The Savage is BACK!

Well savage tom has been on a bit of a hiatus.

Like most gaa lads I take a wee bit of aq break over the christmas. Well earned as well, as the junior championships can take a toll especially when, like old savage tom, you're too old to catch the nippy young lads, and too young to skelp the auld lads if you follow me. Well the fesTive season is over - someone better tell the cork boys that, the humpy bastards. They're just copying that other thick cork fecker roy keane. Poor auld tom mcarthy is getting beat like the youngest child in a family of bareknuckle boxers. Player power be fuck as my old friend the blue ratigan would always say. The gaa was not built by player power. It was built on the backs of players, but certainly not by their power. Sure how would the gaa compete with it's main rival for influence in irish life, the catholic church, if twas a democracy. No, the gaa, in particular, the county board is , like the church is a theocracy. And at the top of the holy trinity sits the lord god almighty, the Chairman of the County Board. If you are a gaa player it is an article of faith that the Chairman of the board is divine. For he was there in the beginning, and due to his infinite wisdom he created the clubs in one day. And then on the second day, the pitch. Then on the third day, the floodlights. And so on until on the seventh day he said "by jaysus I'm wrecked, time for a cuppa" and he promptly forgot to create a workable fixtures procedure which is why savage tom has to play an under 21 league match even though he now 29 this february. Because of this transcendental effort The county godhead is only to be considered a divine being, omnipotent and omnipresent. Which might explain how the county team is without tracksuits this year as being able to tell the future and being able to do anything must have led him to assume he'd looked after that in the future if you know what I mean! It's this skill that enables the county manager to keep abreast of all modern fitness techniques, ever evolving tactics, head coachery, and player management and ultimately pick the correct manager for a coubty team. If not, the manager, then his backroom team. Do not apply mortal logic to his workings, he is beyond your comprehension. Those players in cork should bow there heads and think of their sage and divine god. Not satan in the memory of keano. So savage tom implores you to follow the wise words of larry 'blisters' tompkins, delivered to a stunned des cahill on RTE 'get in a fucking room and fucking start talking.'



Anyway before the rant ends - a thought for poor auld Ciaran Mul from the LRC - can you imagine trying to get a load of corkmen to shut up talking about how great their position is compared to the rest of the countries and how their ideas are the capital city of ideas....



The festive season is over. You'll see the condition in the players. The supporters'll be commenting on how the players have wintered well. The O'neill short shorts are stretched beyond capacity looking like a laced up teddy.

But not Savage Tom - oh no. The Tom decided to try to keep the christmas pounds by straying into the foreign game. He took up egg-chasing over the winter. A sport invented in Kerry in the late 19th century - when every village in Kerry had a team and from which the gaelic football spawned!!!

anyway Tom found the experience exhilirating. Having to only run short distances was great, rather than those murderous fecking pitch length journies that michael donnelly started in the early 2000s and that every stupid thick corner back who wants to make a name for himself like Ryan - the trashtalk - mC from tyrone. Another advantage of the funny shaped ball game was the tackle. In the GAA, Savage Tom would find it hard to get up the steam to catch the nippy forward or indeed rotund centre back. He'd invariably be sprinting like a man ducking under the branches of a tree up the field and end up just lunging at the player with only the whisper of a slap at the ball, legs intertwining with the player like a french plait only to bounce up from the human wreckage - arms out by side, palms up like a human weighing scales and start screaming at the referee for giving the free against. It turns out this is the perfect training for the epilsoid featuring game of ruggers.

So the collars are up, the dubes are on, and Savage Tom is fit to ruck