Liz Kearney: How much longer is this rugby thing going to go on for?
How much longer is this rugby thing going to go on for? I ask because I'm considering removing myself to a place without TVs, radios or any newspapers, where I'll be able to enjoy a sport-free life for the remainder of my tournament while the rest of the country carries on losing its head over an oval ball.
I just can't take any more of it. I can't take any more photos of grown men sitting in ice buckets, of Pacific Islanders masquerading as Japanese people, of the endless pontification about hamstrings and lineouts and first phases and engagement at the breakdown. I can't take any more of the sight of my own mother - a woman so unsporty she can't even ride a bike - cheering at the telly like she's Joe Schmidt.
I feel as though I've been put in a time machine and transported against my will 20 years, to school assembly. I was lucky enough, or unlucky enough, depending on your point of view, to attend a fee-paying school in South County Dublin where rugby was not so much a sport as an obsession.