[quote=“Big_Dan_Campbell, post:1662, topic:34935”]
A man walked into a Dublin bar. A proud and historic house. Guinness taps inviting him to a higher state of being And he ordered Coors Light. Is there a helpline?
Had Roy opted for beering rather than being it would have been epic.
Does it ever get better?
Looks incredibly grim.
It really does
Poor oul’ Pat Inglesbody must be turning in his grave if this type of guff is being passed off as some form of literary genius.
The lads are usually in the snug. They must have got there late
What I’d give to be standing outside Keohes in Roy’s presence this evening.
There is some buzz in Dublin this evening, I’m considering missing my train down.
Pregnant with possibility.
These people who go to the same South Inner city pubs all the time to be seen there must be fierce clownshoes. Going for pints with tiresome work colleagues on Friday evening so they can tell some Whatsapp group they were in The Long Hall or McDaids and spotted some no mark GGA personality or Fair City actor.
Besides, why would you go to a pub to drink out on the street?
That’s a needless attack on @Bandage
The bard almost caught for words over the beauty of the Munster championship
the Ballon D’or of bartenders
Just astonishing literature.
When I grow up I want to be Roy
Roy’s writing has made many a man feel like “an absolute giant of Dublin town “. Beautiful.
Write a tweet in the inimitable style of the doyen of Irish sports journalism Roy Curtis bemoaning the fact Dublin were forced to play outside Croke Park in a provincial ground in Laois in their Leinster semi-final loss to old enemies Meath:
Exiled from their sacred citadel, Dublin were cast adrift into the parochial pastures of Portlaoise — and there, amid the humbler hedgerows, the mighty fell. Meath, those eternal insurgents, stormed the blue bastion and left broken dreams scattered in the Laois twilight. A travesty, a tragedy.
Or
In a grotesque act of vandalism against the very spirit of Gaelic football, Dublin were hauled from their fortress and hurled into the mudflats of Portlaoise. There, amid the stench of injustice, Meath feasted on the chaos. This was not defeat. It was sabotage.
‘priceless social vitamin’ is just astonishing literature.
