LOCKERROOM:Don't cry for me in the Aviva, The truth is I never liked you
IT IS almost spring and it has been six weeks since Stephen Ireland reminded the Plain People of Ireland that he is done with Ireland. Among the Plain People of Ireland, a race who can speak of little else but Stephen Ireland, the mood is tentative.
Enter Stephen Ireland, shaking his head slowly. He carries a picture of himself wearing Manchester City gear. He sings . . .
Memory
All alone in the Toon night,
I can smile at the old days,
I was beautiful then.
I remember the time I knew what popular meant,
Let the memory live again.
Daylight
I must wait for the transfer window,
I must think of a new life,
And I mustn’t give in.
When the dawn comes,
Toon will be a memory too,
And my new club will be in
Maybe Barnsley.
(He turns to his audience. The Plain People of Ireland. Visibly, they tremble.)
It won’t be easy, you’ll think it strange,
When I try to explain how I feel.
That I don’t like the ould sod, after all it has done.
You won’t believe me.
All you will see is a boy, laughing at you,
As he drinks his mid-range sparkling rosé wines,
He’s never been to Aldi or Lidl. Have you?
I had to let it happen, because I’m strange.
Couldn’t stay all my life down at City,
Playing in the reserves, being out of the Sun.
So I chose, Pardew,
Running around, trying everything Toon.
But nothing impresses me at all,
I never expected it to.
Don’t cry for me in the Aviva,
The truth is I never liked you,
Turning up on match days.
At your insistence,
I had thin hair,
You kept your distance.
And as for fortune, and as for fame,
I never invited them in.
A nice pink Rolls Royce was all I desired,
And an aquarium too.
They are not the lil fishies they promised to be.
The answer was here all the time,
I don’t like you or Trap-a-ttoni.
Don’t cry for me in the Aviva.
Have I said too much?
There’s nothing more Je peut dire a vous.
But all you have to do, is look at me to know,
That every word is true
(Stage darkens. Man with beret and strings of onions hanging from his neck enters stage right. He has a notebook, a pencil and a book entitled Anglais Pour Idiots. A French journalist. Guillome)
Guillome: Oui, tell me about it stud!
Stephen: I got views,
They’re multiplyin’,
And I’m losin’ control.
’Cause the quotes,
I’m supplyin’,
They’re electrifyin’!
Guillome: I better hurry up,
’cos I leeve en France,
And I’m out to misquote you.
I better type up,
What I didn’t understand.
English is a language I didn’t do.
Stephen: Nothin’ left, nothin’ left to misconstrue.
Both: We have the piece that we want,
We look so intell-eee-juant,
O, o, oo, honey.
Stephen: Les mots you need?
Guillome: Oh, yes indeed.
Guillome: We have talked
Of your defection.
You lost a granny everyday.
Shake your Superman kaks
In my direction.
Let me feel my way.
(Enter white-haired man, stage right. Trapattoni!)
Trap: You better shut up,
’cause I eez the man,
No people else can understand.
You better shut up.
Stephen: Ha, you need a man,
To keep your forwards supplied.
But I gave it up,
And I’m gonna prove,
Trap: You gonna prove?
Stephen: That my love for me is justified.
Trap: Are you sure?
Stephen: Yes, I’m sure down deep inside,
I’m the one that I want.
I’m the one for me-e-e-eeee.
I won’t live in Cork,
It’s the econ-o-meee-eee-eeeee.
Deep down I know,
I’m real shallow.
My heart bleeds,
Oh, yes indeed.
Repeat Chorus 2x
Stephen and Trap dance and sing slowly.
Aren’t we rich?
Are we a pair?
Talking about Ireland,
We don’t live there.
Send in the clowns.
Isn’t it bliss?
Don’t you approve?
One who gets transferred around,
One who can’t move.
Where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
(Stage darkens. Leaves blow across a concrete tundra. Fat men, shivering but wearing no tops, pass by. The letters on their chests spell out N-E-W-C-T-L-E. Enter Stephen. He has aged.)
Just a perfect day,
On the bench at James Park,
And then later, when it got dark,
I went home.
Just a perfect day,
Had canapes with Lambrusco,
Bought a hat, a cravat, too,
And then home.
Oh, it’s such a perfect day,
I’m more English than you.
Oh such a perfect day,
I just keep banging on,
You just keep me banging on.
Just a perfect day,
Problems with your bailout loan!
My cash is all my own.
It’s such fun.
Just a perfect day,
Played Fifa 2011 all by myself.
In HD, I pretended I was someone else,
Someone good.
It’s such a perfect day,
Being misquoted on Houllier,
Not playing in any first teams,
Birmingham having no museums.
I just keep on banging on,
I just keep on banging on.
You’re going to reap just what you sow.
Cork, I told you that ages ago.
You’re going to reap just what you sow,
You’re going to reap just what you sow . . .
*Some friends are doing the Great Ireland Run (10km) in the Phoenix Park on Sunday, April 10th greatirelandrun.org).
The Jack and Jill Foundation provides care and support for children with severe neurological development issues, as well as offering some respite to the families. The foundation cannot cure the kids, but can help to alleviate some of the difficulties.
Anyone who would be willing to do the race or sponsor runners directly can give Tom (086 0495639) or Dave (0872469553) a call, or go to jackandjill.ie
