Forever Part of Jackie's Army

For the past two months I've been getting cravings for McDonald's. I've never been a big MickyD's eater so it was really not big deal to stop eating it altogether almost five years ago. Since then I've had it once (because it was that or a 15euro eggs, toast, and bacon at Schiphol Airport at 8:00am). I've occasionally lamented the lack of their no-nutritional-value-probably-laced-with-cocaine fries but then I cut up a potato to make oven fries and I'm just as happy.

Plus, if I eat at McD's too often, Mac tells me I'll remain a fat chicken forever.

This most recent craving, however, kept coming back. About once a week I'd find myself saying "but you'll like the dinner I made for you once you eat it" and like a resigned child, my craving would huff off into a corner until it was ready for the next round. Last night, I finally caved.

That's pretty much how I ate the fries.

I walked to the Raunchy Ronnie's closest to my apartment and ordered a meal. I sat down to eat it, realizing that the burger was so dripping with fat/oil/teenagelinecooksnot/grease that my fingers almost became translucent. Ugh. But I had ordered it and, I have to admit, it tasted good going down. It wasn't the most satisfying meal but it shut up my craving so I'll take it.

Actually, I think my burger had even more grease.

About 20 minutes after I got home my stomach felt awful. I still pretty much felt like ass this morning. Thank you, Golden Armpits, for reminding me why I was never really that big of a fan in the first place. And now I have a blog post for the next time I have a craving and the passage of time leads me to think how bad could one meal there be?

NOTE TO SELF: DON'T EAT THE MCD'S OR YOU WILL FEEL LIKE THIS!

Note to readers: Guess who suddenly realised she can make

her own screen caps when she watches movies on her laptop?

Over on Healthy Tipping Point today, Caitlin asked another round of 10 personal questions. The last question was about your three happiest moments. One of my moments was when Ireland beat Romania in 1990. The funny thing is that I almost didn't include it as a memory because I didn't think a sporting memory from when I was 10 should really be one of my happiest moments. But you know what? It is.

I wrote about the game on its 20th anniversary but I know I've picked up a few new readers since then so while you can find the full post here, I'm reposting a shortened version of it on here. I will fully admit that just reading the post again made me cry.

Italia '90 is the first World Cup I really remember watching. I have vague memories of a World Cup party prior to that, but I couldn't tell you who was playing or what the score was. Italia '90 was so burned in my memory partly because I was 10 and finally able to actually follow sports and partly because it was Ireland's first time at the World Cup. As I have mentioned before, my dad is an Irish immigrant. As much as I love Canada, when it comes to soccer (and rugby), Ireland is my team. Italia '90 made sure of that.

...Ireland made it past the Round Robin stage. They were slated to play against Romania, at that time a dominant force in the soccer world (not so much now) and the general agreement was that 'the boys in green' had had a good run but it would be coming to an end.

My dad had invited a few friends around to watch and to follow it up with a BBQ.[...] It was a tense game, Romania attacking aggressively and Ireland building a defensive wall which rivaled the Berlin wall. Despite Romania's best efforts, not a single shot made it into the net and the teams were forced into extra time. [...] After extra time did nothing to change the result, a penalty shoot-out was inevitable.

Romania was up first. [...] The players would walk from the centre circle were they had to stay between kicks, place the ball where they wanted, and then score. [...] The score stood at 4-4 as Packie Bonner, Ireland's goalie, took his place on the goal line. He dropped his head and said a prayer (I know because he crossed himself when he was done) as Daniel Timofte strode up to the ball and got ready.

... Packie guessed right on that last ball and he stopped it. My dad let out a loud yelp of joy as he jumped out of his seat. I remember being on my knees, not fully believing what I was seeing. I was waiting for the referee to call back the penalty shot for some unknown reason, to give Daniel Timofte another crack at it. Thankfully, my imagined doom was just that, imagined.

As David O'Leary walked up the field towards the goal, I got to my feet never once taking my eyes off the screen. This was it. This was our moment. [...] He ran on the ball and kicked it straight into the back of the net. A cheer erupted from our living room, and in the moment of celebration, my dad took his full glass of red wine and threw it at our freshly-painted white wall. There was jumping, screaming, hugging, singing, dancing, yelling, laughing, and a couple of toasts. Ireland had done the impossible. They were going to the quarter-finals.

[...]

June 25, 1990 was the day I became a soccer fan. I had played soccer and I enjoyed soccer, but I had never loved soccer like I did that day and have since. I watched Ireland lose the next game to the host team, Italy. I watched in USA '94 as Ireland lost to Holland in the Round of 16 and as Roberto Baggio (Italy) placed a penalty kick so high above the cross bar I wondered if he needed glasses. I watched the final of France '98 while having lunch with my mom when France beat Brazil. Ireland had failed to qualify so I was cheering for the host country (this, of course, was prior to the Handball Henry debacle which will now ensure I hate France for the rest of my natural life). I watched Manchester United win the Treble on the world's tiniest TV while befriending the front door staff at a hostel in Paris. I watched Thun almost hold Arsenal to a tie in a pub in Thun. I hosted a pancake breakfast for the final game of Germany '06 and felt my jaw drop as Zinedine Zidane did the unthinkable to Marco Materazzi. All these memories in my life, all these important moments, tied into the beautiful game all because Ireland beat Romania in penalty kicks. What would have happened if they had lost?

[...]

I have come to believe that there will never be a sport moment in my life as sweet as Ireland's win over Romania. Soccer, hockey, rugby, there will be no game, no matter how important, that will stay with me the way that game did. Twenty years later, I watch a video about it and I tear up with pride at that moment. I talk about Italia '90 the way older Canadians talk about the '72 series. I reference that game like it was somehow pinnacle to the entire game of soccer and not just the island nation of Ireland. My children will know how important that game was, and likely my grandchild will too, because it really was that important.

So Long South Africa, Hello Brazil!

It's been an up-down week for me. I had a great weigh-in on Thursday with a loss of 2.3lbs so I was feeling great but then this morning I really struggled with my run. About five minutes into it, my calves decided they had better things to do and I was left walking. I tried to push through it, find my stride so to speak, but it just wasn't happening and I ended up speed walking most of it, just jogging a little bit at the end to feel better about the whole ordeal. I did bust it out in the speed walk and was very happy with the pace I kept, but I'm frustrated about the running. I'm not sure exactly why this happened. I have changed a few things today and hopefully I will see better results in my run tomorrow. I want to see better results because Monday night is my first official 'training to run-walk a half-marathon' and I don't really want to start that feeling bummed about my running in general.

Tomorrow also marks the end of the World Cup. Out of all my teams that I was cheering for at the start, only Ghana made it past the round robin (what can I say? I love to support the underdogs but it usually means they go home early). I will watch the finals tomorrow at a pub with some friends who are visiting from Switzerland. They're cheering for the Netherlands and I'm cheering for Spain. Let's just hope we're still friends at the end of the game!

Once the final is over, it's only 1433 days until the start of FIFA World Cup 2014 in Brazil... not that I'm counting or anything :)

Happy Twentieth Anniversary, FAI!

Head's up: This post has absolutely nothing to do with anything health related. I am taking a stroll down memory lane and I invite you to join me if you want. Also, it's really just a stream of consciousness. You have been warned!
Twenty years ago, my life, and the life of Irish people the world over, changed forever. Today, twenty years ago, was the day that Ireland beat Romania 5-4 in penalty kicks in Italia '90. It was the day that all of Ireland stopped, waited with baited breath, and roared in unison at the end. I may have been 8 time zones away, but you better believe I roared too.

Italia '90 is the first World Cup I really remember watching. I have vague memories of a World Cup party prior to that, but I couldn't tell you who was playing or what the score was. Italia '90 was so burned in my memory partly because I was 10 and finally able to actually follow sports and partly because it was Ireland's first time at the World Cup. As I have mentioned before, my dad is an Irish immigrant. As much as I love Canada, when it comes to soccer (and rugby), Ireland is my team. Italia '90 made sure of that.

The years leading up to Ireland finally appearing in the World Cup were filled with highs (beating England in Euro '88... another game I remember with fond memories) and lows (the squabbles in the media between Eamon Dunphy, former player and Jackie Charlton, coach) but all that was forgotten when Ireland made it past the Round Robin stage. They were slated to play against Romania, at that time a dominant force in the soccer world (not so much now) and the general agreement was that 'the boys in green' had had a good run but it would be coming to an end. Still, it didn't stop everyone I know with the smallest sliver of Irish blood in them from crowding around their TV set in the hope that a miracle would happen.

My dad had invited a few friends around to watch and to follow it up with a BBQ. I can't remember exactly who was there, but I do remember there weren't enough seats and so I spent the entire game trying to get comfortable on the floor. It was a tense game, Romania attacking aggressively and Ireland building a defensive wall which rivaled the Berlin wall. Despite Romania's best efforts, not a single shot made it into the net and the teams were forced into extra time. You could see the frustration in the faces of the Romanian players. As much as I love Ireland, I remember Romania being the better team that day and deserving to win, but 'better team' doesn't always mean much when it comes to the final score. After extra time did nothing to change the result, a penalty shoot-out was inevitable.

I have never in my life heard my dad so quiet. Ever. Even when he sleeps he snores loud enough to wake the whole house, but he was silent during those penalty kicks. Romania was up first and they netted an easy one. Then Ireland, then Romania. Back and forth it went for the first four goals. The players would walk from the centre circle were they had to stay between kicks, place the ball where they wanted, and then score. Each time, the stadium erupted with cheers from that team's section. The score stood at 4-4 as Packie Bonner, Ireland's goalie, took his place on the goal line. He dropped his head and said a prayer (I know because he crossed himself when he was done) as Daniel Timofte strode up to the ball and got ready.

The problem with penalty kicks is that the goalie can not move until the player has made contact with the ball. In all honesty, a goalie will have already chosen which side they're going to dive to before the player has even touched the ball. You have a 50-50 chance of being right, and if you wait until the player has touched the ball, you have a 100% chance of being too late to stop the ball. Odds are better if you guess at a side and just go with it. Well, Packie guessed right on that last ball and he stopped it. My dad let out a loud yelp of joy as he jumped out of his seat. I remember being on my knees, not fully believing what I was seeing. I was waiting for the referee to call back the penalty shot for some unknown reason, to give Daniel Timofte another crack at it. Thankfully, my imagined doom was just that, imagined.

As David O'Leary walked up the field towards the goal, I got to my feet never once taking my eyes off the screen. This was it. This was our moment. Ireland would either do this, or we would all die of heart attacks before this game was over. I remember that O'Leary seemed to take forever to get the ball just right. I hated him for it in that moment, for prolonging my agony, but later I would think him the wisest man to have ever taken a penalty kicked. He ran on the ball and kicked it straight into the back of the net. A cheer erupted from our living room, and in the moment of celebration, my dad took his full glass of red wine and threw it at our freshly-painted white wall. There was jumping, screaming, hugging, singing, dancing, yelling, laughing, and a couple of toasts. Ireland had done the impossible. They were going to the quarter-finals.

We had barely caught our collective breath when our phone began to ring. Lorcan, Hugh, Mary, Eileen, Kevin, every single one of my dad's four brothers and five sisters (one aunt had passed away, my dad is one out of 11) phoned us that day. I remember yelling into the phone a lot and singing along with voices an entire continent and ocean away from me. I longed to be with them, to jump, scream, hug, sing, dance, yell, and laugh with them. I don't think I have ever missed my Irish family or longed so much to be in Ireland as I did that day. When we all settled down hours later, my voice was gone. I like to think that I gave it to Ireland that day.

June 25, 1990 was the day I became a soccer fan. I had played soccer and I enjoyed soccer, but I had never loved soccer like I did that day and have since. I watched Ireland lose the next game to the host team, Italy. I watched in USA '94 as Ireland lost to Holland in the Round of 16 and as Roberto Baggio (Italy) placed a penalty kick so high above the cross bar I wondered if he needed glasses. I watched the final of France '98 while having lunch with my mom when France beat Brazil. Ireland had failed to qualify so I was cheering for the host country (this, of course, was prior to the Handball Henry debacle which will now ensure I hate France for the rest of my natural life). I watched Manchester United win the Treble on the world's tiniest TV while befriending the front door staff at a hostel in Paris. I watched Thun almost hold Arsenal to a tie in a pub in Thun. I hosted a pancake breakfast for the final game of Germany '06 and felt my jaw drop as Zinedine Zidane did the unthinkable to Marco Materazzi. All these memories in my life, all these important moments, tied into the beautiful game all because Ireland beat Romania in penalty kicks. What would have happened if they had lost?

My dad had taped the game, and we would watch it over and over again. I eventually started repeating the announcers as I walked around the house to make my family laugh. My dad even taped it and sent it to Ireland; when I was there in 1996, my uncle played it for me. My cousin, Frank, recently related his story of watching the game at home with his family and my cousin, Cormac (and I'm assuming all of Cormac's family but that never came up in the story) and when the game ended, they ran outside to re-enact the penalty shoot out on the green over and over again. Their memories of Italia '90 were as strong as mine, and it made me happy to know that despite growing up so far from my family, we had common moments in our lives that we would all remember.

I have come to believe that there will never be a sport moment in my life as sweet as Ireland's win over Romania. Soccer, hockey, rugby, there will be no game, no matter how important, that will stay with me the way that game did. Twenty years later, I watch a video about it and I tear up with pride at that moment. I talk about Italia '90 the way older Canadians talk about the '72 series. I reference that game like it was somehow pinnacle to the entire game of soccer and not just the island nation of Ireland. My children will know how important that game was, and likely my grandchild will too, because it really was that important.



Many thanks to Cormac for the video link.

All My Loves Combined

I feel like I have been ignoring my blog because, well, I have. Since coming home from the wedding, I've been spending all my extra time working on this:

What you see here is the rough draft of my very first .pdf creation. The final product looks a little different (but I can't upload .pdf files) but I was very happy with the whole process. I should note that this was sent to all the dance schools and is not the actual product we will be using for advertisement, that's why it's a little vague on the details. I felt awkward spamming all the schools with the same email, but the responses I've gotten back have all been very positive. As much work as all this volunteering has been, I'm loving it. It feels really good to be doing something I feel so passionate about.

I've also been spending a great deal of my time checking out the World Cup. Those of you who know me know that soccer actually comes before hockey in my sports world (gasp, and she calls herself Canadian!) so this is a big deal. Granted, my beloved Ireland did not make it in thanks to Handball Henry so most of my support has gone towards Switzerland (long shot), Côte d'Ivoire (long shot), Ghana (long shot), and anyone playing against France. As if shamed by the knowledge that they shouldn't be at the World Cup, France have done me proud and have failed miserably in all their games. They finished last in their Group and so they will be getting on a plane and returning home to drown their sorrows in a few bottles of wine and some crunchy frog legs. (What wine goes with frog legs? Red? White? Just googled it, dry white wine is apparently best.) Am I bitter? Perhaps.

THR and I moved up in our running time and so we've decided (foolishly?) to sign up for a 5K which starts at 8:00am... on Canada Day... in Sidney. Now, neither of us drives which means catching a bus from downtown at Supid O'clock in the morning. I'll be lucky if I can stay awake to watch the fireworks after that; we must be mad! However, if anyone knows a nice breakfast spot out in Sidney, please let us know. The only place I know that's open for breakfast in Sidney is White Spot, but there must be more! I am tempted to make THR wait with me until Bistro Suisse opens for lunch, but I fear she will eat my arm if we have to wait that long.

Weight Watchers is still going. I was within 'strip off the jeans' of the 5lbs goal but then the weekend of the wedding coincided with a missed Wednesday run so I went up a little bit. I knew I hadn't it the 5 lbs, but I was just really, really hoping I'd break even. Well, I honestly got what I deserved but I'll do better this week. Thankfully, no one can vote you out of WW like they can on the Biggest Loser!