IN the run-up to any All-Ireland final, there are feet and yards of newsprint written about the usual suspects: The teams, the players, the managers, their families and the fans, writes Colm O'Regan.

Maybe it was the tension of the situation; a combination of the fear of being refused and the excitement of the dangerous road I was about to embark on, writes Colm O’Regan

Colm O’Regan writes about the struggles of forming an opinion in the 21st century. 

When the neo-Nazis get organised here in Ireland it’ll be some cod-Celtic nonsense like the Sons of Balor or Tuatha De Dannann Purity. Thankfully it won’t be Irish Pride because that’s a sliced pan, writes Colm O’Regan

Donald Trump is probably the closest there is a toddler in terms of lying. So far he has made more than 800 false or misleading claims, writes Colm O’Regan

I can’t keep up with it, says Colm O’Regan. 

Rival — the word comes from the Latin rivus, or a stream. Presumably keen rivalries began between people who shared a stream. One man’s fish-source is another man’s tannery drain.

Apparently the Confederations Cup was on over the last while. It’s the tournament to give a little smoke test to the football World Cup the following year. 

Everywhere I go, people always ask me: who I am, and where do I come from. And I always tell them, I’m from Dripsey, MIGHTY, MIGHTY DRIPSEY.

Some Republican senators these days seem to be playing the Bad Guy in such an obvious way, they make the A-Team look like The Wire, writes Colm O’Regan