Extracts from a GAA Pundits diary

Day 1:
Another Monday, another cheque in the back pocket from RTE thanks to my witty, outrageous and controversial 'Monday Feedback' corner on the Monday Game. The moneys good but it would want to be - dragging me up to this shitheap every week away from my beautiful Kingdom. On the upside though, I was backstage in 'makeup' this evening, when who should walk in but Sharon Ni Bheoilan, the chick from the News. I wouldn't mind going up for a 50/50 ball with her - if you catch my meaning. I think I'll give her a signed copy of my excellent autobiography - that usually has the babes begging for some Kingdom-Love. I don't know why I have to go into makeup anyway, they usually sit me beside those gobshites O'Rourke and Lyster in the studio - sure no makeup could clean those two cunts up - especially O'Rourke, the fuckwit looks like some horrible genetic experiment gone wrong.
I read through my emails, phonecalls and letters - you know I don't like Clare fuckers but that psycho Loughnane made one good point in his life - its only nutters that bother ringing into these programs - they should get a life - in fact I think I'll bring that into my rant this evening.
Joe Brolly is the other guest tonight, the nordy cunt. Thinks he's as outspoken as me, what the fuck would he know - with only one All-Ireland to his name. Lyster, that smarmy bollix seems to like him though - I don't trust that fucker. Apparently Brolly is a barrister, what kind of nordy Catholic is a barrister? an orange one, I'd say. He'll take some watching.

Day 2: - a few days later
Its great being a GAA pundit - spout some shite a couple of times a week and laugh all the way to the bank. Take today for instance, I was sitting in the jacks having a nice dump when all of a sudden I remember 'shit - I have to have my Sunday Worst column submitted by this evening'. Its fucking demeaning to have to write for that rag, what do they know about the beautiful sport of Gaelic Football anyway, the shower of jackeen bastards? Anyway, back to the column - I write a splendid piece of prose about how great the Munster Final is when its Cork and Kerry competing and those inbreds in Clare and Tipp are knocked out. I suppose I'll be getting death threats from the Clare cunts again - they're so fucking touchy. They should know they have no right to be even on the same pitch as the mighty, majestic Kingdom. Still, my job is to provoke, to analyse, to spout shit - and I do it so well.

Extract Number 3:
Back on the Monday Game for the 'Feedback' slot. No sign of Sharon in makeup, pity. Brolly comes into the studio - he's becoming a bit of a fixture around here. I start whistling 'The Sash' - I think it throws him off his stride a bit. Lyster brought up the subject of Offaly football. Offaly - those cheating bastards - I'll never forgive them for '82, scum - thats all they are. I tell the nation what I feel - I shoot from the hip. Brolly tries to cut across me. I tell him to shut up, he hasn't got enough All-Ireland medals to interrupt me. After the show, he won't talk to me - what would you expect from an Orange bastard?

Extract 4:
I met MickO the other day. Kildare are out (not very fucking suprising really, the shower of cripples) and he's contemplating his future. All the papers were saying he was the greatest football manager of all time. In fairness its easy to be a good manager when you have the greatest player ever to grace a sports pitch of any description on your side. I told his so aswell - I said 'Mick, I'm the reason we won so much, not your fucking training routines and diets - what good did they do Kildare? You had to bring that useless garsoon offspring of yours up there with you and he was their best player'. We parted company - I love meeting MickO, we have great chats.