My life’s been ruined by whistleblowers
I detest whistleblowers. They are the scourge of this great nation, and have been so all my life, in the four provinces.
And by Heavens we need to be resilient to be spared the worst consequences of the dire activities of the army of whistleblowers. Whistleblowers throughout the land have caused more trouble and strife and enmity than even the Black and Tans in their dreadful heyday amongst us. The same treatment that we eventually managed to dish out to the Tans should have been applied to the deadly whistleblowers decades ago.
That for sure is the pure truth yet again.I
detest
whistleblowers for sure.
They should all be loaded aboard a leaking boat and dispatched away out to the Porcupine Bank on a one-way ticket as punishment for their misdeeds. Whistleblowers, to my certain knowledge, have often turned brother against brother, have riven families apart, and have caused countless gallons of blood to be spilt throughout rural Ireland in particular because of their wilful abuse and misuse of the power and control which we have surrendered to them hoping for a fair and just outcome.
I detest and abhor whistleblowers and it takes both a brave and foolhardy citizen to state that openly in today’s highly-charged atmosphere. But I am committed to telling the truth in this space week after week and frankly I don’t give a curse what happens to me because of this tirade. Somebody has to speak out about this dreadful and continuing campaign against us all by the powerful clan of whistleblowers.
Exactly like the escalating scourge of drug abuse,
it is a frightening fact that
there are two or three whistleblowers to be found today in every parish in the country.
I detest whistleblowers. I can swear on a mile of Bibles, if necessary, that several of them down the years directly harmed me both physically and mentally. Not alone that but several of them also committed felonies against my sons. I can provide chapter and verse on those misdeeds too if so required. To my shame, I have been afraid for a myriad of reasons to speak out against the whistleblowers until now. But I can take no more and will take no more.
Enough is enough. Action is critically necessary
It is necessary to state here that the whistleblowers against whom this hot tirade is directed are the thousands of GAA referees who ply their trade at club level in every county in the country. I am not at all interested in the activities of any other species of whistleblower in any other social or economic zone. And I am not interested in the activities of the whistleblowers who control what were called foreign games throughout the couple of decades when I was playing GAA at club level in the many counties I dwelt in.
and was being directly and painfully the victim of these GAA whistleblowers’ abuse and misuse of the great power they possessed on the playing fields. After all the years I still feel the pain.
Because of the activities of the overwhelming majority of these club-level GAA whistleblowers ye know as well as I that
Parish rivalries all over the land have too often been dreadfully heightened and whetted by the decisions taken on the field of play during important games when the pride of both parishes is at stake. Ye know there have been far too many pitched battles involving decent citizens who are passionate GAA supporters and, indeed, much blood has been spilt and reputations ruined forever.
And ye know well, furthermore, that
Many of these appalling incidents would never have occurred if the whistleblower had properly and justly exercised his great power and control right from the beginning of the game. It was my misfortune to be a slight corner-forward during my playing career. It is also relevant that I was bearded in an era when beards were not as common as they are today, and their owners often regarded with suspicion by the conservative rural societies from which the whistleblowers themselves came. Worst of all was the fact that I was a reporter for the local paper wherever I was and many held the view that a reporter was lower than a snake’s belly because, dammit, didn’t he spread the court report about Uncle Paddy being sent to jail all over the paper. I was not much of a player, to be honest about that too, and my only asset was pace. By God, I needed to be able to run fast because it seemed that every burly defender marking me was a cousin or even a son of Uncle Paddy and, even before the ball was thrown in by the whistleblower, was physically and verbally abusing me and stating he would have my guts for garters before half time.
The whistleblower never seemed to use his Echo Thunderer whistle to protect me either. Most games
indeed
ended with me being carried off almost senseless before half time. I was well and truly marked in every sense of the word by then. The sad and sore truth.
Whistleblowers in charge of big county clashes today have numerous assistants and supports and, for the really big games, they now have the Hawk Eye system. Most of the club whistleblowers I have observed operate at a different level entirely. Many struggle to keep up with the increasingly faster play. And when it comes to the game-changing moments which decide games, many behave as if they are as infallible as the Pope even when they clearly are not.
And the sideline craic begins. There have to be a few good club whistleblowers here and there, I suppose, but my Hawk
Eye
has not seen too many of them.
I’m getting cross and my left knee is aching a bit from the marrow memory of being “marked” good and proper by Uncle Paddy’s relations so I will stop now. But ye know how I feel about those whistleblowers.
