News:
2nd May 2006
Settled Under
Anaesthesia
Bohemians 2
UCD 1
By Homer Flanders
Having left the bastion of Bohemian propagation (or Dalymount as my
brethren would dub it) ruminating on the ruminations of another
ruminating night that followed the Bohs v UCD battle, I was feeling
Corporal Punishment-like in my assessment of another rollercoaster of
emotions. Of course I dare not discuss the major talking point of the
evening’s fare – that of our commander in chief Gareth ‘contacts book’
Farrelly and the head-calling our dastardly entrance-fee payers
inflicted upon him – as my verbose and post modern referencing system of
writing cannot reflect any matters of controversy, so I will move on,
Jaws in the ocean-like, on to a match report, before reviewing a film
you good readers should all go see, despite it having left the
cinematorium months ago!
So as to the game. I can best describe the match between our good selves
and The Students (never has a nickname been more apt, as they are indeed
students!) by quoting the ever hilarious ‘Mystery Men’. Captain Furious
(a dead ringer for our Kevin Hunt perhaps?!) states ‘I don’t need a
compass to tell me which way the wind shines!’ What relevance to the
Bohs v UCD game this quote serves is unclear, but I do enjoy a pop
culture reference to prove how ‘with it’ I am, so I’ll carry on.
Barely eight minutes into a game versus the Collegians and already we
were one nil down, and it could be argued the tension around the ground
could have been knitted into a sweater and modelled by the rotund Pat
Dolan (he’s fat you know!). Many fellow supporters were left wondering
how, after a fantastic clean sheet versus the mighty Supersaints
followed by the most glorious of victories against The Vikings, away
from home no less, we could concede such a goal against what must be a
team of young players (again, hence their nickname). Many an astute
spectator rumbled perhaps, after an epic battle against the might of
Everton where ANOTHER clean sheet was achieved, we were suffering from a
hangover.
But fear not, my diligent Bohemianites, for who was to step up to the
crease (that’s a cricket reference) but Tony ‘Boots’ Grant. I have heard
that his nickname (oh I am fond of monikers!) may be traded soon for
Tony ‘No Goals’ or Tony ‘Get In That Corner’ Grant, but surely his level
of commitment more than makes up for his lack of talent, just as he is
Gilligan-like on the Dalymount island.
Indeed, our own Granty was denied a glorious opportunity, from a massive
one yard, by what must have been the clearance of the century from
Darragh Ryan, who was reported to have wept for joy at his mighty
achievement.
Half time approached and no sign of any level of performance from our
stalwarts. Indeed, if a miracle were to be called upon, perhaps Mary
Magdalene herself would deliver it. And, as we jumped for joy with 15
minutes of grandfather time remaining, the first lady of Heaven herself
delivered a goal from that old sprightly of gents that is
Vinnieeeeeeeeeeeeeee Arkins, and then, just like those number 121s that
pass by our Dublin 7 haunt, it was two coming together as Barry Ferguson
cracked home a stupendous winner of stupendous stupendity. Manager out?
What manager out?!
And so another victory on the road to salvation from Gareth Farrelly’s
Black Army. As I exited Dalymount for the evening, and looked forward to
an evening perusing my thesaurus, Damien Richardson-like, I came up,
Lazarus-like, with a stirring film review for next week’s pages, which
was recommended to me by our replacement number 8 himself, Mark O’Brien.
‘The Invisible Man’ stars Claude Rains…..
nuqDaq 'oH yuch & be'Hom
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