ALL FOR THE ROSES

The energy for the big match is building.
Today, in a café in Saumur, a patron hears my voice and asks if I am English.  No.
He has an incredulous look on his face as he asks again: French? No, not that either.
I tell him I am Irish and he immediately launches into pregame rhetoric.  "You are going to take a beating on Sunday."  This is the usual stance that the French take.  They find it hard to think that they might be beaten by a country that didn't exist for most of them just 40 years ago.  France has had the edge (55 to 34 wins) but in the past few years Ireland has been particularly strong. He winces a little when I remind him that Ireland has won the Six Nations two years running.  I'm not going to rub his nose in it.  I restore some lightness with a remark about England being ejected from the competition in the opening round by Australia.  We both laugh at how the mighty have fallen.

Playlist:

All For the Roses
Christy Moore



Zombie
The Cranberries





Zombie
Fela Kuti and Afrika 70


ALL FOR THE ROSES
Wally Page/Tony Boylan

He’s twenty-five; he’s sick and tired,
It’s time to try the other side,
The B&I to paradise,
To sergeants and their men.

He’s never been to Dun Na Ri,
Combed the beaches after three,
Chips and beer and greenery,
Brothers one and all.

He signed and took the soldiers crest,
A decent man in battle dress,
When bugles blow you do your best,
For sergeants and their men.

All for the roses, over the sea.

He’s way ahead; he’s second to none,
With his fabrique nationali gun,
Marching bands with Saxon blood,
Sergeants and their men.

They landed with the sinking sun,
An invasion by the media run,
They covered up and they kissed with tongues,
Sergeants and their men.

But the phantom gunner danced the end,
And battered human bodies bled,
They butchered us, we butchered them,
Sergeants and their men.

All for the roses, over the sea,
All for the roses, Finglas boys to be.

Now a flower of sleep grows on his grave,
Forgotten soon the cowards and the brave,
But the coldest hate still lives today,
For sergeants and their men.

All for the roses, over the sea,
All for the roses, Finglas boys to be.