PHOTO DIARY OF A DUPUYTREN'S CONTRACTURE SUFFERER

Hello There, Stalkbookers!

I trust you are keeping well and not feeling too squeamish because this wee story is not for the faint of heart.

As some of you already know, two and a half weeks ago, I had corrective surgery on my left hand. This was to fix an issue that I have been living with since around the age of twenty and it is known as Dupuytren’s Contracture. (Named after the doctor who first did some research into it)

More about the ailment can be seen here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dupuytren's_contracture

It is a condition that mainly affects white, Northern Europeans and because of this it is sometimes referred to as “The Vikings Disease”, which I must admit sounds pretty cool, even if the ailment itself was not.

In fact, a few years ago, I went for a medical as part of a job application here in Oz and the doctor told me that the “disease” had been traced back to 3 villages in Norway. I have never heard this or read this anywhere, so I can’t verify this to be the case. And shortly afterwards he got me to strip to my undies and do squat thrusts whilst he stood behind me (seriously), so I’m certainly not certain of the legitimacy of this.

Basically, it is where the fingers gradually bend towards the palm and cannot be fully extended (straightened.) It never caused me too much pain but with time, it got gradually worse. It normally only occurs in the latter stages of life in your 60’s and 70’s but thanks to the fact that I had two separate instances where I broke the finger in one hand and badly dislocated a finger in my right hand* and, coupled with the fact that I have a particularly extreme case of it, accelerated the onset of the problem.

* - More of this incident I recalled with great gusto in an article on my blog. Believe me; the sheer stupidity of this incident has to be read to be believed. http://belgiumisboring.blogspot.com.au/2005/06/insomiac-writes.html

Anyway, as I say, I've lived with it for 20 years and about 10 years ago in Belgium I got my right hand operated on. 10 years later and it was the turn of my left hand to get seen to.

And seen to it surely was.

This is what it looked like, a few minutes before surgery. (Apologies for the blurriness of the picture but I was a little stressed at the time!)

Not a pretty sight!

I was in the operating theatre for over 5 hours and, after two skin grafts and approximately 85 stitches later; I was set free in the world, or at least to my hospital bed, where this photo was taken whilst under the influence of some great drugs.

The past 2 weeks have been all about ensuring that the grafts take well. Then, on Monday I went for my post-op consultation and the results were promising. At least according to my surgeon, they were – from where I was looking, I reckoned my hand was something more suited to Frankenstein’s monster.

So, on Monday about half of the stiches were taken out and I was given a much more mobile (and rather sexy) splint:

Yesterday, the other half of the stitches were removed.

StalkBookers, I am here to tell you all right now, that I was not a brave soldier when it came to this process. 85 stiches being removed from ones hand and fingers was an exhausting and excruciating experience. And that was just for the physio that removed them.

So now – here I am at my keyboard “kind of” typing with two hands. I now have a process of 3-4 months rehabilitation but I am happy to report that the journey has begun and I am well on my way to recovery.

Oh – and before I go – this is what my hand looks like now:

Not perfectly straight, granted but it was never going to be, thanks to the years of stretching that the tendons were subjected to but at least now I can get dressed in the morning without poking my own eye out.

Thanks for listening.

NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH ALERT!!! Do not read on if you’re of a squeamish disposition. 

Ladies and Gentlemen – I give you my Frankenstein hand uncovered in all its naked glory:

Guess who's back?!

These words come to you with a soundtrack (at least in my head) of some bastard child of Eminem teasing “Guess who’s back?” with AC/DC screaming ‘Back in Black.’ If only I could afford the royalties, then I might have been able to transform this into some kind of multi-media experience that we could all wonder at. As it is, we just have these words to try and paint the picture.

No pressure there, then.

“I’m a frustrasted writer!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

“I don’t have the time!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

“I don’t know what to write!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

Well, enough of the kidology, tonight as I chase the flashing cursor across the white screen, I am back writing and to be honest, I do not have a clue what I am going to write about. And that is ok.

It just feels good to be back and banging out words on the screen. Who knows where I’m going with this? And – let’s be honest here – who cares? I know I don’t and I also know the chances of anybody else reading these words are pretty slim, so let’s go for it, shall we?

In a previous life, I used to write a monthly column in my home newspaper, The Ballyclare Gazette, detailing various random musings about my life in Australia and comparing with my life back home in “Norn Iron.”

It even had a tag line: “From Ballyclare to Down Under, it’s a long, long way from here to there”

Snazzy, eh?

I missed home and for me at the time, the articles provided a link for me to all that I missed. No really, I did. Back in the days when I used to be “A Writer” and arrogantly believed that people would be interested in what I had to say, that’s what I did.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved doing the articles and on trips home, people who weren’t even friends or family were polite enough to say that they actually enjoyed my articles.

But that was a long time ago. Then things changed…..

On a trip home a few years ago, whilst I was still writing the articles, my brother, my Australian girlfriend and I were viciously attacked by a gang of teenage savages who, for some reason took a dislike to us being on their turf - the same turf that I came from and had been romanticising about through my monthly articles.

To keep the random Eminem references going, “Snap back to reality”

As I lay in the foetal position with the punches, the kicks and the verbal assault raining down on me, in the middle of the road, not 200 metres from where I grew up, I can remember very little, apart from the incredible embarrassment that my girlfriend had to witness the ugly underbelly of my home town.

Like some twisted version of The Wizard of Oz, the curtain had been pulled back and my home town was exposed for the cruel, vicious and violent, narrow-minded, red-neck town that it had become (and perhaps always was?)

Except – I know that it is not how the town is. Yes, it is no different from anywhere else on the planet, with a small, ugly minority lurking waiting to pounce on the weaker. Admittedly, when you have a gang of almost 20 people willing to indulge in such ultra-violence, they will always be able to find the weak; big, bad, brave, lowlifes that they are.

The reality is, the rest of that night, we spent 5 hours in hospital as I was stitched back together and my family, my girlfriend and I, tried to make the best of the rest of our ‘holiday.’

The following day was my late father’s birthday and we tried our best to avoid the broken, battered and bruised elephant in the corner of the room that was me and partied as we had always planned we would. Even to the point of me (once again) murdering ‘Mack the Knife’ at the Sporties Bar Karaoke Night.

A few days later, we headed back to Australia, via Amsterdam, where incidentally I had to get the stitches removed in Schiphol airport. Believe me – a night out in Amsterdam with a face like I had is not something that anyone should have to endure. Also, as part of our ‘dream’ holiday, we had a stopover in Taipei planned and the photographs of me taken during those 48 hours are haunting images that I will forever have to live with.

But enough about that, for I really do not want to go down there and it is certainly is not a topic that I want to write about, especially after such a long absence. Believe me, I tried to write about the assault a couple of times from some “The pen is mightier than the sword” moral high ground but my heart just wasn’t in it. In fact, I am honest enough to admit that when I did try to put it all down in words, I broke down in tears and was unable to continue. Right there and then, my passion for writing left me.

But now the passion is back (Black is Back!) and I am happy to embrace it once again, for it is something that has always been a source of happiness for me. I have to admit that I look back on my writing with a lot of pride (and copious amounts of cringe, it has to be said.) 

Even now, after all these years, I occasionally indulge myself by reading my blogs (www.belgiumisboring.blogspot.comand www.australiaisoz-some.blogspot.com) and think to myself “Yep, you created those!” Even after I shuffle off this mortal coil, my internet footprint will be a testimony to my writing.

Whether that is a good or a bad thing is irrelevant….

Thanks for listening.

Guess who's back?!

These words come to you with a soundtrack (at least in my head) of some bastard child of Eminem teasing “Guess who’s back?” with AC/DC screaming ‘Back in Black.’ If only I could afford the royalties, then I might have been able to transform this into some kind of multi-media experience that we could all wonder at. As it is, we just have these words to try and paint the picture.

No pressure there, then.

“I’m a frustrasted writer!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

“I don’t have the time!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

“I don’t know what to write!” I would knowingly say with a shrug of the shoulders in a kind of “what ya gonna do?” kind of way.

Well, enough of the kidology, tonight as I chase the flashing cursor across the white screen, I am back writing and to be honest, I do not have a clue what I am going to write about. And that is ok.

It just feels good to be back and banging out words on the screen. Who knows where I’m going with this? And – let’s be honest here – who cares? I know I don’t and I also know the chances of anybody else reading these words are pretty slim, so let’s go for it, shall we?

In a previous life, I used to write a monthly column in my home newspaper, The Ballyclare Gazette, detailing various random musings about my life in Australia and comparing with my life back home in “Norn Iron.”

It even had a tag line: “From Ballyclare to Down Under, it’s a long, long way from here to there”

Snazzy, eh?

I missed home and for me at the time, the articles provided a link for me to all that I missed. No really, I did. Back in the days when I used to be “A Writer” and arrogantly believed that people would be interested in what I had to say, that’s what I did.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely loved doing the articles and on trips home, people who weren’t even friends or family were polite enough to say that they actually enjoyed my articles.

But that was a long time ago. Then things changed…..

On a trip home a few years ago, whilst I was still writing the articles, my brother, my Australian girlfriend and I were viciously attacked by a gang of teenage savages who, for some reason took a dislike to us being on their turf - the same turf that I came from and had been romanticising about through my monthly articles.

To keep the random Eminem references going, “Snap back to reality”

As I lay in the foetal position with the punches, the kicks and the verbal assault raining down on me, in the middle of the road, not 200 metres from where I grew up, I can remember very little, apart from the incredible embarrassment that my girlfriend had to witness the ugly underbelly of my home town.

Like some twisted version of The Wizard of Oz, the curtain had been pulled back and my home town was exposed for the cruel, vicious and violent, narrow-minded, red-neck town that it had become (and perhaps always was?)

Except – I know that it is not how the town is. Yes, it is no different from anywhere else on the planet, with a small, ugly minority lurking waiting to pounce on the weaker. Admittedly, when you have a gang of almost 20 people willing to indulge in such ultra-violence, they will always be able to find the weak; big, bad, brave, lowlifes that they are.

The reality is, the rest of that night, we spent 5 hours in hospital as I was stitched back together and my family, my girlfriend and I, tried to make the best of the rest of our ‘holiday.’

The following day was my late father’s birthday and we tried our best to avoid the broken, battered and bruised elephant in the corner of the room that was me and partied as we had always planned we would. Even to the point of me (once again) murdering ‘Mack the Knife’ at the Sporties Bar Karaoke Night.

A few days later, we headed back to Australia, via Amsterdam, where incidentally I had to get the stitches removed in Schiphol airport. Believe me – a night out in Amsterdam with a face like I had is not something that anyone should have to endure. Also, as part of our ‘dream’ holiday, we had a stopover in Taipei planned and the photographs of me taken during those 48 hours are haunting images that I will forever have to live with.

But enough about that, for I really do not want to go down there and it is certainly is not a topic that I want to write about, especially after such a long absence. Believe me, I tried to write about the assault a couple of times from some “The pen is mightier than the sword” moral high ground but my heart just wasn’t in it. In fact, I am honest enough to admit that when I did try to put it all down in words, I broke down in tears and was unable to continue. Right there and then, my passion for writing left me.

But now the passion is back (Black is Back!) and I am happy to embrace it once again, for it is something that has always been a source of happiness for me. I have to admit that I look back on my writing with a lot of pride (and copious amounts of cringe, it has to be said.) 

Even now, after all these years, I occasionally indulge myself by reading my blogs (www.belgiumisboring.blogspot.com and www.australiaisoz-some.blogspot.com) and think to myself “Yep, you created those!” Even after I shuffle off this mortal coil, my internet footprint will be a testimony to my writing.

Whether that is a good or a bad thing is irrelevant….

Thanks for listening.

Have yourself a very Therapy? Christmas!

Folks, I'd like to share a piece of writing that has recently been published. A few weeks ago, as a member of the Therapy? fan-club, I was approached to contribute to a book that was being put together to celebrate the band's 20th anniversary.

Only too happy to write stories (although you wouldn't think it if you were a frequent visitor to this website) and being a huge fan of the band, I sat down and attempted to write again. It felt good to be chasing the cursor across the screen once more.

So, in its entirety, please find below my contribution to the book "We're Here To The End Too", a book written by Therapy? fans and available from the following website:

http://www.blurb.com/books/1660152

I hope you enjoy my trip down memory lane, even if the photos are a little grainy....

Have yourselves a very Therapy? Christmas!

My first exposure to Therapy? was back in 1992.

I was 20 at the time and in my second year at Coleraine University. One of my class-mates, Joe, who hailed from Dublin came into class one day wearing a black T-Shirt, with the word “Therapy?” emblazoned across it with a rather strange looking grinning face below it.

I remember looking at it as he walked into class wondering what the hell it was all about. Was he making a statement? Was he asking a question? I surmised it had something to do with a band but seeing as the guy was a lot more ‘emo’ than myself, as I was someone who just liked his music loud and heavy, it was all a wee bit strange and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by showing my ignorance on the matter, so I let it slide.

Strangely enough my next experience of Therapy? came from my uncle JB just a few weeks later. My father and I went to pick him up from the airport just before Christmas of 1992 and on the drive back to our home town of Ballyclare, in county Antrim, Northern Ireland, he asked me had I heard any of the music “that the young Cairns fella from Ballyclare and his band-mates from Larne” were playing. Not for the first, nor the last time, uncle JB had displayed a far superior knowledge of the goings on in our home town than we were ever privy to – in spite of the fact that he spent the last third of his life living in London. As it turned out, uncle JB was close friends with Andy’s parents and he had found out about the band from them.

I guess Ballyclare’s that kind of town....

My interest was piqued - what with the band’s lead singer hailing from my home town making inroads into the music scene. Like most of us as kids growing up, I’d spent many a private moment singing and playing air-guitar in front of the bedroom mirror but here was someone from Ballyclare, of all places, actually living the dream. I knew who Andy Cairns was – he was only a few years older than me and Ballyclare is not that big a place. I had memories of him and his mates hanging out in the river park at the foot of the town. As we played football, they sat nearby consuming their alcohol carry-outs. It’s strange to think of now, but by the time I was old enough to indulge in that particular recreational past-time myself, Andy and the rest of the band were well on their way to becoming the Therapy? that we all know and love today.

That day, I headed down to Bert McCormick’s Record Store in Ballyclare Main Street and purchased the album “Nurse” on cassette (remember those?) and rushed home to give it a play. Not having a clue what kind of music I was letting myself in for, I was actually a little surprised to find out that it was something I really enjoyed. The noise was different to anything I had in my collection - the unique style of drumming, heavy bass, the scorching lead guitar all accompanying the dark lyrics, the album had a very industrial sound with “Teethgrinder” being a stand-out track for me. My love of all things Therapy? had been born.

A few evenings later, I ended up doing a pub quiz in the Square Bar in Ballyclare with my father and uncle JB. The other members of our team? None other than Andy Cairn’s mother and father. They told me that Andy was back in town and in the Ballyboe - another pub in our home town - if I wanted to pop in and say hello but I declined not knowing what I would have said to the guy without sounding too much of an eejit. Ballyclare’s that kind of a town as well.

Along the journey with Therapy? I am proud to say that I bought every album, a few EPs and several T-Shirts. I loved listening to their music and it was with great excitement that I greeted the release of a new Therapy? album. Some albums were of course better than others and line-ups changed, fall-outs with record labels ensued, but deep down, you knew that these guys were in it for the long-haul. I was also very proud of the fact that they were “local lads made good.” After graduating, my career and life took me away from Northern Ireland but I have always been proud to hail from our wee misunderstood corner of the world and would get great enjoyment from people back home being successful and telling anyone who cared to listen – or didn’t for that matter – about the fact that Therapy? and I were from the same neck of the woods. Even if Michael and Fyfe were “harbour rats” from up the road in Larne(!)

With Therapy?, I had a band whose music I loved and I could proudly say that they were from my home country. A country that for far too long stared into the abyss, could perhaps rise again and with the likes of Therapy? and later, Ash, we had bands that were spreading some joy from our war-torn country throughout the world. I’m not making any grand political statement here – I’m just saying as a native of Northern Ireland, it was great to have a band that played great balls to the wall music delivered with an infectious enthusiasm that has never waned - even after 20 years in the most hard-nosed of businesses.

In the early years, I saw Therapy? a couple of times in Belfast but after graduating, I ended up leaving Northern Ireland to live and work in Belgium. It wasn’t planned – it just kind of happened. I got the occasional trip home and it was during a trip from Northern Ireland back to Belgium that I bumped into Therapy? whilst waiting at the gate for a flight from Heathrow to Brussels.

Travelling with a female colleague at the time, I excitedly pointed out the band to her but she had no idea who I was talking about. I explained to her but she seemed a little non-plussed about it all. She suggested that we went over to say hello but, well, we’re not really like that back home are we? So I decided to leave it (we were after all, on the same flight – where could they go?) and if there was an opportunity to say hello to the band in the arrivals hall while we were all waiting on our luggage, then I would do so.

In Brussels Arrivals, I saw the band waiting at the luggage carousel, so I took my opportunity to say hello to the band. Somewhat surprised to hear my accent in Brussels airport, Andy asked “where the fuck is that accent from?” and when I told him I was from a certain part of Ballyclare, he replied with “Seriously?! I used to deliver newspapers round that way. So what are you doing here in Belgium?” So, we got chatting and passed a few minutes as we waited on the arrival of our luggage.

During the conversation it transpired that the band were playing in a small town about 40 minutes from where I was living and he invited us along to the gig. Andy then called the tour manager, Rog, asking that my colleague and I be put on the VIP guest list, saying that we could also meet them after the gig and have a few “Lucozades” back stage. The Lucozades turned out to be bottles of Grolsch in a tin bath full of ice. Rock and Roll decadence or what?!

I have to say we had a great time at the gig and the Belgian crowd loved Therapy? (something that I was to witness a few more times during my stay in Belgium over those years). My colleague was a convert and she had an absolute ball of a night, including her rather less than subtle attempts to woo Michael. (I hope he’s gotten over that one!) My memories of the night are a little hazy, but I do recall trying to convince Andy to invest a little bit of money into our local football team, Ballyclare Comrades, much to the derision of Michael. With him being from nearby Larne and therefore a ‘Harbour Rat’, he was more than ready to take the piss out of Andy and I for being “Sheep Shaggers”.

As the rock and roll lifestyle was coming to an end for my colleague and me, I mentioned to Andy that I was planning to take my wee brother, Darren, himself a recent addition to the Therapy? fan club to their Christmas gig at the Ulster Hall in Belfast in a few months time. Once again Andy got Rog to ensure that we would get on the VIP list and also back stage for their Christmas Party. As Rog was typing up “Jonny Black plus guest” on his laptop under Ulster Hall, Belfast, Dec 27^th Andy said goodbye to us, adding “If you enjoyed yourself tonight, Jonny, you’ll have great craic back in Belfast at Christmas time!”

I couldn’t wait.

Having told all and sundry about my exploits with the lads from Therapy?, I was finding it difficult to keep it a secret from my wee brother that he had it all to look forward to in a couple of months time. Only 14, he was finding his way in the world of music and with two older brothers, some of our musical tastes was starting to rub off on the youngest with Therapy? being one of his favourites. To say he envied the “Hanging out with Rock Stars, Therapy?” story would be understating it. Perhaps even going as far as to think his IT geek brother was a little bit cool after all...

Somehow, I managed to keep the secret until Christmas Day itself. Opening his present, which was a rather fine looking Therapy? T-Shirt I explained to him that he would need it in a couple of day’s time because he too would get to hang out back stage with Therapy? The look of unbridled joy on his face is something that I will remember forever.

Two days later and we headed off to the Ulster Hall early, with my wee brother beside himself with excitement. It was a cold, wet and windy evening and there were plenty of people already standing outside the venue huddling against the elements waiting for the doors to open.

Not such a wait for us, of course, because we were on the guest list.

So, grinning like Wayne and Garth out of Wayne’s World, we walked past the crowd to the front door of the Ulster Hall, where, when told by security to join the back of the queue, I proudly informed them that we were, in fact, down in the VIP guest list. Checking his clip board of names, we soon discovered that we weren’t, in fact, on the guest list at all.

My brother’s face crumpled in despair and anguish whilst a few at the front of the queue who had heard what had just happened, started to snigger. “Looks like you’re going to have to queue just like the rest of us” somebody wisecracked behind us.

I was dying.

“There must be some mistake – I was hanging out with the band back stage in Belgium a couple of months ago and Andy Cairns invited us to the gig tonight. I even saw their tour manager, Rog typing it into his laptop!” I pleaded with security. I knew I was name-dropping but I had to get my brother into the gig at all costs.

“Come on through to the lobby and we’ll see if we can get Rog to come out and verify this”

I’m not sure if it was festive spirit, my pleading, or my brother’s face of despair that swung it, but at least we were in out of the cold, all be it not knowing what was going to happen next.

Soon after, the rest of the punters started filing into the gig, with a few of the ones at the front taking great enjoyment in the two “VIPs” that were standing there looking like a couple of guys who have had the air deflated out of them. After what seemed like an eternity, I suddenly noticed Andy’s parents walking into the venue. Nothing ventured, nothing gained I thought, so I shamelessly approached them and explained the situation to them. Andy’s father, sympathising with our predicament, promised to go and find Rog to see if he could sort it all out for us. And off he went into the venue along with the streams of people going to the sold-out Christmas gig. With local acts Joyrider and Ash also set to play, this was going to be a big show, and after having been waiting here for over an hour, it was looking increasingly likely that the best present I had ever given my brother was being cruelly taken away from him by events out of my control.

As I was contemplating this, a rather flustered Rog came out into the lobby with Andy’s father in tow. Much to our delight, he recognised me and apologising profusely, he explained that his laptop had crashed and that he had lost a lot of information on it as a result. Of course we were allowed into the gig and of course we were welcome to party back stage with the band. The party with Therapy? was back on and I got a relieved hug from my brother.

The concert itself was a cracker. Joyrider opened the proceedings well and Ash – who were already starting to make inroads into the music world themselves – started firing up the crowd in time for the main act to take centre stage.

Obviously enjoying performing in front of their home crowd, the lads from Therapy? performed a great show that night with everyone in the audience adding to the atmosphere. There was even an impromptu performance from Skin (of Skunk Anansie fame) who appeared on stage for one song and then stage dived into the crowd afterwards.

Merry Christmas Northern Ireland!

Afterwards, we went back stage where there was a great atmosphere with all the performers mingling with friends, family and fans alike and when Andy noticed me, he was nice enough to come up to ask me how Belgium was treating me. My brother, obviously impressed with my rock ‘n’ roll circle of friends, took the opportunity to have his photo taken with Andy.

After chatting briefly with the rest of the band and enjoying a couple of complimentary cans of Harp, we left the party to continue on into the night. After all – Darren was too young to drink and I had enjoyed a late night one on one session with the band in Belgium a couple of months previously.

As we headed out into the cold, Belfast night a very excited wee brother, told me it was the best Christmas present he’d ever had. And I believed him.

Thanks Andy, Michael and Fyfe, as well as Andy’s father and Rog the tour manager for a very special Christmas party that will live long in my brother’s and my memory for the rest of our lives.

I could talk about the time I went to see you support the Rolling Stones, or even the several times I saw you at the Rock Werchter festival in Belgium (indeed at one stage only some band called REM(!) had played that festival more times than yourselves).

Or even the time that I saw you in Antwerp at the club known as Petrol, where, upon noticing my Northern Ireland flag and discovering I was the guy from Ballyclare you announced to the crowd that, in the same way some towns are twinned with others, “Ballyclare was in a suicide pact with Amsterdam”

Then there was the time that I brought my girlfriend, an Australian girl who had never heard of Therapy? to go watch you on our first date. Needless to say we are still together and I am now living in Brisbane with her. (BTW – any tours of Australia planned?!)

But they’re all stories for another time. Perhaps I’ll dust them out for the 40^th Anniversary!

Thanks Therapy? for all the good times and looking forward to many more.

World Cup Sweepstake 2010: It's a Wrap!

Well folks,

The dust has settled on the World Cup with a final that befitted the rest of the tournament: littered with fouls, play-acting, whingeing footballers, and leaving the referee with no option but to hand out cards like it was Christmas.

Now, I’m no professional footballer, what with the closest I got being a Sunday afternoon over 20 years ago where, along with a few mates, we broke into Dixon Park, the home of Ballyclare Comrades FC and played headers and volleys for a couple of hours until the village idiot saw us and phoned the police.

But what I do know is that the 120 minutes of football that a third of the world’s population tuned in to watch was an awful advert for the game that we all love so much.

From comedy villain Mark van Bommel and his tackles that were so late they could have been from a different time zone to de Jong opening a can of whoopass Jackie Chan style on Alonso, the Oranje successfully managed to break up the Spanish pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass-pass rhythm which meant that a lot of the HD super slo-mo replays were filled with images of growling Orangemen and whingeing Spaniards. Hardly the advert for the beautiful game that Jules Rimet envisaged all those years ago.

Then, with the clock winding down and the game looking like it was inevitably going to be decided by the dreaded penalty shoot-out (BTW – did you know the man who introduced the penalty kick into football was from Northern Ireland?) until, with 4 minutes left of extra time, up stepped Iniesta to crash home a volley which crushed the hopes of the Orangemen but must surely have been well-received by neutrals the world over.

Spain are the World Cup winners for the first time, the Netherlands are left as losing finalists for the third time. Which incidentally, won me 140 dollars for a cheeky 20 dollar bet that I placed a few weeks ago on Spain to win the tournament. Which just about covers all the other bets / sweeps that I've taken part in....

In the weekend’s other game (which was actually probably one of the better games of the tournament), Germany took third spot after beating Uruguay 3-2.

All of which leaves us with the sweepstake results:

1^st Natalie (Spain) 150 AUD

2^nd Ross (Netherlands) 90 AUD

3^rd Yoppy (Germany) 50 AUD

4^th Andrew (Uruguay) 30 AUD

Yours in Football.

World Cup Sweepstake 2010: Two to go...

So Folks,

We now know who will contest the final of the FIFA Budweiser-McDonalds-Sony-Samsung-Hyundai-we-all-knew-that-Spain-Would-Get-to-the-final World Cup and what do you know? After a journey that started 2 years ago with 204 hopeful qualifying nations, which was then whittled to 32 nations carrying the hopes and dreams of their respective countries into the Finals, we now are left with just the two contenders.

In the Red-with-snazzy-blue-shorts-and-a-little-bit-of-gold-trim corner we have the Spanish, whilst in the retina-scarring fluoro orange corner we have the Dutch, which to be fair, were two of the countries that many had been tipping before the tournament began to leave South Africa with the 14-inch gold trophy greedily held to their collective bosom.

Of the two, the Netherlands are regarded as the outsider but at the end of the day it’s only 11 v 11 and there is only so much hypnotic death-by-a-thousand-cuts style of tip-tap-tip-tap passing tiki-strangulation that the Dutch will endure before comedy villain Mark van Bommel will crack, come steaming in on some poor unsuspecting Spanish midfielder, sending him crashing into the advertising hoardings by way of a solid boot in the ar5e with a size 12 clog.

Either way, we are going to have a new World Cup winner with neither country having managed to reach the pinnacle of World Football before. And that has surely got to be good for the game.

But let’s spare a moment for the losers of the semis. Probably the worst game in any tournament to lose, the Germans and the Uruguayans have been sent home at the penultimate hurdle left to rue what might have been. There’s no doubt that the good people of Montevideo will rightfully welcome their team back to a heroes return with dancing on the streets, copious dancing and singing with Grappamiel flowing faster than a Jubulani ball into row Z.

The Germans, however, are a more pragmatic bunch and after having been played off the park by the relentless sideway passing of the Spanish it transpired that Paul “the oracle” Octopus had predicted the result, leading to mass outcry and a move for the octopus to be turned into calamari; although considering that it was the Spanish who sent the Germans home, surely paella would be a better option?

But then here’s the thing:

In some cruel form of FIFA-inspired torture neither of these scenarios have transpired yet because we still have the 3^rd and 4^th place play-off to consider. A game that is generating little interest, save for the fact that it provides a convenient way for us to determine who receives the 30 dollars from the sweep for 4^th place and who gets the 50 dollars for 3^rd.

So as a reminder – here are the contestants who’s sweepstake destiny will be decided in the wee hours of Sunday morning.

In the shiny light blue corner sporting a dodgy hair-style and humming the epic and never-ending national anthem Himno Nacional Uruguayo we have Uruguay’s Antonio Michelatti

Whilst in the simple yet stunning black and white leiderhosen combo, standing sipping the super-strength lager from his moustache, we have YopMeister

Let the battle commence.

World Cup 2010 Sweepstake - Four-Play

Well Folks,

We’re getting to the pointy end of the jamboree that is the FIFA Budweiser-McDonalds-Sony-Samsung-Hyundai-Let’s-all-laugh-at-England World Cup and we now know the 4 teams that are going to compete for the semis. And of course the four lucky (by association) people from the 32 hope-filled participants of our Sweepstake that set off on this journey all those (what seems like) months ago.

As a reminder, here are the people still left in the sweep:

Natalie (Spain)

Ross (Holland)

“Yoppy” (Germany)

Andrew (Uruguay)

And prizes for 1^st, 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th to be distributed as follows:

1^st 150.00
2^nd 90.00
3^rd 50.00
4^th 30.00

Working the night shift as I am this evening and with less than two hours until kick-off, I’ve taken the opportunity to take a break from chasing, plucking and counting chickens whilst breathing in the discharge of the “rendering process” (whatever that may be) to have a look at what we have learned since the last update and to preview the upcoming semi-finals.

Hardly seems worth the while considering you’ll all know by the time you read these words who has already won the first semi but seeing as most of you have paid into the Sweepstake (Sidey – looking at you mate!), I figured what the hell, I might as well try and give you some value for money, right?

Well – for a start, all those people that have been saying “It’s a South American Cup” (believe me – there have been some) are now probably scurrying under a rock, burying themselves with great gusto into Wimbledon (but hasn’t that finished already?) or for a brave (but deluded) last few pledging they're allegiance firmly on the Last Great South American Latin Hope that is....erm....Uruguay.

Bye-bye Brazil – seems you weren’t that good after all. Maradona – the South American version of a leprechaun on smack - managed to give “Ze Germans” a massively ill-conceived motivator in the pre-match press conference. Well Diego, as you go home to a rapturous welcome from a surprisingly easy to please Buenos Aires population, you can comfort yourself with the realisation that perhaps “Ze Germans” weren’t that “nervousssh” after all. Indeed, like the cars that hail from the Fatherland, the German football team continues to run like the well-oiled machine they generally are at these tournaments. And oh how that annoys the English.

Yes, the match-up with Spain in the second semi-final looks like it is going to be a cracker. Especially considering the Spanish coach del Bosque, goalkeeper Pepe Reina, golden boot shoe-in David Villa, and (probably) Manuel from Fawlty Towers have all been saying (again) that Torres will unleash his hitherto undiscovered skills at finding the back of the old onion bag in Spain’s upcoming match.

I can hardly wait.

But hey – perhaps an awful World Cup will keep the vultures from taking Liverpool’s prized asset away from us....even if it means my extremely misguided 5 dollar bet on him to win the Golden Boot has proven to be an over-enthusiastic heart over-ruling a more than willing brain.

But back to tonight’s semi final. And here’s where the World Cup gets really exciting for Yours Truly and (at least four of) our sweepstake participants.

Now, I’m not (much of) a betting man but there’s something about the World Cup that brings out the “I can beat the Bookie” mentality in me. But, true to form, things have not been going.....er, well - to form.

So far, my friends at Centrebet.com have welcomed into their corporate, sweaty, slightly damp-smelling overcoat’s heaving pockets :

1. The aforementioned 5 dollar bet on Torres to be the leading scorer of the tournament. A player who is now, quite frankly, looking like a man that would struggle to score his ar5e on a barbed-wire fence
2. A 20 dollar bet on a draw between Germany and the Socceroos. How they must have p!ssed themselves at that one – great way to start ‘sticking it to the bookie’ that one
3. And then of course there was the cheeky 5 dollar bet on England to win......THE TOURNAMENT....... Well, I figured on the off chance that if they were going to do it and I had to listen to it for the next 50 years then I may as well gain financially from it

But then here comes the good news, for you see, not all my money (at least not yet) has gone Centrebet’s way and I’m sure their struggling to catch some zzzzzzz’s these days when they must realise that I still have a little bit of money out on a long lend in their bank account:

First, there’s the not so silly looking 20 dollar bet on Spain at 7-1 to win the tournament. Oh yes – that would cover my bets (and sweepstakes) that would. And still leave me with enough money to treat myself to a bottle of cheap sangria at the nearest Tapas bar.

However, as my dark horse punt, I placed a 5 dollar bet on Uruguay to win the tournament at ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIVE TO ONE!

Now wouldn’t that make the whole experience worthwhile?!

To the people that would say “ah but how can you cheer on a team that cheated to win the tournament?” I could give them 625 answers but for now, I’ll give them just the one....

“Está justo celoso. ¡Venga en Uruguay - permítanos golpe el Atasca-Llevando holandés!”

Of course, by now you’re all p!ssing yourselves because you already know that Uruguay, the nasty cheating team that they are, have been kicked out of the World Cup....

By a team full of players wearing fluoro and clogs.

And where else could that happen but at this great jamboree that we call the FIFA Budweiser-McDonalds-Sony-Samsung-Hyundai-Let’s-all-laugh-at-England World Cup?