It’s the start of Lent, hombres, which, Chez WJ, means the disappearance of cake, biscuits, chocolate and all that kind of thing. Not, I hasten to add, arising from any religious zealotry in these parts – D9 is not the Bible Belt – but instead it’s an annual attempt to put some kind of halt to this depressing phenomenon of middle-age spread (which probably also explains why the little WJs’ stashes of sweet stuff remain in situ). So for the coming six and a bit weeks, I’m going to be even more grumpy than normal as I’m left to munch on stalks of celery and the like.
It doesn’t help either that I’m currently feeling like shit, with a bug that’s been doing the rounds within the household turning its attention to me within the past 24 hours. Neither does the fact that it’s raining outside and to make matters worse, I have to go into town later on for a meeting knowing that de brudders (two lots of them apparently) will be on the march again so the traffic is likely to be a total mare.
Oh well. By the time Easter comes around, our NFL campaign will be almost over – on Easter Sunday, in fact, we’re due to host the All-Ireland champions Tyrone at McHale Park in our final match of the campaign. If Ryan McMenamin’s six-week ban is upheld tomorrow night (which it won’t be) then this is the game he’ll be making his return to the fray. As Martin Breheny points out in today’s Indo (and not for the first time either), if the GAA dished out match bans rather than ones based on time periods, they could save themselves a whole load of bother. But, from our perspective, it’s all a bit moot because regardless of whether the ban is a four-week or a six-week one, Ricey is sure to be there – in all his loony, deranged glory – to face us on Easter Sunday. At least I’ll be back on the chocs by then.