Eoghan Harris makes another “balls-up”

Talking out of his Harris

I’m not a regular reader of the sensationalist fascist rag known as the Sunday Independent (the Irish paper that is – not to be confused with the English Independent on Sunday which is almost at the opposite end of the spectrum even though they share a common owner).  However one of my local pubs has complimentary copies – useful if the toilets run out of paper.  Anyway I was in one particular establishment watching Tyrone beat Armagh in the Ulster Championship.   I will concede that its GAA coverage is good – rather ironic considering that certain columnists on other pages have an aversion to the association and view it in a similar way to which the Ku Klux Klan view people of dark skin pigmentation.

One particular columnist Eoghan Harris churns out the usual bullshit.  I don’t pay much attention to what he says as it’s mostly arrogant, self-opinionated bollocks anyway, but if it’s factually inaccurate it’s worth noting.   He’s been called many things over the years by other bloggers, such as Infactah, Cedar Lounge, Maman Poulet, Green Ink, Associate Notes, Tangents  and Adam Maguire - most of them fairly accurate. 

In the wake of the Ryan Report detailing cases of abuse of children in the care of various institutions of the Irish Catholic church, Harris touches on Fianna Fáil’s (at worst) alleged complicity with the church or at best its failure to come down on the church harshly enough.  He cites a story from the 1950s which would seem to contradict this notion.  A certain bishop had urged football supporters to boycott a match between the Republic of Ireland and Yugoslavia because of a cardinal imprisoned by Tito for alledgedlt being a wartime collaborator.  It seems however that the cute hoors of the Soldiers of Destiny went against the bishop’s wishes:

“far from bowing to the archbishop, the prominent Fianna Fail shadow minister Oscar Traynor threw in the ball to start the match at Dalymount Park on October 19, 1955”

Although Eoghan obviously likes his detail right down to the exact date of the match, this couldn’t possibly have happened, as he makes a glaringly obvious error.  It looks like he’s getting his ball games mixed up.  As any schoolboy knows soccer matches start with a kick-off, not a throw-in.  At the start of Gaelic football matches the ball is of course “thrown in” by the referee. However I’m pretty sure there were no GAA teams in Tito’s Yugoslavia. 

So not for the first time Harris is (quite literally!) talking balls. I’ve written a letter to the editor pointing this out (albeit in a more subtle and diplomatic manner), but won’t be holding my breath regarding publication next Sunday.

On Extinct Tropical-themed confectionery products

It was while driving to work one morning last week when it occurred to me for some bizarre inexplicable reason that the canned fizzy drink Lilt was no longer on the market.   Or at least not in cans anyway.  If I remember correctly it was a mixture of pineapple, grapefruit and various other tropical fruit flavours, topped up wiht citirc acid, tartrazine and assorted crap that would now probably be banned by the EU. The TV ad featured shots of an idyllic tropical island with thejingle sung in a strong Caribbean accent “Lilt – with a totally tropical tee-yast”.

Around about the same time (ie early ‘80s) I recall there was a coconut and cherry flavoured chocolate bar called Cabana, which disappeared without a trace soon afterwards. Then not so long after this came out a disgusting bright red drink purporting to be a mixture of various tropical fruit juices called Um Bongo. The song featured in the TV ad (sung – I believe, but can’t be 100% sure – by the comedian Lenny Henry) was along the lines of an African tribal chant accompanied by a jungle drum beat with the chorus line “Um Bongo, Um Bongo, they drink it in the Congo”. It’s unlikely that this sort of thing would be broadcast nowadays in the age of rampant political correctness. But it’s probably purely coincidental that roughly around the same time the Tory MP Alan Clarke called for black immigrants to be sent back to BongoBongoland.

It’s not so much the politically incorrect nature of the ad, nor its stereotyping, but more the gross factual inaccuracy that bothers me. I’m sure if you were to ask Fergal Keane or Orla Guerin fresh from a reporting assignment in the corrupt, war-ravaged, mineral-rich central African state (that’s assuming the song refers to the Democratic Republic of Congo rather than Congo-Brazzaville, although the former was at the time still known as Zaire (but before that the Belgian Congo at the time when waffle-eating Sprouts had an empire), so it’s debatable) if they saw anyone sipping Um Bongo out of a straw from a garishly-coloured cardboard carton, I’m sure the answer would be an emphatic “no”.

A cursory glance at Wikipedia proves my point:

It is particularly famous for its long running (sung) slogan of “They Drink It In The Congo“, used with the accompanying animated television advert since the 1980s. However, Um Bongo is not marketed in either the Republic of the Congo or the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

And just to be clear I don’t miss Lilt, Um Bongo, Cabana or any other e-number, artificial-flavouring-infested tropical-themed confectionery product of the 1980s (nor for that matter do I miss that particular decade), but I do toss and turn in bed at night wondering whatever became of them. I assume they went the way of the yuppy, the spangly flecked suit, black slip-ons and white socks, the bubble perm and matching moustache as sported by stock stage Liverpudlians in period comedy sketches, the wafer thin leather tie, the skintight pair of bleached jeans and the mullet haircut. And good riddance to them all.

Nostalgia’s just not what it used to be.

University Challenged

I must admit to feeling a sense of schadenfreude on hearing that Corpus Christi College, Oxford had been stripped of their University Challenge title for fielding an illegible team member.  Much has been written about Gail Trimble the knowledgable team captain (and a lot of it quite unjustifiably derisory), but very little has been said about the real villain of the piece, Sam Kay, who was no longer a student at the college at the time the final was recorded.  It was for this very reason that I missed out on appearing on University Challenge for Sheffield back in the summer of 1999.  As I was a postgrad student at the time doing a 1-year masters course due to end in September of that year, I was ineligible as you had to be enrolled at the university for the next academic year.  This was made clear in the instructions the union received from Granada TV.  As no-one else seemed terribly interested, I was put in charge by the union officer and ended up as team selector/manager.  A job which generally involved doing as many pub quizzes as posible – or at least that was our excuse.  Ironically it would’t have mattered if I tried to cheat the system as we were eliminated in the second round at a time when I was still a registered student.  But as Jeremy Paxman says “rules is rules”. 

Being a champion of the underdog and with an anti-elitist streak runnng through me, I always tend to support the other team on UC, whenever a team from Oxford or Cambridge is playing.  So naturally my sympathies lay with Manchester rather than Oxford during the final.  There’s a great deal of snobbery about universities, particularly in the UK.  But the fact is that a degree’s a degree, no matter where it comes from.  A graduate of Boatrace College, Oxbridge may be in a better position on the employment market than a graduate of the University of Barrow-in -Furness (formerly Barrow-in-Furness College of knitting and upholstery), but it’s the talents of the individual tht matter nowadays, and what that individual does with those talents.

I look forward to the day that the University Challege trophy comes to Barrow-in-Furness.

Feck off you kent

While we’re on the subject of “big ignorant feckers” (see below), apparently a poster on the London underground advertising Magners cider which contains the Father Tedesque phrase “Feck off bees” has been cleared by the Advertising Standards Authority. Although someone complained that the ad could be seen by young children the word “feck” was ruled not to be offensive. Maybe the same people who complained about this ad should also complain about the English regional tourist board ads urging people to visit Kent (or if you’re a lttle further north Scunthorpe) or TV coverage of Arsenal matches. Or even the human rights organisations who advocate Freedom For China.

What is a liberal intellectual anyway?

The Guardian (12 December 2008), has a profile of the Candian MP and academic, Michaell Ignatieff, better known on this side of the Atlantic as a former columnist with the Observer and broadcaster in the 1990s. Currently leader of the Canadian Liberal Party Ignatieff is hotly tipped by certain quarters to be Canada’s next prime minister.

The piece ends with an observation from editor of Prospect magazine David Goodhart:

“If he does make it to the premiership,as Goodhart points out, he will become the fourth leader of a major English-speaking country, after Barack Obama, Gordon Brown and Australia’s Kevin Rudd, who could be classified as a liberal intellectual.”

An intersesting (even if meaningless) point. What exactly constitutes a liberal intellectual is unclear though. However the changes of government in the US and Australia certainly bear testament to this. Obama’s predecessor could not by any stretch of the imagination be described as liberal or intellectual in any sense of either word. Rudd’s predecessor John Howard, although a member of the Liberal party could hardly be described as “liberal” with a small L, and certainly not an intellectual.

Apart from the four countries mentioned there are few others in the English-speaking world which could be called “major”. It’s fairly safe to assume to Goodhart would not list Brian Cowen’s 26 county republic as a major English-speaking country. In any case there would no doubt be howls of laughter in the Dail and beyond if Biffo, or his predecessor Bertie were to be classified as liberal intellectuals..

BBC Sachs Jonathan Ross and Re-brands

If only the first part of the above statement were true.  Not entirely accurate, but it goes well with the crap pun.  To be blunt about it I can’t stand the bastard. He’s little more than an overpaid egomaniac.  As well as being (along with his mate Brand) one of the most obnoxious, arrogant, smug, irritating tossers on TV.

I was in Romania when the scandal broke.  I had no idea it would still be in the news by the time I got back to Blighty. And in fact I’m getting rather bored with the whole thing.  The latest news at the time of writing is that the BBC bosses are being hauled over the coals by a parliamentary select committee of MPs and getting a right bollocking for their trouble.  It’s vey simple really – sack Brand and Ross, slap them with a heavy fine and take out an injuction banning them from ever appearing on TV or radio again – and then move on and forget about it.

Predictably enough the apologists for Brand and Ross cite cutting edge comedy or pushing back the boundaries.  Any immature obnoxious schoolboy could phone up and elderly pensioner who masquerades as a Catalan waiter in a Torquay hotel and leave a message on his answerphone claiming to have fucked his grand-daughter. There’s nothing cutting edge about that.

I don’t find either Brand or Ross remotely funny.  Or remotely likeable for that matter.  But neither am I one of those Daily Mail reading types who enjoys being offended and gets their kicks by writing serial letters of complaint.  I’m very glad Brand and Ross pulled off this pathetic stunt though – as it shows them up for what they are – and gets them off our TV screens and off the airwaves.  Hopefully for good.