There’s nothing quite like watching your county get hammered in an All-Ireland final while surrounded by French families having a lovely time on their holibops. And there I was that fateful Sunday, hunched over my laptop at a picnic table outside our mobile home, trying not to get too excited as bemused Europeans sauntered by with baguettes tucked under their arms.
Meanwhile, Fachtna’s sending me a steady stream of texts as it dawned on us that the dream of Liam was dying a death in front of our eyes, and I’m having to mime to a bemused Parisian father that no, I’m not having a cardiac arrest, just a fecking spiritual one.
By the fifty-minute mark, with Tipp already out of sight, I found myself trying to explain the concept of the Gaelic Athletic Association to a confused German couple. How do you convey to Hans and Greta that thirty grown men running around Croke Park with sticks represents the very essence of your cultural identity? How do you explain that losing to Tipp isn’t just a sporting result, it’s a collective crisis that could result in the county slipping hopelessly sideways into the Atlantic Ocean?
The thing about hope is that it makes a complete fool of you every single time. One week you’re swanning around Dublin’s northside in the red jersey like you own the place, giving daggers to the neighbour who’s been quiet since the semi-final.
The next week you’re staring at French children bombing into a swimming pool without a care in the world, wondering why you put yourself through this annual torture. Of course, we both know Fachtna and I will be back next year, optimism fully restored, because that’s what hope does to you, and Liam is ours by birthright, as you all know, no matter what they might think a few miles up the M8.
Beholden to the Yanks
Speaking of public thrashings, Ursula von der Leyen was getting her own courtesy of Donald Trump and his reciprocal tariffs this week. The EU-US trade deal announced is on a par with our hurling defeat , although at least our lads put up a fight for the first half. The terms of this deal look fairly one-sided by any analysis. European exports to the US will face a 15% tariff while American goods waltz into the EU tariff-free.
Meanwhile, Europe has committed to spending $750 billion on US energy, $600 billion in American investment, and pledged to buy enough American weapons to arm a small galaxy.
For Ireland, this should be setting off alarm bells even if everyone is putting a brave face on it. We’ve built our entire economic model on being the friendly gateway between America and Europe, the geopolitical equivalent of that lad at every wedding who helps people find the toilets. But what happens when America decides it doesn’t need gateways anymore and just wants Europe to pay up and shut up? Our corporate tax receipts, which have been funding everything from bike shelters to children’s hospitals, suddenly look a lot less secure when the Americans are losing their minds.
CMAT has our pulse
I was amused to see that last Tuesday, as An Taoiseach stood up in the Dáil and declared housing ‘the defining social challenge of our time’, CMAT was dropping a single called EURO-COUNTRY that had every twenty-something in the country nodding along like she’d stolen the words right out of their heads. Guess which one actually captured what it feels like to be young and priced out of your own country?
There’s something beautifully apt about CMAT’s timing, with a song about a generation caught between European economics and American dreams, dropped the same day our politicians were offering the same tired soundbites about housing. While our politicians are using phrases like ‘unprecedented challenges’ and ‘comprehensive solutions’, CMAT is giving voice to the kids camping in their childhood bedrooms, wondering if they’ll ever afford a place of their own or if they’ll join the exodus to Melbourne.
Of course, Ireland is hardly unique when it comes to our housing crisis - this is a problem you’ll find in many countries. And the shenanigans playing out between the US and EU are central to all this. In France, I watched with envy as locals embarked on their month-long summer breaks. There’s a less frantic pace to life when you’re there that’s a direct result of cultural and political choices. As the years have gone by and I’ve visited more and more, you get the sense this is being eroded bit by bit.
Are we all destined to turn into little Americans who struggle to take a week off every year and have to worry about the most basic medical treatments? Or is there another path we can choose to follow?
