gavin Peers, Mauro Almeida, Conor O’Grady, Gary McCabe, Richie Ryan, Matthew Blinkhorn, Padraig Amond (Mark Doninger, 62), Eoin Doyle (Dean Marshall, 67). Subs not used: John Dillon, Derek Foran, Ciaran Kelly.
Monday, April 5, 2010
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tell me why I don't like Dublin
In the back of our minds, if it wasn’t too much trouble and if it wasn’t going to lead to bloodshed or crippling cost implications, most of us would like to see a united Ireland.
We’d like to imagine a time when the 32 counties are reunited and the island is a country once more. Well for me, I’d prefer 31 counties. Get rid of Dublin.
Memories of Dublin in my childhood revolve around trips to the zoo and long journeys on rickety trains with a bunch of other over-sugared, feral kids.
However, every time I have returned there as an adult I have hated the place, detested it on a level only usually overheard in conversations in Cork bars.
It is not enough for me to hate Dublin the place though. Because frankly I hate Dubs too. Now hating Dubs is a national pastime for the other 25 counties of the Republic, but trust me, the vitriol I hold for the citizens of the capital is bordering on the criminal.
Now genocide is an atrocious, horrendous side of humanity that we would all like to pretend doesn’t exist. But if anyone suggested killing off Dubs, I’d recommend doing it alphabetically, starting with the Anto’s.
What is it about the Dubs that I hate? First and foremost is their arrogance. The notion that anyone outside The Pale is still living in the land of thatched cottages, water from a bucket and candlelight.
Then there is the notion that everything good in Ireland should naturally migrate to Dublin, because it is somehow a happening place to be.
In reality Dublin is a sprawling metropolis, hard to get around, which requires a top-hat and tails to get into most of the night spots and the credit rating of a small oil-producing Middle East country to buy a drink.
The bars are over-priced, over-hyped and over-full… and you know what, the same can be said for the entire city.
Then there are the accents. Dublin must be the only city where the common accent and the posh accent grate equally. Whether you’re listening to a ‘scanger’ tell you his life story on the Luas or overhearing some D4 suit waffle into his Bluetooth penis extension in a bar at lunchtime, you just want to tell them both to shut the hell up.
And worst, by far worst of all. You have to go to Dublin if you have any interest in live music. And as you pay for your ticket from a tout with a ‘scanger’ accent (who bought it off some D4 suit working for MCD no doubt), you realise that the rest of the country is funding Dublin. If we just cried ‘enough is enough’ what would happen? Dublin, a Capital pain in the ass!
We’d like to imagine a time when the 32 counties are reunited and the island is a country once more. Well for me, I’d prefer 31 counties. Get rid of Dublin.
Memories of Dublin in my childhood revolve around trips to the zoo and long journeys on rickety trains with a bunch of other over-sugared, feral kids.
However, every time I have returned there as an adult I have hated the place, detested it on a level only usually overheard in conversations in Cork bars.
It is not enough for me to hate Dublin the place though. Because frankly I hate Dubs too. Now hating Dubs is a national pastime for the other 25 counties of the Republic, but trust me, the vitriol I hold for the citizens of the capital is bordering on the criminal.
Now genocide is an atrocious, horrendous side of humanity that we would all like to pretend doesn’t exist. But if anyone suggested killing off Dubs, I’d recommend doing it alphabetically, starting with the Anto’s.
What is it about the Dubs that I hate? First and foremost is their arrogance. The notion that anyone outside The Pale is still living in the land of thatched cottages, water from a bucket and candlelight.
Then there is the notion that everything good in Ireland should naturally migrate to Dublin, because it is somehow a happening place to be.
In reality Dublin is a sprawling metropolis, hard to get around, which requires a top-hat and tails to get into most of the night spots and the credit rating of a small oil-producing Middle East country to buy a drink.
The bars are over-priced, over-hyped and over-full… and you know what, the same can be said for the entire city.
Then there are the accents. Dublin must be the only city where the common accent and the posh accent grate equally. Whether you’re listening to a ‘scanger’ tell you his life story on the Luas or overhearing some D4 suit waffle into his Bluetooth penis extension in a bar at lunchtime, you just want to tell them both to shut the hell up.
And worst, by far worst of all. You have to go to Dublin if you have any interest in live music. And as you pay for your ticket from a tout with a ‘scanger’ accent (who bought it off some D4 suit working for MCD no doubt), you realise that the rest of the country is funding Dublin. If we just cried ‘enough is enough’ what would happen? Dublin, a Capital pain in the ass!
All we hear is Radio Ga Ga
Hey Mr DJ, try playing something original for once. I was sitting in a waiting room recently and was forced to endure an hour or so of Today FM’s finest mid morning spewings.
Now I have perfectly functional radio in my car and for years I used to listen to Ray D’arcy every morning on the way to work, but I haven’t listened to radio regularly for more than a year and my listening habits are all the better for it.
Nothing infuriates me more than hearing the same song blaring out of a radio again and again, and thanks to the wonder of the playlist, that is exactly what Today FM and 2FM offers its listeners.
Whatever is ‘hot’ at the moment, which unfortunately this month means Lady Ga Ga (literally all we hear is Radio Ga Ga), is forced out of the speakers like a pound of lard through a mincer.
What infuriates me more is the amount of music that does not make it to the radio stations in this country. In the US, college radio is the new bastion of musical taste, where plugged-in college students can request their favourite alt-rock, indie or nu-folk band and providing enough requests are received, their music is played.
Something tells me all the mobile phone requests in Ireland wouldn’t be enough to persuade Today FM to stick some obscure folkster like Neko Case or The Decemberists on their primetime shows.
Which exposes the very principle on which playlists sit like a vulgar nude statue upon a laboured looking horse. The originators of the playlist are dictating to us what is fashionable. What we ‘should’ be listening to.
Which is a crying shame, because for me the talking around the songs has become more interesting than the music itself. But there is a solution. Stations like Today FM regularly create podcasts of their shows, but because they are not licensed to play the music they have to edit the songs out, leaving you with just the talk.
BBC radio podcasts from the likes of Simon Mayo and Jonathan Ross work along similar lines, making for condensed shows with no ad breaks, no music, just banter, interviews and some very funny segments.
Mind you, the popularity of radio without music is something we all know already. Newstalk has gone from strength to strength since its launch and who are we to knock a winning formula.
Now I have perfectly functional radio in my car and for years I used to listen to Ray D’arcy every morning on the way to work, but I haven’t listened to radio regularly for more than a year and my listening habits are all the better for it.
Nothing infuriates me more than hearing the same song blaring out of a radio again and again, and thanks to the wonder of the playlist, that is exactly what Today FM and 2FM offers its listeners.
Whatever is ‘hot’ at the moment, which unfortunately this month means Lady Ga Ga (literally all we hear is Radio Ga Ga), is forced out of the speakers like a pound of lard through a mincer.
What infuriates me more is the amount of music that does not make it to the radio stations in this country. In the US, college radio is the new bastion of musical taste, where plugged-in college students can request their favourite alt-rock, indie or nu-folk band and providing enough requests are received, their music is played.
Something tells me all the mobile phone requests in Ireland wouldn’t be enough to persuade Today FM to stick some obscure folkster like Neko Case or The Decemberists on their primetime shows.
Which exposes the very principle on which playlists sit like a vulgar nude statue upon a laboured looking horse. The originators of the playlist are dictating to us what is fashionable. What we ‘should’ be listening to.
Which is a crying shame, because for me the talking around the songs has become more interesting than the music itself. But there is a solution. Stations like Today FM regularly create podcasts of their shows, but because they are not licensed to play the music they have to edit the songs out, leaving you with just the talk.
BBC radio podcasts from the likes of Simon Mayo and Jonathan Ross work along similar lines, making for condensed shows with no ad breaks, no music, just banter, interviews and some very funny segments.
Mind you, the popularity of radio without music is something we all know already. Newstalk has gone from strength to strength since its launch and who are we to knock a winning formula.
Food for thought
What did we do before fruit smoothies were invented? Well the answer is we ate fruit the boring ‘old fashioned’ way, but it raises an interesting topic on modern methods of consuming food.
Within the lifetime of most of our parents, such exotic meals as lasagne, tagliatelle, cappuccino, korma, stroganoff and other continental and eastern delights were not just unusual, they were unheard of.
And nowadays we can get tagliatelle in a packet, korma sauce in a jar with some celebrity chef’s head on the label and even the most rudimentary of restaurants will serve you up a frothy coffee with some cocoa powder on top.
The kid of today is as likely to ask for coleslaw or garlic mayonnaise with their chips as they are tomato sauce.
The coffee connoisseur was a rare beast even 15 years ago, but now everybody has a favourite coffee, whether it be a double espresso or a skinny half-calf latte with a shot of hazelnut and vanilla.
And the influence of other cultures has been accelerated by the more open European Union created in the last decade. Many of us have tried traditional Eastern European dishes such is the increasing proliferation of Polish restaurants and supermarkets.
But the eating habits of yesteryear are never too far from the surface in Irish life. I was down in Durkin’s pub in Ballinacarrow earlier this year and during a music session, the very welcoming family who run the pub broke out some superb grub.
Included among the potato wedges and sausage rolls were boiled spare ribs (not barbecued, not roasted, boiled), a food I haven’t consumed since the dark days of the 1980s. I enjoyed picking every scrap of meat off them, I don’t mind admitting.
On the occasions where I’ve talked to the older generation about food, some of the descriptions would turn the stomach of a lesser-constitutioned listener.
I’ve heard all manner of less recognisable animal parts being used for family meals, and not just the, nowadays quaint, ones like cow’s tongue or pig’s trotters.
Of course, Ireland’s history with food and famine is something every successive generation has been reminded of and its importance to our national identity is such that even in this time of relative prosperity, culinary diversity and cultural diffusion, we still recall the million that died, the million that left and the millions left behind.
So the next time you order a strawberry and banana smoothie to go alongside your cajun chicken and sun-dried tomato panini, think about what our ancestors would make of what is on our plates today.
Within the lifetime of most of our parents, such exotic meals as lasagne, tagliatelle, cappuccino, korma, stroganoff and other continental and eastern delights were not just unusual, they were unheard of.
And nowadays we can get tagliatelle in a packet, korma sauce in a jar with some celebrity chef’s head on the label and even the most rudimentary of restaurants will serve you up a frothy coffee with some cocoa powder on top.
The kid of today is as likely to ask for coleslaw or garlic mayonnaise with their chips as they are tomato sauce.
The coffee connoisseur was a rare beast even 15 years ago, but now everybody has a favourite coffee, whether it be a double espresso or a skinny half-calf latte with a shot of hazelnut and vanilla.
And the influence of other cultures has been accelerated by the more open European Union created in the last decade. Many of us have tried traditional Eastern European dishes such is the increasing proliferation of Polish restaurants and supermarkets.
But the eating habits of yesteryear are never too far from the surface in Irish life. I was down in Durkin’s pub in Ballinacarrow earlier this year and during a music session, the very welcoming family who run the pub broke out some superb grub.
Included among the potato wedges and sausage rolls were boiled spare ribs (not barbecued, not roasted, boiled), a food I haven’t consumed since the dark days of the 1980s. I enjoyed picking every scrap of meat off them, I don’t mind admitting.
On the occasions where I’ve talked to the older generation about food, some of the descriptions would turn the stomach of a lesser-constitutioned listener.
I’ve heard all manner of less recognisable animal parts being used for family meals, and not just the, nowadays quaint, ones like cow’s tongue or pig’s trotters.
Of course, Ireland’s history with food and famine is something every successive generation has been reminded of and its importance to our national identity is such that even in this time of relative prosperity, culinary diversity and cultural diffusion, we still recall the million that died, the million that left and the millions left behind.
So the next time you order a strawberry and banana smoothie to go alongside your cajun chicken and sun-dried tomato panini, think about what our ancestors would make of what is on our plates today.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Born in the wrong place
I was listening to a Chicago bluegrass band on Wednesday night called Special Consensus. If you get the chance to check them out, I would recommend you do. Great musicians, great music. Makes me think I should have been born in North Carolina, for the following reasons:
1) I would be able to buy clothes to fit my (delete as politically correct) burly/obese/big-boned/gargantuan frame.
2) I would be able to wear dungarees and drive a pick up, two of my life-long dreams which the narrow minded social elitists in this country frown upon.
3) I would be able to visit an all-you can eat steakhouse.
4) I could pick up the banjo and write songs about how I lost my wife/girlfriend/favourite pig but was saved by The Lord.
5) I could own several guns.
6) I could make moonshine.
7) I only need to shower every second month
1) I would be able to buy clothes to fit my (delete as politically correct) burly/obese/big-boned/gargantuan frame.
2) I would be able to wear dungarees and drive a pick up, two of my life-long dreams which the narrow minded social elitists in this country frown upon.
3) I would be able to visit an all-you can eat steakhouse.
4) I could pick up the banjo and write songs about how I lost my wife/girlfriend/favourite pig but was saved by The Lord.
5) I could own several guns.
6) I could make moonshine.
7) I only need to shower every second month
Monday, January 12, 2009
Finnegan, Feeney and Cullen: the unedited history.
It was a bitterly cold November night outside, but in the body-heated warmth of a heaving “The Alley” niteclub, the first seeds of a rock supergroup were planted. The year was 1995 and the group was Finnegan, Feeney and Cullen.
The Alley, the scene of some of the biggest scandals to hit the music establishment, was thriving like never before in 1995.
Celebrity bouncer Chuck Norris oversaw the arrival of A-list stars almost every night. It was a regular haunt for Prince, (or as he was known at the time, Prince), David Bowie (the mens bathroom was called Ground Control in his honour) and George Michael (who rarely left said bathroom).
During the summer of 1993, the club had been rocked when well known cult actor River Phoenix died outside of the Viper Room in Hollywood.
The actor had been a regular at The Alley and had nearly died of a drugs overdose on two previous occasions. The Alley’s owner, Declan Roundovich, said his death in Hollywood was just a case of bad timing. “I wish he had died outside our club,” the owner told Hollywood Review at the time.
Two years on and Roundovich got his wish when a second cousin of pantomime star Twink died just around the corner. The club’s reputation as the ‘in’ place to go was cemented.
On that frosty November night, three very different factors had brought Sean Finnegan, Andrew Feeney (pictured right in the Priory Clinic in 2005) and Robert Cullen together.
Finnegan, recently split from Hawaiian supermodel Helena Watanassshehasa, was drowning his sorrows with childhood friend Andrew Feeney.
Feeney too was coming to terms with loss. His goatee beard, grown and cultured over many years of personal grooming, was removed for him to undergo corrective chin surgery. He felt its loss greatly and was rarely seen in public until it had grown back with the help of hair transplants.
Robert Cullen, a naïve 21 year old with a penchant for corny poetry and complex harmonies, came to The Alley to be seen.
He had travelled from his small home town seeking stardom and after being tipped off about the importance of this night-time hot-spot, he showed up, bluffed his way past Norris with his boyish good looks and entered a world of rock stars, actors and industry bigwigs.
As fate would have it the first guy he met in there was Andrew Feeney.
“This guy with wild hair came walking up, he wouldn’t take his hand away from his chin. I thought he was kind of weird at first, but he asked if I wanted to snort a line so I said yeah,” said Cullen.
Feeney’s account of the first meeting was a little bit different.
“I was walking round The Alley, man I was wasted, and this chubby guy with a goatee beard came up and asked me did I have any coke.
“I told him to go fuck himself, but he just wouldn’t leave it alone and I couldn’t get over how good his beard looked, so in the end I said ‘Fine, follow me to the jax’. I was planning to beat him up and shave his goatee, but we ended up doing a line and that was that.”
Feeney introduced the newcomer to his clique, where he immediately caught the attention of record producer Derek “Coke” Lee for all the wrong reasons.
“I just saw Andy lead this guy back to the table and I knew straight away he was trouble. I wasn’t wrong. He fucked my half-sister Lisa Scott-Lee shortly afterwards, the same night in fact.”
However a bond had been formed between Andrew and Rob which would lead to great things for both men.
Check back for more from this unofficial biography....
Claude Berri
A note about the passing of French filmmaker Claude Berri at the age of 74. He is most famous for his stunning Provence-set masterpieces "Jean De Florette" and "Manon Des Sources" which brought together generations of fine French actors including Yves Montand, Daniel Auteuil and Emmanelle Beart, not forgetting the best French export Gerard Depardieu in the title role of Jean.
The films, if you haven't seen them, stand as a testament to the rich and sometimes harsh countryside of Provence and to the vagaries of rural life, its pros and cons, its false idylls and its painful realities.
I would recommend that you get both of these films. Make sure you watch them in order (Jean first, then Manon) and marvel at the simple story which explores so much of the complexities of the human condition.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)