Larry Ryan: Seasick at the snooker and going off Roy Keane in cranky January
ACHTUNG BABY: Appleâs decision to give out half a billion free copies of the U2 album âSongs of Innocenceâ has left a lasting legacy in the Ryan family car.Â
It is fully seven years since Apple sparked consternation and rage around the world by giving out half a billion free copies of the U2 album .
Coming at a time when people were still in the habit of deleting texts every few months to make room for a new selfie habit, this unsolicited deposit onto phones wasnât universally appreciated.
Apple was soon obliged to publish complicated instructions on deleting the intrusion, but not everyone mastered them. Including the missus. And lately this oversight has rebounded catastrophically on the family unit.
The mysteries of Bluetooth technology now insist on Bono wailing the opening bars of The Miracle, without consent, the moment she sits into the car. It seems the only way to stop him might be to smash her phone. Or trade in the car.
Which just goes to show what can happen when you let things slide.
So that is our inspiration today, as this column parks its customary sunny outlook to shout stop before things become critical on various sporting annoyances. What else are these cranky weeks of January for?
Find yourself disorientated, dizzy, stomach lurching like youâre on deck after dinner during a red warning? Then youâve probably been tuned into this weekâs coverage of the Masters. Ah, itâs all wrong â a 12X6 parallelogram squeezed into an imperfect square by the perspective, giving you the impression the baulk colours might fall clean off the baize at any moment.
Now weâre John Virgo after every shot. Whereâs the cue ball going, if it can make it up the slope?
On the BBC, the atrocity is compounded by a gaudy yellow strip across the screen for the score, in the manner of a news ticker about to reveal that Grant Holt has come out of retirement to boost Norwichâs bid for safety.
In fairness, the Ally Pally has been buzzing since the quarters, but itâs not the first time the TV fan has been let down at the Masters â something to do with the gantry position. The silence of too many has clearly allowed this scourge to persist, let's mobilise now before they make a habit of it.Â
Time was, only genuine milestones were observed â Peleâs 1,000th goal would have been worthy, even if a few hundred of them were in his front garden. But the landmark business has been out of control for some time. Every other player is closing in on some âmagicalâ milestone.
Chris Wood becoming the first Kiwi to hit 50 in the Premier League. Daniel Johnson describing the feeling of scoring his 50th in Preston North End colours as âunbelievableâ. James Tarkovski having âthe honourâ of scoring the 1,000th goal Manchester United have conceded in the Premier League.
Soon the whole sporting experience will be distilled into data chunks. Thatâs not to discourage the boffins completely. We must still be kept informed of achievements such as Fulhamâs this week â becoming the first English team since 1895-96 to win two away games by seven or more goals in the same season.
Yet a new low in milestone addiction was also reached, after which we must surely draw a deep line in the sand: âThomas Tuchel was celebrating his 350th day in charge.âÂ
It has probably reached a stage where an agreement on Roy Keane will have to be enshrined in any future climate accord. How many data centre clouds are needed to cope with the clickbait the man generates?
Itâs not Royâs fault necessarily. He canât be blamed for our obsession with him. But there is surely enough âcontentâ in all the slamming and raging he is likely to do through the rest of his punditry career without also sensationalising the âRoy Keane storyâ of every single individual who ever met him.
It appeared a new low had been reached last year when a joke with Gary Neville about drinking 11 bottles became âKeanoâs Booze Shameâ on the front page of a newspaper.
Though that was arguably topped this week when some lighthearted bantz from Ian Harte in a magazine interview about a night out with Keane translated to online headlines like: âRoy Keane Threatened To 'F**king Smash' A Drunk Opponent, It Scared Him So Much He Sobered Up.âÂ
Maybe we should have used Dry January to wean ourselves off Keano for a while. But weâll have to start somewhere. How about a blanket ban on raiding the Keane archives? With absolutely zero tolerance for anyone attempting to âlift the lidâ on what Roy really said in Saipan/the Highbury tunnel/after that MUTV appearance.
The unique language of rugby has infiltrated GAA in recent times, the rubicon crossed when DĂłnal Ăg Cusack once submitted that the Limerick hurlers still had âwork-onsâ. But can we take a vow now, before the Allianz Leagues resume, that the latest eggvolution cannot take off: âSome really good learns were installedâ.
It was highlighted after the win over Kilmallock that Ballygunner sharpshooter Dessie Hutchinson had âscore score scoreâ written on his wrist tape. Nothing wrong with that, of course â itâs easy forget. But itâs important to move swiftly now and ensure no return to the noughties fascination with parsing the cryptic messages scrawled on their hands inspiring every hurler and footballer to new heights.
It was linked to the rise of the sports psychologist, of course, smart people, well aware that their pricey but ephemeral methods can come under scrutiny from the county board when the boys are hammered in the first round.
It was no harm to have something tangible down in writing so when the invoice landed under the nose of a quizzical treasurer, a look at highlights would remind him it was your man who scrawled â110%â on the six forwardsâ right hands.
The @FootyScran Twitter account has been doing tireless work lately, chronicling the good and bad of tucker served at sporting arenas around the world. A similar domestic focus is drastically needed, particularly on certain venues, nameless for now, that test to the limit the iron constitutions of sports lovers.
An important historical document excavated this week by the crucial @scary_biscuits Twitter account illustrates that our forefathers didnât stand back from this kind of fight. An Irish Times article from 1958 reveals how punters didnât take it lying down when subjected to dreadful conditions in the nationâs capital.
âOut-of-town visitors to Dublin for leading football and other sporting events have been annoyed to find that when they asked for sandwiches for a pre-departure snack before returning by train to the country, the sandwiches contained margarine instead of butter.âÂ
It could have been worse, they might have been in the car listening to The Miracle. But the victims werenât going home quietly and the matter was escalated to Bord FĂĄilte, whose spokesman explained it couldnât regulate the condiment choices of restaurants, though encouraged vigilance by consumers.
You couldnât be up to the Dubs, though various hoteliers denied the charges â and as they watched Croke Park attendees dine off the bonnets of their cars in the decades since, will no doubt say this was Irelandâs first tinfoil conspiracy theory.
