Four decades on, I will admit it ... Mr Cooney, you were dead right

MY metamorphosis into a grumpy old man is complete. Next, I’ll be shouting at clouds, in the style of Grandpa from ‘The Simpsons’.

Walking home the other day, the tumbleweed of litter on my street was too much to bear. “Those bloody kids, filthy little beggars ...”

An ill-tempered rant to no one in particular spilled out of me looking at the trail of evidence suggesting a good night in the nearby fields.

Who else but the young would consume such an insipid cocktail of over-caffeinated energy drinks, chips with the consistency of plasticine from a convenience store, and beer that shares its DNA with cat urine? And then they chuck the remains on the street as if it’s nothing to do with them.

The flashback hit me like a train, taking me back 40 years to the time I used to ignore old Mr Cooney as he stomped along my parents’ road, picking up rubbish and muttering about the local litter bugs.

It may not have been discarded Dutch Gold my neighbour wearily collected back in the 1970s – more likely packets of Tayto and tins of TK lemonade – but he was damn right about the thoughtlessness of teenagers. Four decades later, nothing has changed except the increased volume of the litter.

I warned my own two teens to clean up their act lest it had been their mess all along. But they just rolled their eyes and pointed to the ditch at the end of the street whence a hungry fox has been known to sally forth to rip open bin bags left out for collection.

Oops.

A perfect GAA day

AN ITCHY crimson on the neck from the strong rays, a rumbling gut from the endless bags of sweets passed around, a hoarse throat from the hollering and a numb bum from the four-hour round trip plus the unforgiving seats of an ageing stadium. These are the badges of honour from a sun-gilded evening that reminds us why the GAA can be untouchable for entertainment. No one gave the Cork footballers a prayer against Mayo in the Round 4A qualifier at the Gaelic Grounds in Limerick at the weekend. We made the jaunt more in mad hope than expectation, just proud to see De Nephew line out for the Leesiders. Minutes before the throw-in, one young Rebel supporter led his father to seats in front of us near the pitchside. “We’ll get a great view from here, Dad,” he exclaimed. “Doesn’t matter where he sits, he’ll never see Cork win,” chortled one cocky Mayo supporter behind us.

The story of the match has already been well written – a tight first half followed by a second period in which Mayo started to bury the game. But the Rebels twice came back from the dead for a heart-stopping finish, only to be pipped by a point in extra time.

The crowd of 13,505 realised we’d just witnessed what one journalist called the finest match of the championship so far. More than that, it made us appreciate that treasured confluence of fabulous weather and the unique atmosphere of a GAA crowd.

Good-humoured banter bounced between the fans, children gambolled in the aisles oblivious to the action yards away and at the final whistle we all invaded the pitch to congratulate and commiserate.

Never mind that it was the ‘wrong’ result. It was a thrilling evening of which memorable Irish summers are made. And, yes, it almost made up for missing U2.

Timing’s everything

TEN years ago this month, I made a personal pilgrimage to Athens, Georgia, home of rock gods REM. It seemed like a good idea at the time – a short diversion from a family trip across the US to satisfy a musical obsession.

For hours, I stalked the streets of Athens, a pretty Southern university town, in the hope of spotting Stipe, Mills, Buck or even Berry.

I pressed my nose against the glass of Weaver D’s, the cafe made famous by the album ‘Automatic for the People’. It was closed. I scoured the flyposters in the hope of spotting an impromptu gig. There were none. I hunted for the band’s studio where they convened to rehearse. I couldn’t find it.

Deflated, I texted my brother back home to convey how utterly I’d failed to find any trace of the band.

“REM?” he says. “Shure, they’re playing five nights in Dublin at the Olympia this week.”