Irish Super Gnomes marches on...

Lucky me, I was invited to the Ireland vs. France match, a game that on paper looked to be in France's favour.  This was not just any game. It was a VERY important qualifying game for both Ireland and France.  Either country had to win in order to secure their tickets to the WC 2010.  The best team over two games will head to South Africa.

The game was taking place in Croke Park, Dublin's main stadium that has hosted many great events such as U2 360. It is the venue for multiple GAA games (hurling and gaelic football) throughout the year.  Hill 16 was built from the rubble left on O'Connell Street (Sackville Street) after the 1916 rising.  So, there's a lot of history and nationalism breathing within the giant Croke Park.  I've watched a couple of Hurling games from Hill 16 and the atmosphere is fantastic.

This time I was going to see The Green Army play Les Bleus, not from the stands but from premier level (also known as premier boxes). So that also meant free food and drinks.  As I've said in previous blogs (Chelsea CL game and FA Cup 2009), the only way to watch football is VIP style.  That said, I would love to see a game any time.

My friend and I arrived at the Croker around 18.00 to participate in the pre-match drinking games and view a few celebrities, mainly ex-Irish football players.  It was bound to be a great evening. I was certain Ireland would come out all guns blazing and running over the French frogs.

Even the Pope and Cardinal Desmond Tutu gave their support and blessings, hoping that the Irish would qualify for the World Cup in South Africa 2010.  Ireland was bound to win, considering that there are millions of Irish people outside of Ireland, in every country and any remote corner of the World, ready to support their relatives.  These numbers include, of course, all Americans that have 1/8 of Irish blood in them, who visit their relatives in Mayo every 10 years.

The game was OK. Ireland unfortunately lost 1-0 to France.  For 90+2 minutes the boys in green fought the battle, but not bravely enough.  On paper, France should have beaten Ireland 10-0. However the French didn't play with any passion or desire to win. They were even arguing with their coach.  The Irish focused mainly on defense, only bringing 2-3 forward. So, no wonder they didn't score.  Technically, the Irish simply weren't good enough.


In spite of this, the atmosphere in Croke Park was fantastic.  72000 Irish and 2500 French spectators must have been overwhelming for both teams.  Even if I'm not Irish, I felt proud being there and participated in singing the national anthem.  Did I cry?  No, but I probably farted quietly.


The Irish team received strong support even after being 1-0 down.  There's still a chance of Ireland qualifying for South Africa, but they have to win in France!  It's unlikely they will, but there's still hope for the green army.


I woke up the following morning, wondering if the taste in my mouth was that of defeat, but I soon realised that it was simply a combination of shitty burgers and too many pints of Guinness.  My kids were so happy to see me that they jumped into our bed, hugging me, not caring that my head was bursting.  They just didn't care that I had a minor hangover and why should they?  I just knew that I was getting too old for this shit.  My body and head just can't handle 7-8 pints of Guinness.  As Dubliners would say "I've got an arse on me like the back of Batman's car after all that Guinness last night".

I wasn't too sure that Ireland was the strongest team, so I had to compare a few key points, which should determine the true winner.  (France left and Ireland right)

• 65,000,000 vs 4,500,000 people - history shows that the Irish are stubborn people and they DO NOT want to be ruled by anyone (although they pretend to be British sometimes).  They will never follow bigger countries blindly (just the US and Britain). The Irish are always up for a good fight, so just because they are out-numbered 14:1 doesn't mean they will lay down their defenses.  Thierry Henry might be the best striker in the World (5 years ago), but the Irish have Dunne in defense, all pumped up on Guinness foam.
• GDP €2.6 trillion vs. GDP €282 billion - it is not all about money, but it would certainly help Ireland a lot, and make sure it is not stuck in the arsehole of the World's economy.  I'm "delighted" that we let banks and property developers ruin the Irish economy!!
• Thierry Henry vs. Robbie Keane - Henry has scored tons of goals for France, England and Spain. He must be considered as a top striker in the history of football.  However, Keane does not score many goals for Ireland, but scores many goals for Tottenham Hotspurs (England).  But, he's lethal. He runs around on the pitch like a little Tasmanian Devil. He's everywhere on the pitch; assists, free kicks, defending, getting water bottles, arguing with the ref and brings the crowd along. 
• Kronenbourg 1664 vs. Guinness - doesn't take much consideration or debate.  Guinness has it all; flavour, alcohol and it is filling as a meal too.  1664 is like drinking Mountain Dew. It's also bright yellow like pee.
• Pixies vs. Le Petit Prince - another easy win for Ireland.  Pixies are cute little fairytale creatures, whereas the Prince is an annoying little boy who has a problem with Baobab trees. He dies too. 
• Sarkozy vs. Brian Cowen - OK, France wins this one.  Sarkozy is short, elegant, well spoken and has his country under control (including economy).  Cowen is the direct opposite; butt ugly, chubby, poorly dressed, speaks funny and he has no control of his country and its economy.  You could say they are the Beauty and the Beast.
• Leon vs. Ray (in Bruges) - Yes, Leon is one of the coolest assassins in the movie industry, but Ray must be the funniest.  So, the winner is Ray.  Why?  Well, Leon is a loner and weirdo who dies in the end to save an obnoxious teenage girl.  Ray wins the girl and he doesn't die...and he karate chopped a midget.
• Brie vs. Cheddar - right, this is personal.  I hate cheddar with a vengeance.  It is hard and it has no taste.  Brie on the other hand is smooth, soft and delicious.  Also, France produces an abundance of different cheeses, whereas Ireland primarily produces Cheddar.  The only thing cheddar is good for is Macaroni and cheese.
• 4 seasons vs. 2 seasons - they call Ireland the Emerald (green) Island for a reason.  It rains every 2nd day here, so everything is therefore moist and green.  Ireland has two seasons; rainy and more rainy season.  Ideally, it would be great with a nice warm summer once in a while.

Overall, France unfortunately lost the competition here, but Ireland lost the first leg of an important football game.  So, who is one step closer to South Africa?

The Irish supporters are absolutely fantastic.  But, Ireland will have one big problem if they qualify because they don't have the dough to travel to South Africa.  On the other hand, nothing has been better for the economy than increased loans and credit card debt, so it might just be dragging Ireland out of the void.

Personally, I didn't care who won or qualified - no disrespect to any of the two countries.  My country, Denmark, already qualified by winning their games. They have also started to compose the Danish World Cup football anthem.

I wonder if the horrid twins Jedward will be singing for Ireland next year, if Ireland qualifies?

I hope Ireland qualifies so they can spice up the World Cup. Let's wish them best of luck for their next game in Paris.  Go buy shamrocks and pray to St. Patrick that they'll make it.

FA Cup Final, Wembley - May 2009

WOW it was 5.00 in the morning and I was sitting in a Dublin taxi on my way to the airport. I had been invited to attend this year's FA Cup final at Wembley stadium, on 30th of May 2009. Not the old Wembley of course, but the new one, the one that was opened in March 2007 - a few months delayed.

What's even more amazing was that Chelsea was playing in the final - the team I've supported for years - against a great team that has done really well in the FA Cup over the years, and that was Everton.

The New Wembley is absolutely amazing. What is even more amazing is that it is erected within what looks like a residential area, within London. How the local community could allow this I do not know, but there it is.

The Arch the has been build over the stadium rises over 140 meters from the ground. You can see it for miles - if it wasn't for the buildings surrounding it. But, as soon as you get off at the Wembley tube station, and goes out the front, it is directly in front of you. It is only when you start walking towards it that you realise how gigantic it is - it rises up as a towering (no, not inferno like the movie) structure, until you a small ant in front of the huge facade.

- Outside the Wembley main entrance is the bronze statue of the legend Bobby Moore.

Inside is just as spectacular. Fantastic service, easy to find your way around, huge class windows and friendly staff all over. One simply doesn't feel that you are in a place that can hold 80000 screaming supporters.

Now, this was not some standard ticket I had, but it was a VIP ticket, full day event.

Agenda for the day

11:45 Arrive at Wembley Stadium

12:00 Champagne reception in the Private Box

13:00 Three course lunch with fine wines.

15:00 Match Kick Off with complimentary bar throughout the game

15:45 Half-time refreshments

16:45 Post match refreshments

18:15 Club Wembley Closes

This is the only way to watch the FA Cup final live; beautiful dinner, free bar and your own seat just outside your booth.

The game was intense and Everton scored the fastest goal in FA Cup history, within 25 seconds. I have to admit, I was very nervous that Everton would actually beat the mighty Blues. But, that was all within the first minute. Thereafter it was all Chelsea - more or less. Everton tried a few times, but couldn't make anything of their chances.

Chelsea on the other hand wanted to thank Guus Hiddink for his achievement and went on to score twice; Lampard and Drogba.

Watching a game, in Wembley, along side 80000 screaming Everton and Chelsea supporters, is an experience that you simply can describe. You get carried away with the atmosphere and can't help but screaming, booing, closing your eyes and raising your arms of joy. The hairs on your arms rises when the fans sing and cheer their teams. When it is all over, you just stand there staring and smiling at the pitch, wondering what just happened.

Then you realise you just had an absolutely awesome (sorry!) experience that no one will fully understand, no matter how hard you try to explain it.

After the game, we had a few more drinks and then it was back to Dublin. I did this trip in the same day, flying out at 6.40 (at the airport at 5.00) and returning at 21.15 (back in my house at 23.30). It had been a really long day, but worth it.

In the company of heroes

It was going to be another tough day in the office.  I was required to attend a couple of vendor meetings in London, which meant I had to stay in London overnight - to be ready for an early start.  No point travelling out early in the morning, as it would be too tiring.  Funnily, the trip just happened to coincide with the Chelsea v Cluj Champions League game at the Bridge, Tuesday 9 December 2008.  What a coincidence!

I had never heard of Cluj, but discovered that it was a Romanian football club that miraculously made it to the CL group stages by winning the Romanian football league.  (They are apparently not doing great this season.)

This was going to be my first live football game ever. I mean ever. To see my team Chelsea play at home in the Champions League was an extra added bonus.  To make things better, I was invited to attend the game with private dinner, free bar and reserved seats.

I travelled across the water with the supplier just before lunch and took the train to London city centre.  I have a train phobia. I always freak out when I have to board the train.  What if the doors close on me?  What if I took the wrong train? What if somebody pushes me?  All these thoughts make me weird to be around. My traveling buddy noticed this and moved slowly away from me as I started to convulse.

As always, the train arrived safely at the correct train station and we checked in to the hotel shortly before lunch.  It wasn't cold, despite it being early December, but we still wanted to minimise exposure to the elements. There's no point getting sick on a business trip.  The hotel was, according to the map of London, close to the stadium, so we agreed to walk.  After walking for almost 40 minutes, we dragged our exhausted arses into the nearest cafe and we had lunch.  It just happened to be next to Harrods.

I never understood the fascination with Harrods, but based on the cars parked outside, it was the place to shop.  Some idiot had painted his Aston Martin gold. It looked like his kids had done the painting.

We finally arrived at the stadium. We went straight for a pint.  I had promised my kids some Chelsea gear, so I did my fatherly duties and got them the right stuff - all Chelsea of course. It cost me more than £100.  We made our way to the restaurant and had a nice dinner.  I felt like a complete looser surrounded by hardcore fans, who knew the history and results of Chelsea, better than they knew their own kids I'm sure.  I even had difficulties getting the shirt numbers right for John Terry and Anelka, when buying shirts for the kids.  "8 is Anelka and 4 is Terry, right?" I asked quietly.

Kick-off.  I ran to my seat like a little boy running to a toy shop, pushing everybody aside who were in my way, and I sat down.  I had goose bumps all over. I probably looked like a twat taking pictures of the scoreboard, seats, marching band, scarfs and teams warming up.  Within 15 minutes, the camera was starting to run low on batteries, so I had to use it wisely.  There were only space for another 2000 pictures on the memory card - damn!

The fans started singing and I started crying like a schoolboy.  It was a wonderful and yet strange experience.  When the ref signaled kick-off, the stadium burst into cheers.  Holding back the tears was becoming a problem and I pretended it was cold instead.  The fans were singing aloud and I mimed along (not knowing a single word) and waved my scarf.

Chelsea scored and the place exploded in blue and white colors.  No stopping us now.  But, before half time it was 1-1 and the crowd had started to become quiet.  Drogba came on in second half and scored the winning goal. He was hailed as a hero by the supporters.  It was like watching the gladiators in the Colosseum, fighting for fame and fortune.  Brilliant.

We went to the private bar after the game. I was longing for a beer. I had 4 beers.  The VIP arrangement finished an hour after kick-off, by which time all the spectators had left and we could calmly leave the Bridge behind us.  On the way out, a few of the Chelsea players left the stadium too, driving their huge Range Rovers.  It was a surreal experience to see the players up close. However, I refused to ask for their autograph or take their picture - I'm 36 you know.