This is Hogan Stand!!!

I suspect that 99% of you have no idea what the title of this post means.  Our Irish friend probably knows, but I certainly had never heard the phrase before my trip to the island.


As you probably know, my brother Jake and I spent a week in Ireland recently.  Our intention was to see as much of the country (and Northern Ireland) as possible, in addition to seeing the Notre Dame game against Navy in Dublin.  We arrived on a Wednesday afternoon, had a bit of a hassle with the arrangements for our rental car, and then made the half-hour drive from Dublin to Enfield.

After dropping off our luggage at our hotel, we immediately hit the road.  We spent Wednesday evening on the west coast.  We had some seafood in Galway, drove along the coast for a while, and grabbed a pint in Doolin before heading back to the hotel. 

On Thursday, we decided to head out early to visit Belfast and the north coast.  After spending a couple of hours in Belfast and then doing the rope bridge thing along the coast, we stopped at a pub for some lunch.  Our cheeseburgers tasted a little weird, but I guess that comes as no surprise.  Aside from fish and chips, I have absolutely no use for Irish food.

As we sat in our car and got ready to head for the Giant's Causeway, an old man came out of the pub.  He walked over toward the side of our car and gestured toward me.  I rolled down the window and greeted him.  (Those Irish people really are a pretty friendly bunch.  It's not just a stereotype.)  He mentioned that he had overheard us talking about the Notre Dame game in Dublin, then showed us an article that he was reading in the newspaper - The Irish News, I think.  I can't recall exactly which paper it was, but that's not the point.  There was an article in his newspaper about the game and he was pretty excited to talk about it.

After we talked for a few minutes, the old guy mentioned that there was a Gaelic football match between Dublin and Mayo on Sunday.  If we were sports fans, he suggested, we may want to check it out.  Then he showed me another article in the same paper - this one about the Dublin-Mayo match.  As I thanked him for the information, he offered to give me his newspaper.  "Are you finished with it?" I asked.

"No, not yet, but there'll be another one tomorrow," he replied.

I thanked him for the offer, but told him that I'd just grab a copy in the next town.  Now that I recall this part of the conversation, I'm pretty sure that it was The Irish News.  He told me that it would be for sale in any town along the way.  I never bought myself a paper.  I forgot.

Anyhow, as my brother and I rolled on toward our next stop, we decided that we should make sure we stopped at a pub somewhere to watch the Gaelic football match on Sunday.  We had absolutely no idea what Gaelic football was, but our new friend had made it sound like a pretty big deal.  We didn't really have a detailed schedule in mind for our trip anyway.  We knew that we wanted to see a handful of specific places.  Outside of that, we were just taking each day as it came to us.  Obviously we would be in Dublin for the Notre Dame game on Saturday, but we had no idea where we would be on Sunday.

After driving back down to Enfield on Thursday night, we logged some serious miles on Friday.  We headed down to the Rock of Cashel first.  Any place that has been significant for 800 years or so seemed like it might be worth checking out.  The next guided tour was about 45 minutes away, so we just wandered around for a little while and checked out the scenery.

From Cashel, we headed to Blarney.  You've heard of the Blarney Stone, right?  Well, if they say you receive the gift of eloquence by kissing the stone, then who am I to pass up the opportunity?  The only issue was the fact that there were a shit-ton of Notre Dame fans in Cork and Blarney on Friday.  It took us right around two hours to get through the line and plant our lips on that sucker.  For what it's worth, most people were leaning back and kissing the wall wherever their heads happened to land.  I got all the way down to the bottom.  That's how it's supposed to be done, I think.  No news on that eloquence bit yet, but I'll let you know how it turns out.

The lengthy wait in Blarney, combined with a little time enjoying a leisurely pint at the local pub afterward, forced us to decide where to prioritize the rest of our day.  We had entertained the thought of taking a tour of Muckross House, but that wasn't a huge concern.  There was a steakhouse in Killarney that the bartender in Blarney had recommended, but we took a pass on that as well.  We decided to haul ass up to Ennis and get some dinner, then catch the sunset at the Cliffs of Moher.  It was an ambitious plan, to be sure, but one that we thought would work pretty well.

As we dined at the pub in Ennis, we saw numerous flyers hanging on the walls.  Most of them were advertising the upcoming match between Dublin and Mayo.  If it had been a big deal all the way up in Ballintoy (where the old man offered me his newspaper) and it was a big deal all the way over in Ennis, then we certainly needed to make sure we found a place to watch the match on Sunday.

We got out to the cliffs just before sunset.  The brother who was with me on this trip was not the brother who is a photographer, so I don't know if his shots of the scenery were the best we could do.  (The panorama on the left came from my cell phone, for whatever it's worth.)  What I do know is that it was absolutely beautiful to see the sunset in person.  It's an experience I'll never forget.  Unfortunately, I hit a stone on the side of the road and broke the car on the way back that night (another topic for another post), so we spent some time sitting on the side of the road waiting for a tow truck to arrive.

By the time we made it back to Enfield, it was 4am and there was a Notre Dame tailgate scheduled for the following morning.  Power nap time.

After we rode the shuttle bus to Dublin and checked in at the tailgate party on Saturday morning, we decided to step out and have a little more fun.  They were charging €5 for a pint of Guinness at the party and the atmosphere was pretty fake.  We hadn't paid more than €5 anywhere in Ireland on our trip up to that point, so we saw no need to stick around.  We came across a pub, not too far down the road, that was just opening for the day.  That bartender had no idea what was about to hit him.

Within five minutes of the guy opening the door, the place was overrun by people in Notre Dame gear.  Nobody else was around to help.  This poor fella looked like a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest.  We bought and consumed our fill of pints and shots, then moved on down the road.

The next place was pretty nice, as far as I recall. The menu for the day, up to this point, had consisted of Jameson and Guinness.  My brother had seen a bottle of Scotch the day before though, and it had piqued his interest.  One of his dogs is a little Scottish terrier.  There's a brand of Scotch called Black & White, with a couple of little scotties on the label.  He asked the bartender if he had any Black & White.  Yep.  Two of those and two beers, then, please.  Thank you.  That stuff was pretty tasty.  I'm under the impression that it's not a very highly regarded whisky, and I tend to prefer Irish whiskey to Scotch, but it was good stuff.  Seriously.

After another round or two at that place, we hit another place.  And then... well, you can see where this story is headed.  We were feeling no pain by the time we settled into our awesome endzone seats and watched Notre Dame kick some serious ass.  They were selling mass quantities of Guinness at Aviva Stadium, incidentally, and the ushers were helping people carry the beer back to their seats.  I'm not kidding.

I took a picture just before kickoff and then my phone died.  The game was awesome, I was fired up, and the atmosphere was perfect.  Even the people surrounding us, mostly parents of Navy players, were enjoying the experience for the most part.

As the game wore on, my brother started to struggle a little bit.  We had consumed a lot - and I do mean a lot - of alcohol before the game.  Eventually the drinks, combined with the previous night's lack of sleep, forced his eyes closed.  I was struggling right there with him, to tell the truth, but I was riding on adrenaline so I was able to hold my own.  After he started to sway toward the dude on his left a couple of times, I started keeping an eye on my brother.  Whenever he started to lean to the side, I would elbow him in the ribs and bring him back to reality.

After four or five jabs to the ribs, my brother got mad at me and left our section.  I had no idea where he was going and I really didn't care.  All I knew was that the guy on his left would stop glaring at me and I could enjoy the rest of the game.

Just before the game was over, my brother came back and sat in his seat.  He brought food with him, so that was pretty awesome.  I don't know if you folks have ever gotten drunk in the morning, but if you have, then I assume you were starving by 5pm.  I certainly was.

As he had wandered around the stadium, my brother had encountered some people who were talking about the upcoming Gaelic football game.  According to them, he told me, there would be 20-30,000 seats available at Croke Park if we wanted to check out the action.  This provided some food for thought concerning how we might spend our Sunday.  Should we go and see some Gaelic football?  It was certainly worth considering.

Between the time that the game ended and the time that our shuttle bus took us back to Enfield, we were able to visit a few pubs and have a few pints.  During our conversations with various local residents (have I mentioned that those Irish people are pretty friendly?), we heard that the Dublin-Mayo match was a really big deal and that there sure as hell wouldn't be 20,000 empty seats.  We could probably score a pair outside a Dublin pub though, if we were willing to bargain.

What to do?  What to do?  We rode the shuttle back to our hotel and promptly fell asleep.  I woke at 3am and watched the end of Michigan's debacle against Alabama.  That was nice to see.  Then I went back to bed.  When we both got up on Sunday morning, we had to decide how we were going to spend our day.  Head southward and see some scenic towns along the coast?  Head up to Brú na Bóinne and see some shit that is older than the Egyptian pyramids?  Or go to Dublin and try to get tickets to a match that we really don't understand?

I suppose you probably already know how that discussion turned out, right?  We went to Dublin.  After sitting in traffic for a half hour, we found a parking space behind a pub/restaurant.  The parking lot had a 'pay and display' setup, so we had to buy a ticket for a given amount of time and leave it on our dashboard.  We had enough coins to buy an hour and a half.  If we were going to watch the game, we would need five or six hours.  We weren't sure if we would get tickets to the game though, so we just dumped all of our coins into the machine and went for a walk.

We got all the way down to the stadium, with a stop at a pub or two along the way, then started looking for tickets.  Outside the pubs on the way to the stadium, we had seen tickets for sale in the range of €55-100.  As we approached the official ticket office, a fella walked up and asked if we were looking for seats.  I looked at my brother.  He looked at me.  We took a moment... sure, why not?

The guy told us to follow him across the street to a quiet spot, away from the prying eyes of the garda.  The following conversation is damned near word-for-word.  I wasn't drinking on Sunday, so there is no intoxication for which to account.  The only variable is the dialect.  I'm not entirely convinced that those people speak English.

"Lookin' for seats, lads?"

"Ehh, maybe a pair."

"Here you go, boys.  Two of 'em right there.  Hogan Stand.  Eighty quid apiece."  [They were in section 728.  Face value - €40]

"Eighty?  Nah..."

"Wait!  Wait, wait, wait... how much do you want to spend?"

"We saw them on top of the hill for fifty-five."

"Okay, okay, sixty-five for these then."

"Nah, we'll just walk back up there and buy them off the other guy."

"This is fookin' Hogan Stand!!!"

"They're way up high though."  [I knew nothing about Croke Park, actually, but I know that there is no stadium on earth where Section 728 is close to the field.]

"They're not WAY up high... they're like RIGHT THERE!!!"  [Gesturing with his hands]

"It's 728 man.  Don't bullshit me."

"This is fookin' HOGAN STAND!!!"  [This meant nothing to me, for what it's worth.]

"Nah, we'll pass."

"Okay, okay, okay, sixty then."

"Fifty-five."

[Long pause]  "Fine.  Fifty-five."  [I peeled off €110 and prepared to make the exhange.]

"Okay then."

"Come on!  Just give us the sixty!!!"

"I have to pay for my parking up there.  I need the other ten."  [I had €15 left in my hand at this point.]

"Well then give us the fiver."

"You're gonna make me swim back to America, man.  The deal was fifty-five."

"But these are fookin' Hogan Stand!!!  Give us the fiver."

"Fifty-five, man.  Do we have a deal?"

He handed over the tickets.  I handed over the money.

We picked up the rules of Gaelic football as we walked back up the hill to buy more parking.  (I really did need that €15.  By the time I bought a few candy bars to break it down into coins, I had just enough left to buy the necessary time.)  Four steps, bounce the ball... four steps, kick the ball... three for a goal, one for a kick through the uprights... we had the general idea.  After we bought our new parking ticket and started back down toward the stadium, we realized that everybody in Dublin was wearing the colors of one of the teams - except for us.  I actually have ancestors from County Mayo, so my loyalty probably should have gone to the red and green.  But you know what they say.  "When in Rome..."

We bought a couple of blue-on-blue caps from a street vendor, then finished the walk into the stadium.  The atmosphere was absolutely awesome.  My brother grabbed a couple of beers and we headed for our seats.  "Sorry guys," said the nice lady at the entrance to the seating area, "You can't come in with the drinks."  So we had to stand in the concourse while he drank his beers, then head inside.

The match was about two minutes old by the time we got settled into our seats.  We were promptly lectured by a gal to our left.  Since we were wearing Dublin colors, we were expected to act accordingly.  Apparently the Dublin faithful are always in their seats before the action starts.  They refuse to miss a single play.  (I had to resist the temptation to give her a hard time when the second half began and she was two minutes late getting to her seat.)

Mayo won the match on this occasion, but we really had an awesome time.  As much as I hate soccer, I expected to dislike Gaelic football.  It's a whole different deal though.  The action is non-stop.  It's like a blend of basketball, soccer, football, and rugby, but with very little of the soccer influence involved.  Long story short - we really like Gaelic football now.  Dublin lost, unfortunately, so we backed the wrong horse.  But we're Dublin fans now - for life.  That's just how it goes.

So now let's talk about Hogan Stand.  I had no idea what that jagoff meant when he kept saying it during the ticket negotiation.  (See the picture on the left, by the way.  Those seats were way up high, just as I suspected they would be.)  When we got back to our hotel at the end of the night, I got on the internet and looked up the phrase 'hogan stand.'  In practical terms, it's just the name of the stands on one side of the field.

In other terms though... damn.  Apparently the British whacked a bunch of civilians at Croke Park back in 1920, in retaliation for a bunch of assassinations that the IRA pulled off the night before.  One of the dudes that they killed was the captain of the Tipperary football team - Michael Hogan.  Hence the name - Hogan Stand.  Doesn't change the fact that the seats were about what I thought they would be, but it does explain some of the reverence that those people feel for the name.

So... what I'm trying to say is... this is Hogan Stand!!!

I knew it all along...

"In what appears to be a slap in the face for gender equality, the report found the divorce rate among couples who shared housework equally was around 50 per cent higher than among those where the woman did most of the work."

Read it and weep, modern couples.  It turns out that the key to happiness is probably to get that broad back in the kitchen.

Remember when I told you something was big news?

You know, back before I started getting all excited about football season and so forth.  If not, here's a reminder.  It's a really short post.  Go ahead and read it.  I'll wait.

Well, today's news is just as bad, maybe worse.  They've revised Q2 GDP growth downward from a pitiful 1.7% to a jaw-droppingly bad 1.3%.  This is after the $6 trillion in new debt that our genius leaders have thrown at the problem handed out to their political allies over the last few years.  These are simply awful results.  There's no other way to put it.  It's even getting hard to accept the argument that things would have been worse if we hadn't taken on all that new debt.

On top of that, we get the news that durable goods orders fell 13.2% in August.  This is really, really, really bad news.  Have you ever seen those old videos of rockets that start to launch and then fall backward onto the launch pad?  For whatever reason, those rockets failed to achieve escape velocity - the speed necessary to escape the earth's gravitational pull.  This economy is looking like the rocket at the top of the flight, struggling to keep moving before it starts to drift backward and explodes.  It's not going backward yet, but the speed is getting dangerously close to zero.

How do you suspect they'll report this one on the television news tonight?

Fun with Photoshop

This one was requested on a message board today, so I went ahead and threw it together.  A little quick and sloppy,  but it will get the point across just fine.  I'm not going to spend an hour on a mean-spirited joke.  Five minutes?  Yeah.  I have five minutes.