Judged.

It's Christmas Eve and I thought I'd share a funny story. This happened last Thursday evening and it was only whilst discussing it last night, that we realised how funny the situation was. And people judged us to damnation with their eyes.

I was off work last Thursday and wanted to finish my Christmas shopping. Along with my wife and her sister, we went shopping locally to purchase our last few bits. My wife wanted to cut through a large relatively cut-price department store, to get to the main shopping centre.

On passing small Christmas gift bags, my wife commented on how nice and inexpensive they were to her sister. They had stopped - I had lost them mentally. They were distracted and in a shopping daze.

Gradually ushering them toward the exit and into the main shopping mall, they hesitated again. The rather awful Christmas jumper section had caught their eyes. Then I retold a story of how one of my best friends had stated to me the previous day, that he had found it difficult to find a decent Christmas jumper.

Little did I know - that I had been swallowed by the magic and allure of the department store. The Christmas music was also lulling me into the festive period, playing in the background.

I texted my mate telling him how great the selection was in this particular store. Then my sister-in-law suggested something that nearly made me fall over with laughter.

"Why don't we buy our Christmas day outfits here? And have a competition to see who can pick out the most disgusting one?"

I thought my wife would veto her mad plan, but she quickly agreed. I was totally in. I had spotted an awful jumper. I was confident of winning this test. And then the judging began.

The stern looks. The disapproving stares. The shaking of the heads. The way in which I laughed at something (which I thought was rotten) that others found fashionable. You can't hide that level of disapproval to a stranger. That made me laugh harder if I'm honest.

I know these large department stores hire store buyers that have their fingers on the pulse of fashion. They watch fashion trends and fashion houses to see "what's hot and what's not." But once I had spent five minutes in the awful, but beautiful itchy jumper section, everything seemed funny looking.

We split up and went our own ways picking up items for our Christmas day outfits. I picked up a rotten mustard jumper complete with brown elbow pads. It looked like wallpaper that hung on your parent's living room walls in years gone by.

I had decided to continue the 1970's look. So I bought tight, bright green trousers. Then continuing the theme, I picked up an orange hat, maroon socks and a large thick blue and red scarf. Feeling happy with myself and searching for the ladies, I thought I had chosen the perfect outfit. When we met up again ten minutes later, we laughed hard. My competition amongst the ladies was real tough.

My wife went for something akin to an outfit directly from the Roddy Doyle film, The Snapper. Bright and in your face. The kind of outfit where you need shades on.

My sister-in-law went for the librarian's wet dream look. Everything that any man, woman or child finds disgusting to look at. The funniest part was that she found the cardigan comfortable on.

As we shared how brilliant our outfits were, I felt eyes upon us. Judging us. Doing a twirl without drawing attention, I spotted five pairs of eyes gawping at us with derision.

Firstly - we were laughing far too loudly. Belly aching laughter that comes from the pit of your stomach. That was enough to draw people's attention. But then we became a little bit silly.

Customers were picking up some of the items we were ridiculing and then quickly putting them back. That drew stares too. We didn't mean to be disparaging of people's taste - we were just lost in the moment and a bit giddy.

Our giddiness was becoming infectious though. I started explaining why we were picking up these truly awful outfits. When they knew the story, they started laughing too.

The best part was when the two girls were paying for their clothes, they didn't notice how their laughter was affecting other people in the queue behind them. At least four of the five women in line were laughing to themselves - or at least smiling.

We were spreading Christmas cheer through our own silly mischievousness. Happy Christmas to you all!

The Funniest Little Man.

I laughed so hard at one stage yesterday, it nearly hurt my back. I know I cried - I tried to stop tears streaming down my face. That one simple sentence nearly floored my colleague and I. And it came from a young man. Aged just three years old - called Aaron.

This kid will break hearts when he is older. Whether he tries comedy as a future occupation is anyone's guess. He is a good looking boy and he seems to have the personality too. He acts as if he is 3 going on 73. That's what made his initial words so funny.

To hear the comment come out of his mouth seemed totally abstract and out of place. You don't expect to hear a three year old talk about the weather, just like an adult does. That's what nearly knocked us to the floor.

He stepped out of the rain, into the dry and said in a thick Birmingham accent.

"It's disgusting out there, innit?"

"What's disgusting?"

"That bleeding weather. It's hellish lashing out!"

He then walked ahead as if used to making statements like this. Like he didn't think it was anyway funny. He left two doubled-over grown adults, bursting their arses laughing in his wake.

We struggled to contain ourselves whilst trying to be professional. Then other adults started laughing and couldn't help themselves either. It became infectious. This little man didn't know the power of his words.

This is the type of laughter that hurts - in a good way. When no matter how you try to stop laughing - you can't. The kind of laughter that you wish you did more often. When something memorable like this incident, happens.

Little Aaron continued to amaze us for the short period of time he was in our company. He sat with his hands cupped across his chest and talked like a much older gentleman. He spoke with great manners and you could see from his Dad's gaze, that he was dead proud of his young son.

He apparently spends a lot of time in his grandfather's company and that's where the personality stems from. Aaron definitely has good role models in his life. And making others laugh seems to be at the core of his personality.

And don't forget the power of belly-aching laughter - it comes in all forms from all people - large and very small!

Bah Humbug to your lack of Christmas Spirit.

I arrived in Chicago this evening with a list that ended the Christmas shopping. I was a man on a mission with places to go to and items to be purchased. I had an actual list, so just like any man, all I had to do was hand the list to a store employee and ask where to find the remaining few pieces. Then I would stroll to the cash register and get the flock out of the shop as quickly as possible.


In the last week or so, I have started to get into the festive spirit. I, like most normal people, hate when the Christmas shopping mania starts when Halloween is just over. That is far too early for most sane individuals. I fall into this bracket. But once the first of December passes, I just can't help but fall into a better mood.

Is it the upbeat music? Is it the greetings you receive that sound more sincere when you walk into a store? Is it the sense of innocence that pervades each adult as they crave the need to be younger and have that excitement back? Whatever it is, I like it. I wish each month could be December, because everyone tolerates each other a little more patiently. Everyone gets a chance to enjoy themselves.

So tonight, after a successful nights shopping for the last few bits, I sat down in a famous pizzeria to gorge myself. I had run for three miles after a long days' work, so I felt I could splurge a little. I sat at the bar with other men and women who just wanted to tune out and eat carb-loaded food. Talking seemed to be the last thing on everyone's minds - which suited me just fine.

My pizza arrived just as a large party of people started to gather behind the bar. They were waiting for all of their friends to arrive before they were all seated. They were a mix of men and women, mainly couples who were eager to see each other before Christmas. They were all in great form and full of good cheer.

That's when I heard the first "tsk" on my right hand side. Then I heard the words "for fucks sake!"

I doubted myself initially, but then I saw my barman, Jeff, glance at the gentleman to my right too. He had heard it too.

As the group got larger, so did the banter. As more and more couples arrived, their greetings whilst polite and friendly, did get louder but weren't uncouth. I didn't mind, but one guest at the bar did. His tuttering began to become more pronounced. His body language stated that he didn't like their presence within the actual fifteen feet from him.

The man to my left spotted it too. It created an atmosphere that was totally unnecessary. All of a sudden everyone sitting at the bar was on tenterhooks, waiting for this guy to explode.

Finally, it became too much for him. Couple number seven arrived to much clapping of hands and hugs amongst multiple persons.

"Can you dumb fucks just pipe down! I'm trying to eat my dinner here!"

Quick as a flash, a silky, senior server intervened.

"Excuse me sir! If you continue that kind of language you will be escorted to the front door and your dinner will not be served to you! That kind of behaviour is not tolerated in this establishment! This group is a long standing booking with us for Christmas every year, and we are pleased to have their custom. Unlike you, they are loyal customers - so if you cannot find it in your heart to be a little more forgiving for others who wish to celebrate the holidays, I'd appreciate it if you took your business elsewhere!"

Struggling to come up with an answer, Joe Schmuck grabbed his long black overcoat and high-tailed it toward the front door. Everyone took their time to clap the server. She seemed totally embarrassed - not only by her outburst, but by the venom she delivered to a gobshite that deserved it. I think she surprised herself.

But it is a message to us all - be more patient and more giving this festive season to family, friends and those who you don't even know!

 

 

 

The Circle of Life.

There is nothing like the smell of a newborn baby's head. Even if you don't particularly like infants or children, there is nothing quite like that fresh scent that makes you smile. Apart from chocolate obviously - but that's a chemical reaction. Baby head smelling is just amazing.

I had the ultimate pleasure of meeting my niece for the first time, on Sunday night. She is beautiful of course, but I expected no less as I am related to her of course! All babies are gorgeous no matter what they look like. Their need to be held, and dependence on others for their formative months makes them vulnerable and innocent.

Even though my niece was only twenty-four hours old, she really did take your breath away - and that was nothing to do with the smell of the first few vicious nappies.

She was calm and quiet the entire time. My sister said that she had been like that since the moment she arrived into this world. She was very content and gripped you tight, still craving touch and contact. I sat happily for those two hours absorbing her innocence and fragility.

We all have to be reminded from time to time about the gift of life. I'm not getting all religious and pontificating like a self righteous eejit here. But while I snuggled up to the most recent addition of our extended family in the warmth of a maternity ward - my wife that morning had attended the removal of her good friend's father, in the cold space of a front room laden with heavy sighs.

It's only when you attend the funeral of someone you love, that you start to ponder your own mortality. It's only then when you start to wonder what you've done so far with your life. Have you wasted large chunks of it? Or have you actually made the most of your life so far?

I know I've wasted several parts of my life doing stupid stuff. Nothing illegal, but just plain damn wasteful at times. So as I'm about to turn 37, it ends now. Enough faffing around.

I'm not going to be more conservative nor adventurous. I'm not going to risk life and limb just to get a thrill. I'm just going to respect life and treat it like tomorrow may be my last. Although I hope that doesn't happen - as I have to get the car serviced next week and that car won't drive itself.

One death, one birth in the space of a day. Life is fleeting and precious - but we still have to enjoy it.

Finding the happy medium -  is that key to your own happiness.

Smelling Ignorance From A Mile Off.

When you do a job for quite some time, you get better as you gain more experience. Dealing with the public isn’t always easy, but as you encounter different situations and individuals, you become well versed in dealing with anything that comes your way.

I know what I’m good at. I think I know my limitations and what I can and can’t do. I apply the basic principle that my Dad used to say – “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.”

So when Joe Soap comes into your workplace and tells you how you should be doing your job (when you’re doing an excellent job) – it’s very difficult to bite the inside of your cheek and chalk it down to experience. It’s difficult to suppress the desire to tell him or her to go and take a short run and jump off a cliff - but you do, because you’re a professional.

That was my encounter with a charming ahem, gentleman, late last night.

Was this gentleman well educated in my role and procedure of work? No, he didn’t strike me as if he did.

Did he ever operate in the same role as me previously? No, I seriously doubt it.

Was I doing anything that I hadn’t ever done before? Nope.

Was I operating in my role as I had been excellently trained to do? Yes.

Was this gent being absolutely obnoxious for apparently no reason at all? Yes.

Did he seem like the type of eejit to talk down to people? Yes, indeed.

So late last night, as myself and a work colleague dealt with his idiocies, we went over why we are great at our jobs. The FBI should take profiling tips from us.

We both spotted him as a potential pain in the ass from the very outset.

He took way too long to sit down. He moved personal items of other people’s so that his personal stuff was directly above him. His wife was very easy to initially chat to – he wasn’t.

He never made eye contact – most polite people when meeting someone for the first time, look you directly in the face – he didn’t. He talked at me instead of to me.

He had basic manners, but it never ever sounded sincere in any way.

His shirt was ironed to within an inch of its life - as were his jeans. What typical Irish man ever irons a pair of jeans – like seriously? His hair was immaculately brushed and styled. His shoes were shined so much that the sheen from them nearly made the moon orbit his loafers for a while.

But the piece de resistance? He gave out about how we only had type of tonic instead of another he was used to drinking.

“If you’re a serious tonic drinker, you’d know the difference,” was a quote directly from the horse’s ass.

But as ever, both of us continued to bite our lips and remained utterly professional. Just because someone pays a fair wad of cash for a particular service, are they are entitled to give an opinion on something they know little or anything about? Do me a favour.

But I was tempted to Google him when I got home, just to see what he actually worked at. Then I would march into his office or place of work, and point out how he wasn’t doing things properly.

And that despite my complete lack of knowledge about his job, I knew best!

 

"I'm Irish! So am I! I am too!"

Last night, my wife and I were treated to a comedy show. Except we didn't have to pay for it. Or actually face the comediennes. We sat with our backs to three Stepford-type wives who talked so much verbal diarrhoea, that I near choked on my chicken with laughter.

We were in a favourite restaurant of ours, sitting at the long bar. We sit at the bar purely because we know a few of the staff well and have a bit of witty banter with them - whilst we eat and have a couple of drinks.

This restaurant is very popular, and it was a usual, busy Saturday night. Some people sit and have a drink before they are shown to their table, and this was where we encountered our three main protagonists.

We were treated to the atypical air kissing when they all arrived and greeted each other. Both of us looked at each other and wondered why we always seem to attract these type of eejits. We didn't talk to them, but we always seem to be around the very presence of fake people. Or maybe we can just spot them a mile off.

Anyhow, after the fur coats and ski jackets were removed, the bullshit spewed forth. The three men took seats at the bar whilst the women corralled themselves into a small diamond of chatter. My wife had the "what car are you driving now?" on her left hand side, as the men measured each other dicks by the size of their engines.

Directly behind us we had the triumvirate of one-up-manship beginning. These ladies were all in their forties and fifties, and well accustomed to Botox and house servants. Their nails and hair were coiffed to the utmost degree and the mix of three strong perfumes in close proximity to my dinner was making me gag a touch. The usual "you look great" kicked off the proceedings.

But the conversation was gold. It more than made up for my now-flavoured Chanel chicken and mash. They talked about their children firstly and constantly talked over one another. I was nearly awarding points in my head to each contestant, as they one-upped each other with outlandish tales and stories.

The next subject that was discussed was Hurricane Sandy and the affect it had on their immense properties. This was where they could really embellish. These ladies lived outside Boston, a good distance from where Hurricane Sandy did real substantial damage.

One said she had two trees down in the back garden - another said she had three down - but the last one had almost won the contest - stating she had lost slates off the roof, the picket fence and her two wheelie bins! Ding ding! I was just about to award her victory, but the first one then interjected with a stonewaller. 

She stated that some rival waste collection companies were stealing the competitions' bins in order to win contracts. Knockout blow! This was starting to get bitchy. This is where we both laughed at each other with our eyes in astonishment.

Then came the final topic - holidays. Where they were going to spend the New Year skiing and what destinations they were thinking about for next summer. One of them mentioned Ireland and we stopped eating and drinking. This could be good.

That's where the ladies stated the title above, and much hi-fiving started.

Had any one of them ever been to Ireland? No.

Had any one of them ever been outside the USA? No.

Did anyone of them possess passports? Yes - they all did to visit Mexico and Aruba. Not exactly far away from the USA.

Were any of their parents from Ireland? No.

Had any of them Irish-sounding names? No.

Did any of them have an "Irish" look about them? No.

I was going to turn around and quite proudly state the blindingly obvious, but I restrained myself.

Instead, we guffawed into our dinner until they shuffled away to their table. We pretended to be laughing at something else, without any of the women knowing we were giggling at their expense. It was pure comedy gold - even the bar staff were entertained by the stories.

We went for dinner but inadvertently got a free show thrown in. Great value altogether.

Phone Rant.

I think I'm fairly considerate toward others. I am normally kind enough to think of others when I don't have to.

Let me point out firstly, that I am not an anti-phone person. Mobile phones have changed the world dramatically in such a positive way that it is almost impossible to gauge how they have revolutionised the globe. They serve such an important role in communication around the world, that life and death can sometimes, be decided with a simple phone call.

But these calls are not important in a cinema. When you've been told at least three times to turn off your phone. For two hours of your life. How hard can that be?

I was lucky enough to go see the latest James Bond film, Skyfall, in London the other night. It was a fabulous film and I encourage anyone who hasn't seen it, to go. It tips a hat to the older Bond films whilst still being current and interesting.

I arrived late to the cinema and had to make do with a seat at the front of a small screen. I didn't mind as we normally sit near the front anyhow when visiting the flicks. I had two seats to myself until they obviously sold the seats around me to other latecomers.

I had seats vacant either side of me and plonked my jacket on one of them. I had two young ladies on one side and two young men on the other. They were all in their late teens and chomped their way on popcorn and nachos for the first half hour of the film. I didn't mind that at all, because normally I'd be the one chowing down hard on a big bucket of salted popcorn.

We were almost one hour into the film before I began to get distracted by the lights of the mobile phones either side of me. Initially, I didn't really care, as it wasn't that off putting. But the lights slowly became more bothersome and more frequent.

Then the young lady on my right started playing Tetris on her phone. Then the gobshite on my left was checking his newsfeed on Facebook. I ignored it for a few minutes thinking that they would stop after a minute or two and go back to watching the film. He did put it away, but she stayed on it for over ten minutes.

I made my impatience obvious and without being rude, told her in no uncertain terms to turn it off.

The effect was immediate. The young lad beside me knocked his phone off too. Two birds with one barbed comment.

When I go into a public place whether it be restaurant or cinema - I turn off my phone. I would like to think that people in there go into those establishments to get away from life for a while. To tune out, to chill out. To get away from hand held technology and talk to actual people or to be entertained by the big screen. 

Has the world changed so dramatically that the contact with your phone is addictive?

On the way out of the cinema, I was glared at with sour faces for speaking my mind. Was I wrong here?

The Frankenstorm Drama.

No other nation does drama quite like America. No other nation is even close. This is the land of Hollywood, after all. They over exaggerate and blow things way out of proportion. That's what makes them unique as a nation and as a people.

So on Monday, the eastern coast of the USA expects a storm like they haven't seen in some years.
The name of the incoming hurricane is Sandy, but some of the television networks are calling it some hilarious names. My favourite is "Frankenstorm" - the reason that this storm is getting so much attention is that it is almost 700 miles wide. That's kind of big - no matter where you're from.

Accompanying the news headlines about the impending weather event is also funny. The red ticker tape than runs along the bottom of the screen (which actually is serious news) is so way over the top, that I spent two hours watching various channels just to see their hyped up versions of the same news.

I am not making these up - these were some of the flashing words that appeared on several different channels.

"SURGING SANDY TAKES AIM!"
"EAST COAST TO BE SLAMMED BY SANDY!" (Sounds like a porn film)
"WIDESPREAD PANIC BUYING!"
"SIMMERING SANDY STORM"
"POWER PREPAREDNESS PROBLEMS"over the next day or two
"SANDY STRIKE ZONE"
"BUILDING THE BEACHES"
"SANDY TO BRING TRAIL OF DESTRUCTION"
"TOPPLING TROPICAL TUMULT"
"A MONTH OF RAIN IN ONE HOUR!"
"SCRAMBLING STORES SUFFER STOCK SUPPLY SHORTAGES!"
"ELECTRICAL CHAOS!"
"FREAKY FRANKENSTORM!"

They've mentioned the film "The Perfect Storm" on many of the major networks when talking about the storm, which is only natural. But the fact that Halloween is just around the corner, they just couldn't resist mingling the two and coming up with Frankenstorm.

That's why I love the USA's version of weather updates. They are so bloody dramatic and over the top that you laugh. You think "that'll never happen", but these guys are so accurate, it happens to the very minute and location. It's mental how good they actually are. And it's mad to think that even the Weather channel is compulsive viewing!

On a more serious note - let's hope it fizzles out and people don't get hurt. Be safe out there in the Eastern states of the USA over the next few days.

The Irish Golfing Gombeen.

We meet all types of personality in our daily lives. But nothing seems to irk us more than those who look down their nose at us. Their feeling of superiority and all-knowingness makes us feel cheap and used. And then five minutes later, when they are gone, you think of the response you should have given them.

I had the simple pleasure of sitting down behind three of these types of gombeens recently. They reminded me of how much crap they actually talk.

Before I continue, I must tell you that my first job was in a fairly posh golf club, so I can see this type of person coming a mile off. I endured and tolerated some amount of politically incorrect stuff during my formative years. Not all members are like this, but a lot of them are this idiotic.

I was seated behind three grown men between the ages of 45-55. They sat in front of me and I bore witness to their immature chat during the morning flight. They were excited heading away on their holidays, which was understandable, as was I. But the kind of verbal diahorrea that came out of their mouths was hilarious, and a little bit disgusting. I had truly forgotten how this type of snobbish behaviour still exists - outside of Ross O'Carroll Kelly books.

My first boss, Vincent, instilled in me an ability to swallow your pride and accept shite from these plonkers. You would get further and last longer in the job if you just got on with it, he said. I knew that it wasn't acceptable, but behind closed bar doors and in kitchens we all laughed at their stupidity well after the fact. It was a form of group therapy, if you will.

For example - you spoke a different way to the full members and the visitors. You called the Captain of that particular year "Captain", instead of John or Mary, like you would normally do. They said it was based on respect, but I knew damn well it was just about power and lording it over the mere minions that worked in kitchens and bars.

My favourite incident I recall was working with an absolute lady, who for privacy reasons, I'm going to call her, Nell. Nell worked in the kitchen and was well experienced. She was born and bred in Finglas, but moved into the country when she and her husband started a family.

It was about 1994 or '95 when the Captain and Lady Captain of that year, had just had their Drive-In. It normally happens in early spring, when the Irish golfing season officially begins. One particular lady member, who had just been instated as Lady Captain, got ideas above her station all of a sudden.

This same 'lady', played regular golf and was heavily involved with the running of the ladies competitions. She was well liked by all the staff until this day. This woman had never worked a day in her life and had years previously married a very wealthy businessman - who was also obnoxious by the way, coincidentally.

The newly appointed Lady Captain had always been known to everyone in the golf club by her first name, Ramona. Cue the conversation from almost two decades ago when Ramona visited the kitchen to order something on an early Tuesday morning.

Knock knock on the open kitchen door.

"Hello there! Is there anyone in?"

"Yep. I'm just in the door. I'm over here emptying de dishwasher. Ah howya Ramona - 'tis only yerself. What can I get ya?"

"Em quite. Eh, Nell, could I please get tea and scones for three as soon as possible. We have a tee time in forty minutes - chop chop."

"Yeah, no problem Ramona. You take a seat in the bar and I'll drop dem down to ya as quick as I can."

"And eh, Nell - heat them for me and put butter and jam on all three also. And for God's sake don't let the tea go to to treacle."

"Yep - no problem Ramona. I'll do dat right now."

"And one more thiing Nell. It's Lady Captain from here on in. Lady Captain to you and your eh, sort. Do I make myself clear? I'm only called Ramona by my friends."

"No problem Ramona."

I had just clocked in to open the bar and Nell was fuming as I cut through the kitchen. I had just missed their special little chat.

I pointed out that Nell hadn't had time to sweep the kitchen floor - just yet.

Before Nell dropped the tea and scones down to the three ladies in the bar, we played a little game.

We called it Kick the Scone across the Dirty Floor with your Grubby Mucky Shoes On.

Nell delivered the tray to the bar, placed it on the table and said with a bright smile

"There ya go Lady Captain. Enjoy!"

Just remember that when you treat people like shit, it comes back to bite you.

Meeting a Childhood Hero.

Today I met one of my childhood heroes.

You won't find him in many databases, on Linkedin, on Facebook or many search engines. In fact, you might only catch his name in the odd local news report or people will know of him at the local town hall or church. Especially if you live in the parish of Skryne, just outside Navan.

The man is a living legend. He has given so much of his life to sport in his local parish - it is simply staggering. He is one of these "pillars of the community" - who moves mountains for others and asks for little in return. A quiet soul, who lets his actions speak for themselves.

I first met him when I was about eight or nine years old. Even then he was heavily involved in our local soccer club, a team in which my eldest brother played in. He would be up at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning, washing the kit, pumping footballs and lining the pitch in preparation for the upcoming match. And this was the early 1980's, when soccer was still referred as the "foreign sport." He was also the manager on many occasions and goalkeeper whenever the need arose. This man had no end of talents.

After the game, he'd ring in the match reports to the local papers, and prep the gear for the following week. The man was a robot, in my young pre-pubescent eyes. Nearly thirty years later, he's still at it.

He's nor involved with the senior male set-up anymore, but prefers to coach and encourage the younger generation coming through. Although it's not on the same level as many Dublin underage clubs, it seemingly has been doing very well over the past few years.

Meeting him today, he still has the incredible drive and will to make sure his local area is well represented from a soccer point of view. I could still see the pride in his eyes when we both recalled past glories and stories.

When I was sixteen years old, I played in my first senior soccer match - and he was the manager. I still remember the words he said to me before I went on. I can't remember who we were playing, but he put me on the left wing.

"Just go out and play your normal game," were his simple words of advice. I played for that same club for twelve years - mainly because of him.

He was always encouraging, yet you never wanted to disappoint him. When he flew into a rage, which didn't often happen, you accepted it. You knew in the back of your mind, even if you didn't agree with him at the time - that he was right.

I had my fair share of heated exchanges with him and we went on many a night out and football trips abroad. He has always been generous with his time and chat. His slight frame and quiet disposition always gave the impression that he would be a walkover for many people who faced him, or played against him. But his cover hid a divil underneath - and he used that to his advantage. As a result, there's not many people who have been involved with local soccer in Meath over the past twenty odd years that don't respect him.

The man is a true gent in every sense of the word.

Take a bow - Dermot Carty.