The minute I say the article I knew heâd be all over it. He wasnât the worst ref either.
That was the best of the Willieâs good teams - Flanagans, Quinns, Priorâs and Gilheaneys for ruggedness and Darcy and Frank Smyth to add a modicum of finesse.
I suppose 2 footballers and 13 âphysically robustâ would hardly cut it now. Some of their more forceful warriors are even nursing kids. Jerome Quinn is looking particularly grim.
Or the fella who got badly sunburned and the doctor prescribed him viagra. Will it help with the sunburn doctor? No but itâll keep the sheets off your skin
I know the Gilheanys ⌠just thought iâd add that useless piece of info in âŚ
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I was down in the graveyard there earlier and saw the resting places of 2 colourful pals of mine from times past. I suppose to be fair, while this is actually a brief clash, the backgrounds are important.
Mr.P had many fine attributes, a tremendous accordeon player, a noble singer of a previously unheard ballad, well fit for long recitations and a skilled plasterer. There was hardly a house in the parish that hadnât availed of his craft. On the down side he couldnât read or write or worse again understand money. The values of notes bypassed him but he always swore by âthe blue ones ladâ.
Mr.F was a 5â8" tank, a quintessential small farmer with an affection for porter. Now he had his good points. He was a permanent fixture in the 4 jersey for the club for surely 15 years. In Boxtyâs heyday in the 7 shirt I had license to tear forward aâla Jack McCaffrey knowing Mr.F was possibly entangled in a brawl behind me. There was however a small streak of meaness in him in that heâd have a dig if he felt secure whether itâd be over livestock or any small matter.
He had an accident in the early days of January 02 when he fired the pan into the fire (portered) and the grease re-ignited causing a savage wound to his face. The Queen Bee applied cicitrine powder initially and gave him a supply but while the wound healed it looked horrific.
So now you have the outline of the characters, lets move on.
I picked up Mr.P in the afternoon about the 10th Jan and we slipped down for a shared gallon. We were in the early days of the âŹ, the Punt was still currency and the ÂŁ is always legal tender here.
There wasnât a Christian in the pub but the 3 of us. Drinks ordered Mr.P went for the top pocket and extracted a blue. Weâre all convivial until Mr.F hones in on the weak spot - the moneyâŚ
Mr.F. âHow are you coping with the new money Mr.PââŚâŚ
Mr.P instantly spots the barb and with the pint halfway to his mouth and his eyebrow raised slightly responds:
Fucking better than you coped with the frying pan yaâ bollocks.
The light of Heaven to them both.
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Magnificent!
The dirtiest player I have ever seen and I saw a lot of Gerry Flanagan, also a member of that team of course!
In the early 90s we were doing well enough and ended up playing Aughawillan (whether it was in the league or the championship is still up for debate in the Farmer household). Anyway, we were getting absolutely slaughtered but one of our lads would run for Ireland and was doing so until close to the end of the match. A few of the Willie lads, including the aforementioned Quinn, bursted our lad off the ball causing him having to depart the match. It wasnât a case that the game was in doubt, just that they couldnât be arsed running around after an energetic young lad.
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âŚ
Beautifully told
Tremendous story, beautifully told
They were tough nuts all right. There was a nasty streak attaching to many of them. Jerome was an absolute headcase in fairness but wasnât alone.
Thereâs an indefatigable spirit to them which gives them a bit of an edge. Theyâll be hard bet the year I think.
Cicatrin powder was great gear
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every so often, boxty lashes out something like this and it reignites my enjoyment of tfk.
Up the Willies!
Jerome is a brother of the more famous Mickey. I had a lot of time for Mickey until one evening in knock-out in Drumshanbo when Manor had their foot on the Willieâs throat.
Mickey was about 37/8 at the time, slightly past it but as time ebbed away and 5/6 down he was exhorting the line to "take that useless fucker XXX off)
A long kickout hovered around midfield and as they rose a very young Manor chap casually brushed off Mickeyâs jaw - cut and thrust of club football. Mickey collapsed. His wife was directly in front of me and her vocabulary was viscious.
The young Manor chap was distraught, pushing in to see was the folk-hero alive until Gerry Flanagan flattened him with a box. He hopped up sprightly enough unlike Quinn and as @farmerinthecity pal restarted proceedings he attempted to shake hands with Quinn.
Vigorously resisted followed with a Frank Rijkaard spit.
In that moment I removed Mickey Quinn from my Hall of Fame. A tramp.
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What year was that boxty,I remember our other all star splitting james Kellyâs head open by coming down with his elbow on top of his head after going up for a ball.TBF Kelly took it well.
A touch of madness/pigheadness in the Quinns. Weâve had one of the brothers in the club who can be the finest but an awful fucker if on the warpath. His son is a fine footballer/marker and had Alan Brogan, Kev Mc and Connolly throwing digs at him at different stages of the Dublin championship 3 years ago.
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A tramp in other words.
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Our tramp
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01/02 thereabouts. The hardcore Willieâs , Mitchy and Gerry Flanagan, the Quinns and the Priors were well weaned at the time but the oul fear factor was still worth a few points.
All that said, Iâm a great fan of their indefatigable spirit, great folk at an oulâ wedding or funeral or an oulâ gathering. A cousin of mine is married to Winkers sister.
The best kind of tramp
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