John Meagher: No more living in denial -- our love of drink is deadly
SIX hours before Swedish House Mafia took to the stage on Saturday night, an undeniable air of menace clung to Phoenix Park. Even that early in the day, before the gates to the concert venue had opened, the prospect of trouble ahead looked certain.
A significant minority of revellers in the area appeared to be completely out of it, with puddles of vomit and discarded spirits bottles telling their own tales. But it was the palpable sense of aggression that emanated from group after group of young men that made the passer-by fear the worst.
Quite frankly, it had been a long time since so many testosterone-fuelled thugs had gathered in the same place, and the combination of excessive alcohol and unremitting sunshine exacerbated an already dangerous scenario.