"G'WAAN Mah Son!!"

We couldn't be watching the footie in the sunshine now could we?

Once the deluge got us all nice and fucking soaked we settled in to watch the U-8s chase the ball around the pitch. It has to be said that American soccer parents can be more entertaining than the actual game. Especially Southerners.

"GAWD Dang!! That goddanged rowferee is blinder'n mah ol' coon hound!"

Still and all as much as I make fun of them sometimes they are they ones on the sidelines in all weather cheering their kids and their teams on. You can get more of a crowd here watching 6 year olds than you would at a League of Ireland fixture. It's fucking awesome actually.

Finn has been getting his game with a local team and while he hasn't come to the attention of the AC Milan scouts yet he has been improving steadily these last few weeks. He's a scrappy little bollix and not in the least bit afraid to get stuck it. He's not the biggest or the fastest but he is always there plugging away. He's also got a bit of passion for the game and he fights for everything.

I hardly need reminding that he's my son but one incident today brought a knowing smile to my face. Finn goes for a 50/50 ball towards the end of a tight 1-1 match and it's unclear who it came off when it rolls into touch. The ball rolls under the opposing teams bench but that doesn't doesn't stop Finn. He blems his way right into the middle of their subs and coaches to grab the ball for the throw-in. About 6 of the other team decide that it's their throw-in and decide to relieve him of the ball. He's having none of it and eventually the ref (like refs everywhere in the world-myopic and smelly) gives it to them and I can see the snarl on Finn's face.

I know exactly how he felt. That was exactly how I played when I was a kid. I gave up nothing and scrabbled for every throw-in, corner, drop ball and free kick. I would argue everything (lots to argue when you had 20 a side games on the street with no refs and goalposts that were a few rocks or a thrun down coat) and more than one match ended in a fistfight.

" Yer fuckin' claimed pal"

And so on. None of that today though. Just a warm fuzzy to see that in this one aspect the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.

Wrong On So Many Levels

I'm still going though.

Ram's Head, Baltimore next Wednesday night. Who's coming?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5tl2_K-d-g

Bastarding embedding disabled by request. Worth the click though.

Advance To Contact

The platoon scouts had indicated the officer’s presence long before I reached him. With an inner sigh I hoped was conveyed along with the sign language I told them to move on and ignore him. Captain Squirrel thought he was the top boy at infantry tactics and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Fucking officers. A few minutes of careful progress up the road and we were level with his position. I cheered up with the thought that one of the recruits might actually be startled enough to wallop him with a rifle butt or batter him with an e-tool.
Now don’t get me wrong. As officers go Squirrel wasn’t the worst of them. That honour would have to go to the Short Little Fat Lieutenant who was in nominal charge of my platoon. But Squirrel was plagued by being keen. This sometimes manifested itself in ‘surprise’ infiltrations on tactical exercises like the one we were on. This would have been OK had he been any good at it but the poor man made more noise in the forest than a skeleton in biscuit tin having a wank.

So when Captain Squirrel leaped out of a bush into our midst it was to a platoon primed to feign astonishment.

‘Aha..Sergeant! This is the six o’ clock position!…You’re all dead by the way’

“Er..does that mean we can go home then... sir?”

“ Ha…jolly good.Afraid not…carry on there.”

It goes without saying that Captain Fuckwit’s practical military skills (such as map reading) were not up to the demands placed upon them by his military ambitions. After all that’s what sergeants are for.We waited for a few minutes for Squirrel to get back into position to confuse the next platoon and then resumed our advance to the real six o’ clock position.* ( A three section infantry platoon would be deployed in a triangle with one section to each arm.All sections enter the triangle through a single access point.The 6 o’clock position.)

Eventually we get set up for the night and I order rations to be prepared before dusk. Stove fires are way too conspicuous after dark.Before long we are dug in and fed and I survey my realm from the middle of the triangle. My radio man is with me and we are still blessedly officer free. Short Little Fat Lt. had swanned off into the woods the minute we got out of the trucks and left us to our own devices. No bad thing in my opinion but it couldn't last. The inspection team solidified out of the gathering gloom and was gunned down(with blanks) by one of the pickets. He was a bit fast on the trigger and gave them a good hosing before they had a chance to give the password.

The inspection team consisted of a few regular officers and our own Battery and Quartermaster Sergeants. The Ruperts were quick to note S.L.F.Lt's abscondidness.

' And where is your officer? '

I could barely contain my glee at this chance to poison the well for Shorty. I adopted the Stolid yet Unimaginative mode that the denser officers expected of the Other Ranks.

' Dunno sir. Last seen heading to the high ground with the Red Group.' (the smaller team that was to act as 'aggressors' throughout the exercise)

At this the officers huffed and puffed a bit and made a show of inspecting the position. Once they dreamed up imaginary faults to correct they soon fucked off and left us to get on with it. Our senior NCO duo stayed with us.
With a broad grin the Q shakes his head and offers his take on the matter.

' You're some cunt do you know that?'

'Fuck him Mick. I'm not his fuckin' babysitter although I can see how you'd make that mistake.'

'Oh yeah. Yer so fuckin' maternal there.'

Now as we were engaged in this delightful little banter I came to realise I was automatically touching up my camouflage make-up. Much to every one's amusement it was perfect.

'Ha,ha,ha,haaaaaa...D'ya know you have very feminine features there?

A platoon of strangled guffaws and stifled sniggers bled out into the new night. Of course to leave it at that would have been slagging suicide. I needed a reply.Preferably non fatal but I was festooned with things that went bang,boom and rat-a-tat. I settled on fast pitching a smoke grenade at his head. The fuckers just fell about laughing.

I was feigning Offended Macho on the outside but on the inside I was laughing too.

For a very different reason.

In Memoriam

A friend has died.

He was 36 years of age and even though I hadn't spoken to him in years I felt this one. It hit hard. Surprisingly so.

We served together when it was unfashionable and thankless. We expected nothing and by Christ did Davey get that. I took my big wad of nothing to America and Davey kept his in Limerick.

There wasn't a single uniform at the funeral. Yet lots of military personnel attended. How does that happen?

Lig amach na h-O.N.C !

Rest easy Davey. If there is an afterlife for 'old' soldiers then Monty is already there drinking the place dry , Heaney is manking it up and Tommy C. is moaning about the grub. Give them all a kick in the fork for me.