Parkheaders

I don’t know much because I am merely a normal Irish person. There are others though, living amongst us, who are special. They are super Irish. Turbo charged, fuel injected Irish. They can usually be spotted on Saturday afternoons, predominantly in urban areas though not exclusively as they have also been known to thrive in more rural settings.

The allegiance they have chosen is designed to say something very strong and unambiguous about them. They have chosen to transcend geography, logic and aesthetics and hitch their wagon to Glasgow Celtic.

And these people want there to be no doubt about the symbolism of such a gesture. They want there to be no doubt that if, say, they were stranded on a snow capped mountain in South America after a plane crash and were forced to sacrifice a fellow passenger to eat in order to stay alive that they would choose a British person over an Irish person. That they would unhesitatingly, unerringly, undoubtedly choose the British person. Over the Irish person. And the solidarity and synchronicity with which these people stand when it comes to the issue of the prioritization of nationalities for cannibalisation in extreme survival situations is so staunch that it necessitates the wearing of a costume. It is white with a series of parallel green hoops. The costume is also designed to illustrate that the person in general would have a preference for all things Irish, would do his best in any given situation to err on the side of Irishness, to lend his support to Ireland and to do all these fine and noble things with more verve, gusto and enthusiasm than normal Irish people would.

And so it’s not easy to support Glasgow Celtic from the middle of Ireland. There are softer options available in order to attain access to football of a roughly equivalent standard. There’s Turners Cross, Inchicore, Tolka Park, Oriel Park, the Brandywell, the Showgrounds. But the super charged Irish don’t want it too easy, they believe a certain amount of self flagellation is only right and proper when a person unearths a real, hardcore vocation.

So Glasgow it is, to get behind the team with the kind of Irishness the super chargers insist upon, the kind you’ll never find in Dundalk or Galway or Derry. The Holy Grail, the deep fried Mars bar of Paddyism.