But the drama of a homer accelerates the narrative. It’s an affront to the other team. Those calm fielders are by-passed, their pitcher deflated. It boosted the Blue Jays to hit one out, and they surfed their advantage to victory, 8-4. Waiting for the train back to Manhattan, I was struck by how many people were taking pictures of the stadium from the subway platform, until I started taking a couple myself. There were some innovations in the venue worth considering here: the stadium screens ran subtitles for announcements, while the official scorer made rulings through the game — announced in the press box— on how contentious plays were to be described. The latter would be an interesting development in Thurles or Clones.
Those English who were part of the singing mob would protest their innocence. All they were doing was drinking, singing, taking their shirts off, throwing their beer in the air, jumping up and down… just having a laugh. What’s the problem with that? What else do you do when you go away for a football match? As long as these England fans fail to recognise that when they do this they are effectively raising a collective middle finger to the city, they will continue to get cracked over the head by foreign riot squads without understanding why. There is a failure to appreciate how their behaviour looks from the other point of view. Stupid drunken bant-ics — throwing stuff, climbing up on things, making fun of passers-by — might not constitute outright aggression, but it puts the police on edge.
Think about British tourists in Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Do you agree with the custom that (unmarried) men and women aren’t allowed to hold hands in public? I don’t. Do you agree that unmarried couples shouldn’t be allowed to share a room, or kiss on the street? I don’t. It’s not my culture. I think it’s a bit repressive. But it is theirs, so when you’re there, you adapt your behaviour accordingly. There comes a point where England’s travelling fans will have to make that same leap, I think. Setting up a place – a bar, a square, whatever – as yours makes you a target, and it makes you a nuisance. The violence may not be your fault; it certainly isn’t the fault of every England fan in France. But, judging from the rest of the tournament, there seems to be a relatively easy solution. And after a while, if you don’t adopt it, then you probably can’t complain when nothing changes.
Steph and LeBron should be rivals. Curry’s Warriors are playing James’s Cavaliers for the second year in a row. Curry’s spoon-bending long-range shooting accuracy makes him the emblematic player of the modern NBA: the superstar of this moment. LeBron is the greatest player of his generation, one of the greatest of all time. Between them, they’ve won four of the last five MVP awards and, when this series is over, their teams will have won four of the last five championships. LeBron has played in six straight Finals. One wears Under Armour, the other Nike. Curry is 28; LeBron is 31. Barring injury, fate, or Joe Lacob losing it all to a crippling blackjack addiction, the two could meet in the Finals again for the next few seasons to come.
He touched many lives on and off the field of play and his courage and dignity during a lengthy illness was as great as it was during those summer Sundays long ago when his swashbuckling corner-back play was a standout feature of many a Cork and Rockies triumph. Off the field he was a very successful coal merchant and afterwards in his school of motoring. A number of years ago this observer let his driving licence lapse and had to undergo the driving test again which required a number of lessons from John. And that exercise became an endurance test for him, probably greater than anything he faced on the field of play in trying to ensure that I secured my licence again.
