The 1990 FIFA World Cup encounter between the Netherlands and the Republic of Ireland remains a masterclass in tactical stalemate and high-stakes tension. Despite the presence of Dutch legends like Ruud Gullit and Marco van Basten, Jack Charlton’s disciplined Irish side
saw my brother today for the first time since his cancer diagnosis, and it might’ve been the last.
he has a tumour in his throat that affects his speech, and the cancer has also spread to his lungs. he was quiet for most of the visit, except for when he asked if i’m going to get a tattoo for him, and when he said he’d be watching over us.
i can’t help but think that if he had gotten the help he needed when he was first diagnosed with schizophrenia in his early 20s, we wouldn’t be in this situation. years of drug use, diabetes, kidney disease, and three packs of cigarettes a day to calm his mind, and it’s finally caught up to him.
we always knew he would leave us before we were ready. there were many times we thought it was the end. my family has been preparing for this moment our whole lives, but no one is ever ready for something like this. watching my dad lose the son he fought so hard for, for so many years, is another kind of pain altogether.
this is bigger than cancer. this is the slow burn of consequences from a system that abandons struggling people.
a system that was born to fail.
Florence Pugh said Midsommar depressed her so much that she cried on a flight after it wrapped.
"I'd never done anything like that before. I was like, ‘this is my opportunity. I need to give this a go.' I would just basically put myself through hell.“
“It really f*cked me up.”
OK, decided to make this non-Dublin, and it's not a list of the ten 'best pubs' in Ireland, I'm not the Irish Times, just personal favourites I've been to.
10. Mick Doyle's, Graiguenamanagh.
‘Being Irish’ has feck all to do with passports, DNA, and ancestry dot com. It comes from living here, growing up here, integrating into our amazing culture.
Being Irish is growing up with Zig and Zag, Dustin the Turkey, Ray D’Arcy and Dara Ó Briain, and the Late Late Toy Show.
Being Irish is becoming a GAA fan the one month every generation your county gets to a Sam final, it’s the inevitable heartbreak of rugby World Cup quarter finals, and it’s going wild as we punch way above our weight at the Olympics.
Being Irish is growing up with Ted, Dougal and Jack, knowing who keeps their toaster in the cupboard, and who’s got a horse outside.
Being Irish is a spice bag after Copper’s, or a chicken fillet roll in the morning, or mammy’s dinner cooked at home.
Being Irish is knowing that McGregor is the worst cunt on the planet (but that you can be a good cunt too).
Being Irish is knowing you’re probably never going to own a house and the lure of the Australian working tourist visa, the realisation that all your childhood friends now live in Sydney or San Diego.
Being Irish is knowing the fear of leaving the immersion on.
Most importantly, being Irish is knowing you can go to any city in the world and find a pub filled with your people, because the world truly loves the Irish. Why? Because we’re fucking great craic - and that’s not something you can get from your genetics.
☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️☘️