In my dreams

Inspired by horns of wilmingtons passport tribulations, don't even ask me about mine suffice to say it's nice to know the police still view the Irish with suspicion, and a t shirt I saw a guy wearing when I went to see my beloved Celtic in Sevilla. The guys t shirt was this Lisbon Lions team but his dying fathers face was imposed like mine is.His Da was too ill to travel and insisted his 'wee Bhoy' went and gave him the t shirt as he left for the airport and said 'here son I'm not missing it'. Following a football team is very wholesome but also destructive force. The whole mood changes from euphoria to despair on a (traditionally) saturday afternoon. Wives listen out for results dogs cower under tables and landlords always smile knowing win or lose the answer will be a few gargles. to follow the same side as your father and his father before and his father before that is even more special. 'the warp weft and twine of that special plaid woven for him by his father and grandfather'. I still have the scarf i was bought on my first visit to Paradise when I was four, it's like a childs comfort blanket. just a bit of craic and probably blasphemy to put my ugly head over the late great Jock Stein. On a football trip to Wales aged ten we were guests at Ninnian park home of Cardiff City where Big Jock dropped dead in the dugout after Scotland had dramatically sealed qualification to the World Cup. whilst the rest of lads ran about daft on the pitch my Da says he found me sitting in the very same dugout crying and when he asked me what was wrong I apparently said 'Da there's not even a plaque' being ten the other lads thought i was a gobshite and teased me about it for the rest of the tour. HAIL HAIL