Archive | December, 2011

The Glenmen – In a League of Their Own

13 Dec

Glentoran F.C.

Image via Wikipedia

My last post said that on Saturday past I was embarking on the third of my 29 Lives as a DJ. Scrap that. It will happen but not just yet.

So, when my schedule changed at the last minute, I decided to take on another challenge – to live in the shoes of a Glentoran fan, and take a trip with long-suffering Glenman, DJ and twitter aficionado, Rigsy to their home ground, The Oval.

Some of you might think this isn’t really a challenge. I beg to differ. I’m not a sports fan and I have a fairly long and protracted disaffection with football. It stems from two men in my life being extremely impatient with me and obsessive about the game. Firstly, my dad just didn’t have the will or want to explain how the game worked to my brother and I as kids. Secondly, my first boyfriend – a Reading fan – dragged me kicking and screaming to every game, home and away, back when Reading were a lot worse than they are now. It was enough to put me off for life. Until now.

My Saturday morning had been spent getting my much-needed pre-Christmas hair do done, plus a little Christmas shopping. So, in my skinny jeans, leopard print dress, boots and freshly coiffed hair, I was unexpectedly off for my first experience of Irish League football. (Rigsy: “It’s not often you hear the sound of heels walking into the Oval.”)

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I could have picked a better day, a better time of year, or, in fairness, a better year to spend an afternoon in the shoes of a Glentoran fan.

Things are fairly despondent in the Glens camp at the moment. Not long ago the East Belfast club narrowly escaped going bust following a vital cash injection from a mystery benefactor, and they’ve had a bad start to the season with a run of really bad results that have further dampened spirits. This, Rigsy explained, whilst talking at warp speed on the drive over to The Oval, has left a bitter taste in the mouth of even the most faithful fans and attendances have plummeted.

Playing Portadown – who aside from Linfield are one of Glentoran’s biggest rivals – can often be a highly charged affair, at home and away. Rigsy recounted recent clashes where there have been post-game riots and fireworks thrown onto the pitch. There was no such furore on Saturday. Several police landrovers were positioned on the grounds but aside from the burger vans’ crimes against food, they had little to worry about.

In the first half, we sat in the stand – Rigsy updating the official @Glentoran twitter account with match updates (of which there weren’t many) and me trying to follow what was happening without asking too many annoying questions, and perving on the players in the programme – the very impressive Glentoran Gazette.


With the score still a fruitless 0-0, just before half time we made a dash for the aforementioned burger van – I’d been told via twitter that I couldn’t leave the Oval without sampling one of the burgers. There literally are no words to describe the experience – I honestly don’t think I’ll ever forget that acrid greasy taste. Never again.

My tastebuds were not ready for this.

My mood was somewhat lifted meeting a few of Rigsy’s fellow Glens fans at half time, including Sam Robinson – a fourth generation supporter and the brains behind the excellent Glentoran Gazette. What, I asked him, brings him here week in, week out, in freezing temperatures to watch his team? “It’s in my blood,” was his reply. His grandfather was around when The Oval was bombed in the Second World War; East Belfast born and bred, he grew up streets away from the famed Glens ground and this is just what he does, every game, come rain, or shine. You’ve got to admire that commitment.

Me and Sam

Rigsy live-tweeting at the match.

After a quick trip to the club room for a warming cuppa and Christmas cake, where I got the chance to see some quirky memorabilia including a picture of the late George Best back when he played for Glentoran in the club’s centenary match against Man United, and this gem of a Titanic themed picture, we stopped into the bar for a nosey.

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Some people pay their £10 in and watch the match in here. It seems a bit odd, but, in hindsight, after losing the feeling in my big toe to a near case of frostbite in the second half, I’m beginning to understand the rationale. When my cousins brought me along to Croke Park to watch Clare in the All-Ireland hurling final as a kid, there was a running joke that the Tipperary fans lunched on ham sandwiches on Hill 16. In the warmth, comfort and comradery of the supporters’ bar, a group of about eight Glentoran men were feasting on a picnic of cheese, tapenade, olives and sun blushed tomatoes – they clearly have more refined tastes.

Rejoining Sam et al back on the terrace, we spent the second half with the sight of snow on top of the mountains on the horizon just adding to the feeling that you were about to contract hyperthermia.

The match continued in much the same vein as the first half with no score in sight. Perhaps it was the cold sending me into a near comatose state but I felt myself losing concentration, brought back only by the banter from the boys, which included random chats about Weight Watchers success, my blog challenges, Rigsy’s attempts to single-handedly increase attendances, family and music – anything other than the dire game that was playing out before us.

Then Portadown scored. And with just minutes to go, they scored again. It was a good day for Portadown, beating their rivals 2-0 on their own turf, particularly given the day marked their manager’s 25th year with the club.

It was not such a good day for Glentoran. The frustration was palpable as fans started to leave before the match finished, shouting expletives at manager Scott Young as they made their way out. But even their cries were half-hearted – they’ve lost the will to even hurl abuse.

I limped out of the Oval with numb toes thinking one thing – being a true football fan – not just an armchair fan but a true fan – is a bit like being married. You make a commitment, for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer; in sickness and in health. Unfortunately for Glentoran fans at the moment, things are almost at their worst, their club’s pretty poor and they’re all sick of it. I hope for their sake, and sanity, that they experience a rekindling of their metaphorical marital bliss soon.

I was invited to tonight’s game at Coleraine – unfortunately I can’t make it but I will be back again sometime (perhaps when the temperatures increase slightly, or I purchase some thermals) – if only to provide some friendly moral support – god knows they need it.

* Apologies for the lateness of this post, a technical glitch of entirely my own doing meant that the first time I wrote this, I lost it. Grrrr.*

P.S. I’d like to go and experience some other sports as part of this ‘The Sports Fan’ challenge, so if you follow a team you think I should see, let me know! Also, Sam blogs at http://eastbelfastiswonderful.blogspot.com/ – it’s really worth a look.

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Hey DJ, Here We Go

9 Dec

This will come as little surprise to my twitter followers, who will more than likely have seen this challenge negotiated but tomorrow I am embarking on the next of my 29 Lives – as a DJ.

The one and only Mr Joe Lindsay has challenged me to learn to DJ (under his tutelage) and perform (hopefully a very short set) at Palookaville in March.

For those of you that don’t know what Palookaville is, shame on you. It’s actually my favourite club night in Belfast. Hosted on the last Saturday of the month in Belfast’s Oh Yeah Music Centre, it’s always a sell out, which isn’t surprising as it essentially feels like a big house party with your best friends.

Atmosphere and a good crowd aside, it’s the music that makes Palookaville stand out. So, it’s with some trepidation, having never been near a set of decks, and with having a fear of people booing me off the stage, that I’ve signed up to this particular challenge.

I’ve my first DJ lesson with Joe tomorrow. Wish me luck, I’ll need it.

By the way, this is what I looked like at the last Palookaville I was at (Halloween, obviously). Perhaps I should go incognito in March too…

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Plotting My 29 Lives

7 Dec

It’s been a week since I’ve blogged and there’s a couple of reasons for that. Firstly, I took a few days off work to head home to Co. Clare to help my mum out with the family business (a rural shop, post office and bar), which kept me busy. And secondly, I’ve been busy plotting the next of my 29 Lives.

There’s nothing quite like driving almost 600 miles in a few days to clear your head, though, I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I find it hard to think much about anything other than driving whilst at the wheel.

I suppose I could have documented the weekend, when I was a shopkeeper-postmistress-barmaid as one of my 29 Lives but, while I don’t get home to lend a hand too often these days, it would be unfair to call it a new experience. It certainly does have its comedic moments though, like being asked by punters in the bar, ‘ What’s PR when it’s at home?’ ‘when are you giving us all a big day out?’; ‘You’re still single? You want to be careful you don’t get left on the shelf.’ Biting your tongue, nodding, smiling and repeating ‘the customer is always right’ over and over inside your head is the only option when STM (small town mentality) reigns and this is your bread and butter. It’s not for me, not long term anyway.

One thing the trip did reinforce was my reasoning behind starting this blog. I am single and nearly 30. Friends are getting married, having kids, buying houses etc – I’m happy for them but I’m also happy for myself. I’m loving life at the moment and am determined to continue to try new things, up the ante and live life to the full.

I’ve lots of ideas for new challenges now- some will take longer than others to set up and complete and December is a busy month with trips to Barcelona & London on the cards (if anyone can think of things I can do in either place, feel free to make a suggestion) but I hope to be back soon with more of my 29 Lives challenges.

For now, a few pictures of the metropolis that is Doyles in O’Callaghan’s Mills, Co. Clare.

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