Alison O’Connor: Mick Wallace was so busy seeing himself as different that he failed to see the grubbiness of his actions
It takes a very particular emotional skill set to be Irish. At the end of a rather dismal week those skills have been very heavily drawn on. At least the Greeks, for all of their travails, know that when they wake up in the morning the sun will be shining.
On Thursday evening, prior to settling down to watch the soccer, I visited the Taste of Dublin food festival. It can be a wonderful event and a good opportunity for recession-hit restaurants to showcase their wares. Instead the hour before the gates to the Iveagh Gardens opened, so too did the heavens. It was hard to know who to feel most sorry for -- us the sodden punters, or the poor traders attempting to make a few bob. They stood shivering at their stalls. It ranks as possibly one of the most rain-sodden events I have ever experienced. And this in June?
Last Sunday night I looked at the crowd of 30,000 or so Irish fans in Poznan and wondered, I will admit in a slightly curmudgeonly fashion, how in heaven they had afforded to travel to Poland. You could understand how German Chancellor Angela Merkel might equally have thrown a jaundiced eye over the "bankrupt" Irish, managing to travel en masse to the European Championships.