He was born in poverty in the Irish Free State
A childhood in turmoil, his unfortunate fate
A feral boy with no order in his life
His destiny now sealed and marked "trouble and strife"
His name was Tom Mullins of no fixed abode
A troubled youth, then life on the road
A bear of a man with wild staring eyes
An Irishman with English ties
His shovel like hands bore scars of time
A rebel rousing drinker and no stranger to crime
A true Irish rover who never settled down
In whiskey and beer his demons wouldn't drown
When in his company his family were twitchy
He once had a fight in an incident named "Ritchie"
He would arrive unannounced, drunk and insane
The relations would scatter or hide in vain
Banging on doors and shouting abuse
Disorderly; obnoxious; terrifying; obtuse
"Keep quiet, don't talk, he may go away
Cover your ears and kneel and pray"
He fought the world and usually came second
He then disappeared, he was dead we reckoned
Years went by then word came through
The old timer had passed on, it was confirmed as true
His legend lives on in tales of his past
Let's hope Tom Mullins found peace at last
Wednesday 14 November 2012
Tuesday 13 November 2012
1978 World Cup - Argentina
My earliest football memories are from 1974. These include the FA Cup Final of that year (Liverpool v Newcastle); Manchester City's League Cup Final defeat to Wolves; Man Utd's relegation and the World Cup of that year. These were the days when there were only a handful of live football matches broadcast every year, this increased when there was a World Cup year as matches from this tournament were also broadcast live. This resulted in every live football match being an event all of it's own to all football fans. As a boy growing up in a football loving family, this would result in most of the family crowding around our black & white telly and it would escalate beyond football to more of a general social event.
I remember certain games from the '74 World Cup, including the final, but the tournament as a whole largely went over my head as the quality of the games appeared to be poor and it always appeared to be raining onto sodden pitches. Watching it in black and white also probably didn't help. Fast forward then to 1978. I was 11 years old and in the prime of my boyhood football loving life. The World Cup had come around again and this time it was to be held in South America. This alone excited me, as it sounded exotic and almost mystical. England hadn't qualified, neither had the Republic of Ireland; Northern Ireland or Wales. Scotland had, but none of this mattered to me at the time
2 months before the World Cup started I invested in a Panini sticker album. This album became THE most important thing in my life for several months during 1978. Every team at the upcoming World Cup was featured with a few facts about each player. I poured over it every day and collected the stickers feverishly. I got into an agreement with a few of my mates at school that we would do "swaps" on any that any of us already had. The players names alone seemed magical; Causio; Bettega; Zoff; Kempes; Van Der Kerkhoff; Luque etc etc. These were the days when there were virtually no overseas players in the English game so this all added to the mystery and excitement.
When the tournament started I wasn't disappointed. We now had a colour telly and the first game featuring Argentina was something I had never seen anything like before. The ticker tape cascading down from the stands, the colour and the noise all added to my open mouthed wonderment. The first couple of weeks saw the best football matches I had ever seen on TV. There seemed to be spectacular goals in each game (rarely seen in the English First Divison at the time) and the skill of all the genuine world-class players on show was something that I couldn't comprehend at first. I remember watching an evening group game between Argentina and France and to that point in my young life, it was the best game of football I had ever seen. Next day at school, that was the only topic of conversation amongst an over-excited bunch of 11 year old lads.
Older readers of this blog have every right to disagree with my appraisal of this World Cup, of course, as I am too young to have witnessed first hand both the 1966 and 1970 World Cups which, I'm certain, are also favourites for many people. However, I have watched every World Cup tournament closely ever since 1978 and, apart from Spain '82 and, to a lesser extent, Mexico '86, no other has come close to matching Argentina '78 for me. It had style, it had panache, it had controversy; it had an unprecedented array of world class players from almost every competing nation playing at the very pinnacle of their game. In my opinion, no World Cup since has quite scaled these heights. I do, however, have some hope for the Brazil World Cup in 2014. If any country has the potential to outdo the 1978 Argentina tournament then it is the football mad country of Brazil.
*Footnote - I never did collect the full set of panini stickers for this World Cup, but once the tournament started it didn't seem to matter as I was seeing them all play in glorious colour television.
**Further Footnote - I think Brazil 2014 may just have outdone it for me!
I remember certain games from the '74 World Cup, including the final, but the tournament as a whole largely went over my head as the quality of the games appeared to be poor and it always appeared to be raining onto sodden pitches. Watching it in black and white also probably didn't help. Fast forward then to 1978. I was 11 years old and in the prime of my boyhood football loving life. The World Cup had come around again and this time it was to be held in South America. This alone excited me, as it sounded exotic and almost mystical. England hadn't qualified, neither had the Republic of Ireland; Northern Ireland or Wales. Scotland had, but none of this mattered to me at the time
2 months before the World Cup started I invested in a Panini sticker album. This album became THE most important thing in my life for several months during 1978. Every team at the upcoming World Cup was featured with a few facts about each player. I poured over it every day and collected the stickers feverishly. I got into an agreement with a few of my mates at school that we would do "swaps" on any that any of us already had. The players names alone seemed magical; Causio; Bettega; Zoff; Kempes; Van Der Kerkhoff; Luque etc etc. These were the days when there were virtually no overseas players in the English game so this all added to the mystery and excitement.
When the tournament started I wasn't disappointed. We now had a colour telly and the first game featuring Argentina was something I had never seen anything like before. The ticker tape cascading down from the stands, the colour and the noise all added to my open mouthed wonderment. The first couple of weeks saw the best football matches I had ever seen on TV. There seemed to be spectacular goals in each game (rarely seen in the English First Divison at the time) and the skill of all the genuine world-class players on show was something that I couldn't comprehend at first. I remember watching an evening group game between Argentina and France and to that point in my young life, it was the best game of football I had ever seen. Next day at school, that was the only topic of conversation amongst an over-excited bunch of 11 year old lads.
Older readers of this blog have every right to disagree with my appraisal of this World Cup, of course, as I am too young to have witnessed first hand both the 1966 and 1970 World Cups which, I'm certain, are also favourites for many people. However, I have watched every World Cup tournament closely ever since 1978 and, apart from Spain '82 and, to a lesser extent, Mexico '86, no other has come close to matching Argentina '78 for me. It had style, it had panache, it had controversy; it had an unprecedented array of world class players from almost every competing nation playing at the very pinnacle of their game. In my opinion, no World Cup since has quite scaled these heights. I do, however, have some hope for the Brazil World Cup in 2014. If any country has the potential to outdo the 1978 Argentina tournament then it is the football mad country of Brazil.
*Footnote - I never did collect the full set of panini stickers for this World Cup, but once the tournament started it didn't seem to matter as I was seeing them all play in glorious colour television.
**Further Footnote - I think Brazil 2014 may just have outdone it for me!
Friday 9 November 2012
Ode to a Cold
Feeling unwell again today
Got a head cold that won't go away
Been under the weather for a day or two
I'm a real man, though, so it's not flu
The head is aching, the throat's like glass
If I get any worse, they'll be saying a Mass
My energy's low, but my temperature's high
The tissues are damp but my humour's still dry
Daytime telly's not a pastime for me
Bargain Hunt's on again though as I sip my tea
I'm shivering as I slake my thirst
I might watch Neighbours, now there's a first
For the love of God, I've just sneezed on my screen
Can't see my words now they're sight unseen
Please pray for me to get on the mend
Or type me an e-mail and then press "send"
Got a head cold that won't go away
Been under the weather for a day or two
I'm a real man, though, so it's not flu
The head is aching, the throat's like glass
If I get any worse, they'll be saying a Mass
My energy's low, but my temperature's high
The tissues are damp but my humour's still dry
Daytime telly's not a pastime for me
Bargain Hunt's on again though as I sip my tea
I'm shivering as I slake my thirst
I might watch Neighbours, now there's a first
For the love of God, I've just sneezed on my screen
Can't see my words now they're sight unseen
Please pray for me to get on the mend
Or type me an e-mail and then press "send"
Thursday 1 November 2012
Chewbacca Mulvaney
During my time working for a telecommunications company in Cheetham Hill , I was effectively sacked from working on the trade counter and moved to their customer service section. This was in an old Victorian building with squeaking, creaky floors, minimum heating and maximum health and safety failings. The "customer service section" was actually just an open space outside a ramshackle office and adjacent to a 19th century warehouse area. I was given a worktop to carry out my duties. The year was 1990.
When I first started in this role, the only other person working in the same area as me was a raw 16 year old lad called Liam. His main task was to stick labels on telecommunications equipment. I attempted to strike up conversations with him. His voice was monosyllabic and it's strangled, nasal delivery had earned him the dubious nickname of "Chewie" (after Chewbacca, the Star Wars character). He told me he was born in Ireland but his family had moved to Cheetham Hill when he was very young. He made it clear to me that despite his Cheetham Hill accented, Chewbacca sounding voice he was Irish and not English.
I warmed to Chewie straight away. He seemed to get overly picked on (nowadays they would call it bullying) from the older lads in the warehouse. This reached a peak during the 1990 World Cup as his vociferous support of the Republic of Ireland football team in a group match against England brought him extra "attention". Chewie was no angel and he defended himself the best a 16 year old could but he always seemed to come off second best so he regularly had my sympathy.
After the move to Salford Quays later in 1990 Chewie was integated into working with the other warehouse lads. The "bat cave" I was stuck in was adjacent to his area of work. There was no door on the cave so I could hear all the "banter" outside in the warehouse area. It largely consisted of "Chewie Bashing" but as he got a little older he started to fight back more vigorously and, on a few occasions, he got embroiled in a few fisticuffs. It always calmed down again though, but my thoughts used to be he had a real fighting Irishman spirit and anytime he felt hard done by he was going to give as good as he got.
Regular social occasions were arranged at this place of work during the early 1990s and Chewie regularly made appearances. The issue was Chewie's already volatile temperament became explosive when he'd had too much to drink and on occasion he wanted to take on the world. Many times his workmates would put their own differences with him to one side and help him out of his scrapes. I rarely ventured to the same fleshpots as Chewie and the warehouse lads but I would hear all the stories on Monday morning of their disorderly behaviour. On one memorable occasion, they were on a night out in Blackpool and late in the night one of the other lads was having a "man to man" chat with Chewie, reasoning with him not to get involved in any trouble, as they walked along the promenade. Whilst in mid-sentence, Chewie's workmate suddenly noticed he wasn't beside him anymore and as he looked around Chewie was brawling on the ground with a complete stranger. They were pulled apart and the situation calmed down. Later on he was asked what all that was about. He thought maybe the lad he was fighting with had said something derogatory to him but he couldn't be sure.Classic Chewie.
Chewie left the company, then returned a few years later, then left again. I heard in more recent times that he found love and settled down. I have met quite a few violent, moronic lads over the years and despised them. Chewie wasn't one of them. He always had the potential to be violent, but he was far from moronic and his ire was only raised through severe provocation. He was a rapscallion, but also a very likeable character. Slainte Chewie!
When I first started in this role, the only other person working in the same area as me was a raw 16 year old lad called Liam. His main task was to stick labels on telecommunications equipment. I attempted to strike up conversations with him. His voice was monosyllabic and it's strangled, nasal delivery had earned him the dubious nickname of "Chewie" (after Chewbacca, the Star Wars character). He told me he was born in Ireland but his family had moved to Cheetham Hill when he was very young. He made it clear to me that despite his Cheetham Hill accented, Chewbacca sounding voice he was Irish and not English.
I warmed to Chewie straight away. He seemed to get overly picked on (nowadays they would call it bullying) from the older lads in the warehouse. This reached a peak during the 1990 World Cup as his vociferous support of the Republic of Ireland football team in a group match against England brought him extra "attention". Chewie was no angel and he defended himself the best a 16 year old could but he always seemed to come off second best so he regularly had my sympathy.
After the move to Salford Quays later in 1990 Chewie was integated into working with the other warehouse lads. The "bat cave" I was stuck in was adjacent to his area of work. There was no door on the cave so I could hear all the "banter" outside in the warehouse area. It largely consisted of "Chewie Bashing" but as he got a little older he started to fight back more vigorously and, on a few occasions, he got embroiled in a few fisticuffs. It always calmed down again though, but my thoughts used to be he had a real fighting Irishman spirit and anytime he felt hard done by he was going to give as good as he got.
Regular social occasions were arranged at this place of work during the early 1990s and Chewie regularly made appearances. The issue was Chewie's already volatile temperament became explosive when he'd had too much to drink and on occasion he wanted to take on the world. Many times his workmates would put their own differences with him to one side and help him out of his scrapes. I rarely ventured to the same fleshpots as Chewie and the warehouse lads but I would hear all the stories on Monday morning of their disorderly behaviour. On one memorable occasion, they were on a night out in Blackpool and late in the night one of the other lads was having a "man to man" chat with Chewie, reasoning with him not to get involved in any trouble, as they walked along the promenade. Whilst in mid-sentence, Chewie's workmate suddenly noticed he wasn't beside him anymore and as he looked around Chewie was brawling on the ground with a complete stranger. They were pulled apart and the situation calmed down. Later on he was asked what all that was about. He thought maybe the lad he was fighting with had said something derogatory to him but he couldn't be sure.Classic Chewie.
Chewie left the company, then returned a few years later, then left again. I heard in more recent times that he found love and settled down. I have met quite a few violent, moronic lads over the years and despised them. Chewie wasn't one of them. He always had the potential to be violent, but he was far from moronic and his ire was only raised through severe provocation. He was a rapscallion, but also a very likeable character. Slainte Chewie!
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