Ewan MacKenna: If you're not embarrassed by Conor McGregor's 'Irishness', then you're an embarrassment
Who'd have thought the Joyces were actually ahead of their time so as to miss out on cashing in.
Who'd have thought the Joyces were actually ahead of their time so as to miss out on cashing in.
Who'd be a manager? Actually, scratch that, for there's a more pertinent question to ask. Who'd...
Once upon a time there was a girl called Serena Williams, and like any kid she wanted to be...
Dick Clerkin had a good one the other day. Taking to Twitter in the aftermath of the All-Ireland...
There was a striking moment of television last Sunday, but not for the reasons it struck many.
There's a wonderful photo from way back, comprising of so many of the contradictions that made the GAA special.
These days there's a weird habit of making absolute declarations, and making them instantly.
For those located on many parts of the planet yesterday, their commentator for the World Cup semi-final was none other than Peter Drury.
Before their team kicked a ball at this World Cup, the BBC had managed to set a fair old chunk of the tone. Their introductory video ahead of their opener skipped forward to 15 July, and imagined that England had won the lot of it. There was Gary Lineker and Harry Kane and Theresa May and Alan Shearer, and it would all have been a bit of fun if only we didn't know the neighbours so well.
Seven minutes went up on the fourth official's board last night and the father - on the terrace he always stands in St Conleth's Park, and half-empty as it always is - turned to an old woman beside him. “Fresh flowers only, please,” he announced as it was one of those glorious and terrifying and wonderful moments when a sport takes complete hold of every nerve and sinew.
George Bennett had been part of one of the most incredible stages of them all, and he didn't even know it. That's because, last Friday, despite...
It was a sketch that first appeared in 2012, although the trouble that followed means it can...
There's a story Keith Barr once told, the sort that'd fall within the lazily low and all-encompassing claws of the word disgrace these days. Ignore such...
It began over dinner. Mid-2016. An upmarket restaurant in Tuscany. Two men, one with a...
There's so much to dislike about elite modern soccer that in giving only a small sample, there's still...
By now there must be welts on John Delaney's fingers. All last week the email spam-filter kicked in, such was the suspicious drip, drip, drip of good and exciting news the FAI were desperate to project.
There's a Renaissance-era paradox that accurately portrays the Dublin dilemma right now.
A few years back and the scene was set in a jaunting car just outside of Killarney.
A not-so-unusual thing happened before the ball was thrown-in at St Conleth's Park on Sunday.
There's a little-known occasion coming up at the start of next month that the GAA are rightly trying to push. On August 5, the centenary anniversary of Gaelic Sunday takes place to mark an important day of disobedience where close to 100,000 people turned out.
If you've got five minutes, there's a YouTube video you have to take in.
It should never have been set up to be the most significant event of the GAA year.
Day one, and there was a rush to the Ramadan files to try make some sense of it all.
The story went that, 2-1 down at half-time in their Euro 2016 game with Iceland, Harry Kane and Joe Hart were shooting the breeze as they came back out onto the pitch. Amongst the nuggets they allegedly fired off in conversation were how they'd need to be much better in the next game versus France, that they couldn't lose to "this shit" and, best of all, there was even a question put to...
The photos on Bobby Messett's Instagram give a brief but telling peek into his life. Little trappings of small and normal elements that conversely and wondrously tend to bring out the most joy.
Last Tuesday at the Ulster Hall, the Freedom of the City of Belfast was conferred upon a man accused on three separate occasions and by three separate women of rape, of groping, and of sexual harassment.
For some time now, the GAA has being using gimmicks and catchphrases to cover for their self-made inadequacy.
These days when an editor gets in touch and asks, “Did you hear about McGregor?” the worst genuinely comes to mind. That's meant as deadly serious as living so close to the edge sees many go over and, while not nice to have to write, it's also important to recognise the dangers.
Perhaps it's Tiger Woods that has best shown up the circle forced upon sport and its sportsmen. For it's those all around him, like leeches suckling on a vein, that often set the real tone and script.
In the sphere of sports writing, you become privy to a chapter's worth of troubling stories. Given the type of content involved, a surprising amount check out and while you may not want to hear them, well, want and need are two very different things.
It's already been buried under the weight of mood and marketing. And, of course, marketed mood. But it's worth remembering that short of two-and-a-half years back, the Munster brand was in trouble.
You've to be listening intently in a screaming crowd to catch the whisper at the back of the room. And, while not always what you want to hear in that moment, at times it's what you need to hear.
It's six years now, and it's a conversation that has refused to let go as if an itch clinging onto the back of the throat.
Journalism has always loved boxers, and with good reason. Firstly, those in the sport usually have a great story to tell, as society is sadly structured in a way that means many pugilists come from a rung on the ladder that isn't supposed to produce heroes.
In the unlikely event that you've happened upon the cult-ish film 'Poolhall Junkies', there's one scene that will immediately come to mind.
Sometimes a throw-away question turns up an answer you ought to cling onto and delve into.
The Olympic hymn starts up, bouncing around a stadium named in honour of the late João Havelange who, as president of the IOC, had been accused of taking everything from diamonds to bicycles in bribes. That irony is lost on almost everyone who in turn are lost to this moment.
Back in December, having arrived early at Liberty Hall Theatre for the Second Captain's end-of-year gig, a running order appeared in the dressing room. On it, one name stood out, but for reasons other than his massive talent and glowing reputation. Headlining was Joey Carbery.
“Páraic Duffy is a nice man.”
Last week, with defending champion Serena Williams unavailable, the honour of carrying the trophy into the Australian Open draw was handed to Maria Sharapova.
In November of 2016, a story on the CBS show '60 minutes' began a broader debate across the sporting spectrum.
If there's a moment that will matter most to Irish sport across 2018, we already know it to be this.
It's 1 May of this year and Tianna Bartoletta wakes in her home in the leafy suburbs of Tampa at 6am flat, as the housekeeper is due to arrive in a couple of hours. The bed is empty as her husband has already gone to work, and that leaves her alone with the demons screaming in her head.
Recently on Sky Sports' Soccer Saturday, an interesting stat flashed up as they analysed the poor performances of West Brom.
On the last day of the 2002 Winter Olympics, those pretending to keep it clean were faced with a dilemma. And, as with so much else, it came down to money-v-morality.
It was in the summer of 2000 that a gangly 19-year-old was handed a baggy white jersey and joined what was the best team his county produced this side of the war.
Fair or not, there's a perception that Athy is a place plenty rough around the edges.
“Ungrateful,” responds Vagner Mancini. “They were totally ungrateful.”
There are many good and great things the late philosopher Denis Dutton said and did over the years – a favourite being the setting up of the bad writing contest with the aim of exposing "pretentious, swaggering gibberish" used as an attempt to demonstrate intelligence in academia. But one shard of thought from his mind will stand the test of troublesome modern times better than most.
Tuesday afternoon, and the countdown to kickoff was spent shooting the breeze with a colleague. Talk turned to comparing the past and present and to deciding our greatest manager, in the sort of discussion that never serves a purpose as there's no right answer, but always provides distraction.
The truth tends to sound like hate to those that hate the truth.
Consensus is a terrible thing. When reached, thinking stops, and it's that which made Ireland's bid for the Rugby World Cup so troubling. How many times did you hear a dissenting voice? How many times did you see the numbers crunched? How many times did you get this for what it really was?
I can't stand reading about Conor McGregor.
Back on Christmas Day of 2012, the first book taken from a pile of literary presents that would fill a library was always going to be 'Seven Deadly Sins'. It consumed many of the following hours as, despite the great reviews, it surpassed them, with David Walsh documenting his pursuit of Lance Armstrong. But even with the quality of the story and the telling, ultimately it wasn't any of the first 423 pages that would leave an aftertaste. Instead it was a couple of sentences on page 424.
The last few efforts on Conor McGregor's Twitter are enough to give a tell-tale insight into his modern-day mindset. "Driving home in this heat and in this nick and in this motor and in this bread and in this f*****g life I am so blessed," he writes beside a picture of himself topless while driving a convertible. "Long rangy dangerous motherf****r," he writes still without a shirt but now on the...
The last few efforts on Conor McGregor's Twitter are enough to give a tell-tale insight into his modern-day mindset.
Luvo Manyonga's face suggested silver was enough. A little after 10 on a Saturday night back in August, he'd just been beaten down to the second step of the podium in the last round of the long jump final. But of course silver was enough. He grabbed a South African flag, beamed out the sort of smile that most in the arena didn't fully understand and began to ask himself a question.
Good enough for now, but probably not good enough for much longer. Brazil shacked up in their capital last night with a feeling that the brutal pressure and high pulse rate of the opening games might dissipate a little, even if top spot in the group was still on the line here.
It's the altar to the excess of the World Cup, the outstanding symbol of the culture of corruption that has left so many torn during this tournament, the monument to waste in a country of so much pain and poverty.