Whilst both articles have the exact same wording for the first paragraph, both use wildly conflicting headlines to describe the news. Whilst RTÉ’s news editorial is generally superior to TCM/BreakingNews, they’ve really lost the battle on this one! Read RTÉ’s news report or TCM BreakingNews’ report.

For the record, Maradona wasn’t sacked. In fact to say he has “called it quits” is misleading as well (but nowhere near as misleading as RTÉ’s headline!). However, it was decided that his contract wouldn’t be renewed. Big difference, even if somewhat pedantic (moi?)!

The rolling monthly contract requires 30 days notice. Notice served is effective from the next billing date. In other words you’ll always have to pay at least an other month’s subscription after serving your notice.

Up until recently, Setanta required written notice be posted (for Irish subscriptions anyway) to:

Setanta Sports DSAT
P O Box 182
The Quays
Newry
BT35 5AS

However they now accept cancellation notices via email at requests@setanta.com. You just need to quote your account number. You can find the account number on the written confirmation of your subscription that you got when you signed up, or you can ring Customer Care and get it by quoting your Sky Viewing card number (Services > System Details on your Sky menu).

If you want a discounted subscription for, usually, 3 months, you can ring customer care and explain you want to cancel. They’ll put you through to their Loyalty Team who will, invariably, offer you a reduced subscription for a number of months.

A bonus for all you on bundled call plans (cell/mobile, landline or VoIP). The geographical number (not the 0818 / 0845 which usually are not included in call bundles/plans) for the Loyalty Team is +441915013482 , but that probably changes a bit.

Regardless of his nature, or how he has behaved, he is a great servant to hurling and to Clare hurling in particular. For that, and that alone, I wish him well.

First and foremost, they don’t provide a geographical number, just an 0818 “Universal Access” number (whose original intent was to be a standard “national” rate, but now most providers charge a premium for calls, most don’t bundle, and mobile operators smack on quite a profit). So I use Skype (to beat my Digiweb Metro rates and my o2 rates).

I call, get through to a pleasant lady who asks me for my account number (didn’t have viewing card number to hand), and 1st address line. She asks me for the first line of my address and then asks why I wish to cancel. Then she says “no problem” and transfers me to “Customer Loyalty”. Another lady there, without saying hello or introducing herself in anyway, asks me to confirm my full address. “Thank you – beep beep beep”; I get redirected to the I assume is the 1st option of the IVR main menu, which is to subscribe. After waiting to see if I’d any other options, I get the 3 beeps again and disconnected completely.

OK, not so bad, I retry again 2 more times. At different stages I get cut off with the beep-beep-beep (which sounds like it’s their phone system, rather than Skype/telco) and eventually disconnected. FAIL!

Off to fill in the online web form. I do so furnishing them with the required 30-day cancellation notice, my account number, and an instruction to contact me (since I can’t contact them) if they need any further details. I hit the submit button and am immediately redirected to the contact us page (which lists email address, etc.) and just a generic message mentioning to “click here” for a privacy policy, only it’s not linked/clickable! Nor is there any mention of whether my mail was sent or not!

My last (well, before cancelling the direct debit, that is) is to try regular email, but then I received an email “Delivery Status Notification (Failure)” from Setanta. Sure enough, it’s my message that I submitted. Now here’s where it gets embarrassing for Setanta! The online form obviously sends a message with a from header of the email address submitted on the form (rather than an email address on their own domain like onlineform@setanta.com. Given that their mail servers are configured to query SPF records (bravo Setanta!), and that the online form sends mail from the specified address (think “on behalf of”), the mail failed to send, because I have responsible SPF records set up on my cgarvey.com domain. The reason given for the failure was “failed to meet SPF requirements” which I’d expect.

I have to forgive the online form ‘mail from’ header misgivings as the designers/coders probably don’t know who is responsible for the mail servers, let alone what SPF is. So I was just about to email them the same message (pointing to here) and see if that mode works, when I get another email. It’s a standard mail, “Your comments are very welcome and will be passed to the relevant department”.

Phone service: FAIL. IVR: FAIL. Online form feedback: FAIL. SPF querying on SMTP (in itself good) sending bounces (to potentially random addresses), but passing on the mail regardless: FAIL.

Setanta Sports: FAIL!

I had subscribed to the notion I’ll be back for Magners League in the Autumn, but I’m not so sure anymore!

Leinster will, no doubt, live this one up, and deservedly so. Roll on the seniors, where it will all be settled! Hard luck Munster u20s!

Having gone with no ticket, I’d almost resided to the fact I’d be watching the game in a pub. Part of me was agreeing with everyone who was saying “you’ll get one just before the game”, and that certainly has been my experience for any sporting event. I was prepared to pay above face-value, but not to some ticket tout.

O’Neils (the “real one” on Trinity St., and not the big one around the corner!) became our home. The weekend started off with a tiring group of us heading to our home away from home away from home! It wasn’t long before the second lease of life came, and the drink, banter, craic and song began to flow.

Ulster had drawn in the Celtic League, so Leinster were still in with a with a chance, albeit a much diminished one. You’re reading the blogs of one of the very few crossover fans to support Munster and Leinster (although Munster will always be first!).

Along came a phone call from an unknown number. I missed it by less than a second. Assuming it was a wrong number, I texted it back to confirm. “Hi, this is … have you a ticket?”. My knees trembled. The boys were laughing at the extent of the shake in my hand (not drink induced!). Outside I go to ring. It turns out to be the father of my cousin’s husband! I’d met them (cousing & hubbie) during the week. I don’t remember asking for a ticket, but I’m sure I mentioned, no matter how indirectly, that I was in need of one, but going over anyway. The night was on! A round of “Baby Irish” (a Sheridan’s Liqueur ripoff, in a small divided plastic glass) to celebrate, and more to come. The relief, the happiness, but the apprehension that it might all fall through!

A quick trip around to Wood Street/St Mary Street to say hello to more Munster natives, ignoring the bucketing rain, a pretty awful bar staff in Prince of Wales, and a phone call later from the wife of my ticket-holder, just to confirm it was for me and it’d be here in the morning. The apprehension was lifted almost completely! There was only

After what seemed like a week (but a good one), we head for Burger King to finish the night off in style. After a stint in a local nightclub, Barfly, that is. Taxis home, and hardly the energy to say “Good night” before we’re catching up on some shut-eye.

Saturday morning was a slow/rough start to what we’d hope would be a great day! Our dreams, obviously, came true. After a much needed and appreciated fry-up in Tuck Inn, we headed into the stadium to meet my God of the day (the ticket holder), we went back to O’Neils for a few. They had a bar set up in the window, and I swear they couldn’t have made it more disorganised if they tried. There was room for four times as many taps, and at least twice the staff. They would have made so much more money instead of it going to the local off-licenses instead!

The wind was cool and strong, but we knew the roof of the stadium would be closed anyway. We were all on single tickets so, once we got to the stadium, we went our own merry ways. O’Neils, was the meeting point for afterwards. A good-luck handshake and moments later I was sitting on the half-way line on the lower tier, near the back. Delighted with being in there at all, I wasn’t bothered by not being able to see high ball, or the scoreboards. They did have small TVs suspended from our ceiling, but the scores/time wasn’t display on these. In to the game they’d stopped showing replays, presumably because of the big boo after the replay of Bobo’s try.

As with my Toulouse write up, I’ll leave the technical details of the game to those with more expertise! The roar when Halstead did the deeds, the crowd went wild. I’d some very passionate and drunk Cork boys around me, and I got a nice elbow to the lip (accidental of course, because there was nothing but love in that stadium!).

Half time came, and I went down to the front to get the splendour and awe of the stadium. Truely amazing! Red everywhere, and a beautifully flood lit stadium, that was HUGE!!!

What really hurt my ears and throat was when Strings crossed the line. I just happened to be talking to the guy next to me just before it, and we’d agreed that the abuse he’s been getting of late was over the top. As if by magic, I happened to glance right at his face at the exact time to see the classic facial expression just before his run to the line. It looked as if he knew he was being cheeky. He looked confident of the move he was about to make too, though! It worked!

What about Rog’s perfect record, including one of the most pressured moments in Irish rugby’s season? 5 out of 5, and the last one to secure Munster’s deserved place and title. So, after the game, I bought more beer (the queues were non-existent!). I just sat down near the front to take it all in. I greet the few Munster fans I recognise, and I head to our meeting point.

Still in disbelief, I get to Trinity St, and the street party is as alive there as it is all the way back to the stadium. There is a low key police presence, and a very friendly force. After our re-group, we headed back towards the stadium to the City Arms. George Hook walked the street to a torrent of abuse (good natured, that is) and loved it! We missed the Munster bus leaving, but were content with our day.

Lots of banter with supporters, officials, Biarritz fans, policemen, locals! All were thrilled for our win. Not one person suggested that it wasn’t our turn. The policemen put up with some amount of craic, in what must have been a true test of their character. The management of the stadium called in for a few. We got chatting with them and they sent the father of one our group over to collect the big Heineken flags they were taking down. They were saying that of all their time there (and listed Cup Finals, and major sporting events & concerts), this was by far the best atmosphere they’d witnessed!

Some local brew and some time later we headed for home. Barely able to stand (not just drink related!), we manage to walk the few miles home, get the grub in and share some chat. Layla was the theme song for the evening, an inside joke for readers who were amongst the group! Some banter and craic later, it was bed time to be up for what was to be a 13 hour journey home.

Surprisingly fresh, we get up an hour before the alarm, and only get lost twice on the way back to Holyhead. We were one for the first there, so got our seats by the TV which proved to be valuable later when we were shown the team homecoming, to Limerick, on TV.

The good .. the unbelievable atmosphere (in volume and in support) at the stadium. The last minute ticket miracle. The God-send of a couch in Cardiff. The good natured fun (although, as with any supporters, in any sport, there were a few there for all the wrong reasons). The Burger King on the Friday night.

The bad .. that wind on Saturday morning was unnatural. Hearing of real fans paying hundreds of Euro for a ticket that was going on sale outside the stadium for £5 less than face value. The length of the journey.

A big thank you to my chauffeur D, my good hosts for the weekend E&S, and to all the boys there for sporting event of a lifetime.

Dates of the quarter finals were announced, lads were asked, numbers were sought, “are you in, or are you out” emails bounced around the place. Final numbers managed to be 1 hard-core, 1 serious, 1 medium-core and 1 novice Leinster rugby fans, and 1 absolute Munster newbie!

I’d resigned to the fact that it’d be a weekend that I’ll be recovering from for a while; win, lose or draw. Will I be bored? should I keep my “Go wan Munster!” chants to a minimum? Will there be a lot of pints of Ken? Will I be sun burnt? Will I have to say “roish” all the time? Who knows, but I was game. Flights were booked .. there were no cheap direct flights that suited, so we went via London.. bit of a wait between the legs, but such is the price.

With an arrival well into Friday night, bags were dumped, beer was consumed. Daylight approached, it was time for a trip to some overwhelmed Boulangerie and some more beer. Eventually lose sleeping arrangements came to fruition, and as the birds sang (and we’d finished), some sleep was had.

Saturday afternoon came, as we struggled to get out of bed. “The Cure” was the only way out. Ibis Centre was also the temporary home for many Leinster fans other than ourselves. Banners, t-shirts and 1 or 2 bodhráns were handed out. While I’d expected some sponsored banners to be handed out, I hadn’t expected good quality Guinness bodhráns! With beer and some “chips” on board, we assembled and ordered the taxis. The good karma continued. A Leinster Lady approached our group and said that she’d love a flag. Referring to small cheap plasticy freebies, the guy in our group that had one handed it over without question! “My name is Earl” viewers will know that this could only result in something positive. Sure enough within minutes she returned with a big Leinster Jester’s hat to return the favour. Taxis lined up! We jumped in 2 after some “no, you first!” pleasantries. The 2 least rugby-aware fans hopped in #2. Stuck in some traffic the driver insisted we climb out the sun roof to roar on our cause. In disbelief we laughed, muttering “C’est bon, merci” in our best French. Not content, he grabbed the bodhrán himself and chanted, nay ROARED, “Allez les blues”. At which, we let the disbelief go out the sunroof, along with our good-selves; bodhráns and banners intact. My first hint at how different Toulousians would be to Parisians. My second hint would be that most people on the busy shopping district street would clap and cheer with us. Certainly nobody frowned upon us (and I was still sober enough to be able to judge!).

Getting closer to Stade Toulousain, the crowds were building up, the police were building up, and the atmosphere clearly was building up too. I mention “traffic”, and the driver winks and points as if to say “watch this” (which he probably very well did, in French!). One shortcut later, one worrying “ou est le stadium” later, one more pointing of the finger and we’re outside the stadium. Impressive stadium!

Some quick fire beers to help soften the blow of a foreign sport on a foreign soil for a foreign team, and I was well on the way to appreciating the bigger picture. Que the singing. We sang every song we collectively knew, during the 2 hours previous to the games. Sure, some Leinster fans assumed we were just too drunk to be worthy of some praise for generating some “craic”, but the Toulousians all joined in and wished us well. Not one dismissed us, not one frowned upon us, not one came up to us to wish us anything but good luck. No abuse from afar. Unbelievable. I’ve never been to such a sporting event before. It was the fuel for further singing, and beer! Photos were exchanged, broken English and French attempts were exchanged, the voices getting a bit more hoarse by the minute.

Leinster fans arriving in their droves, police encouraging more songs, team coaches arriving, and more join in the song. We’re asked by a big gang of Toulousians to help them learn the chorus of Molly Malone and, obliging as we were, within minutes we had a beautifully sporting scene. The party was on. Shane Horgan’s partner (wife?) and daughter were introduced to us. Sky Sports wanted in on the action, and there were other TV crews all interested in the passion of 5 Leinster men “giving it socks”. Knuckles wearing thin as the blood spatters on the bodhráns began to show; this was building up to be a cracker. Time to get inside and keep this passion alive!

As we find our seats and some confusion over which was row 9, we get to sit down for a few seconds. Excellent seats (a bit off-centre but good views none the less. We’re in a reasonably large pocket of Leinster fans, but most were still nervous and quiet. Disgusted at Leinster team coming off the pitch (after their warmup), to a pathetic cheer, there was only one answer for it. Apologise to the Toulousians behind us for the noise that was about to come, give them a go of the bodhrán so that they knew what to expect, offer them the hip flask of the 16 year old, and let the support begin.

Bum Bum, Bum-bum-bum, Bum-bum-bum-bum … LEINSTER!
Bum Bum, Bum-bum-bum, Bum-bum-bum-bum … LEINSTER!

“In Dublin’s fair city…” and the Leinster fans rose. The Toulousians were silenced, and we were well on the way to an admirable display of support for the team that were to return the favour in the best possible way. Some Toulousians tempted to start their own sing song were quickly silenced by the majority of their fellow men behind us. This was our turn to sing, and they were going to let us. Not our arrogant thinking, but their sporting generosity! “Wow” I say to the Toulousian behind me, “Merci” and we exchanged names. A little struggle with the Irishness of mine, I offered to settle on “Je m’appelle C” for short. He wouldn’t have it, and he spent the last verse of Molly Malone to make sure he got it right.

Then came one of the most impressive displays I’ve ever seen. Waiting for us to finish our rendition, out came the Toulousian big drums. To the rhythm of We Will Rock you… Tou-lou-se, Tou-lou-se. Upwards on 30,000 Toulousians all around us, stamping, clapping and chanting it in perfect time. Wow! All we could do, in awe, was join in.

Teams on the field; cheers all round. What happened next will make its own sporting history, and is better left for the serious rugby reporters to describe. Matching 3 points for 3 points, we were in the game. 9 rows back from the heart of the action, we got the casual wave / acknowledgement of our support from Les Blues as they notched up the points. I’m waiting on a replay for some of the game, but the big screen did help to actually believe it was happening.

Around 25 minutes in (have yet to see the match recording), and we in good shape, but it was still far from over. Time for beer, before the 1/2 time rush. “Cinq, s’il vous plait”. He arrives with 6 in for my cardboard tray. 20 police in the tunnel, some well armed, and 1 Alsatian. I better not smile, or make any joke like “Fancy a beer, lads?”. “Monsieur, arete s’il vous plait” (or something close to it). Dammit, I can’t bring beer in to the stadium. “You, have 6 beers?” in reasonable English. “Yes, there are 6 of us sitting together just there”, as I nod in our seats general direction, exaggerating the number to include my free beer which was for Phillipe behind me, though he didn’t know it yet. “No, no, no” was the response, as I pondered how fast I’d be able to drink all 6, “there are 20 of us and a thirsty dog”!!! Laughter all round! I double checked the trousers to make sure all was good, offer them a quarter beer each (they politely refused!), and away I go. Climb over the railing, into my seat, only I didn’t quite make it. 6 beers for the hot concrete ground. Some 4 minutes, 6 beers for 5 euro (thank you Toulousian bar man), an apology to Philippe for the spilt beer later, a “this [sic] ones” for us comment from the same policeman and we were back on track with 6 fresh beers.

Next up, half time. More sing songs, more cameras. The sun had really come out now. The game was on. Leinster were there in force. Second half, and the Toulousians had more reason to cheer. That they did, in style. Within one point, the fast soft rhythms on our bodhráns were testimony to the nervousness creeping in. We’re still in the game. Our support is needed now more than ever. Jowett delivers some 50 something minutes in. It seemed like we’d take over the stadium, such was the eruption! Milliseconds later (well it felt like that!), Hickie was to shine. Everything was right, and some eager moments before the touch judge confirmed. One bodhrán is burst, there’s more blood than (synthetic!) goat skin on mine. The hip flasks are empty. Philippe, clearly not happy, has nothing but praise for us. There was more to come. Amongst another couple of fine tries, there’s wild speculation amongst us all as to what O’Driscoll is coming our way for. He comes off after some confusion/delay (I’ve yet to see what that was about).

As Toulouse come back at the end of the game, we applaud, almost as loudly as for our own. We’re in admiration for the support they’ve shown us, and comfortable with the score see no reason not to applaud their efforts, but more their support. A few reds are leaving, but only a couple of dozen. The whistle is blown, the margin is wide enough at 6 points. Mayhem ensues. Voices are lost, sunglasses are gone. Any drop of beer that was left over has well evaporated. Philippe taps me as I climb out over the railing to get along pitchside. I’m embarassed by my ignorance. A sturdy handshake and a “well done”. His young son (who was offered some of the hip flask earlier) looks longingly at my “Allez les blues” banners (I’d 2, in case people behind me couldn’t appreciate my support!). “Pour vous” as I hand him one. What a smile. Delighted! I was too. Then I spotted another boy beside him (2 fathers, and 2 boys), so he had to get the second one. Less delighted at first, I was more than happy to hand it over.

We went pitch side. The blues did a brief wave about and clap and went inside. I’ve never shook so many hands in my life, as the Toulousians came up to congratulate us. As their supporters band packed up, we went to the corner to salute their support for both sides. They’d learnt the new rhythm for our Leinster chant! You won’t see that in Thurles at a Munster hurling final!!

We hung around by the dressing rooms for the team to come out, but they only came in drips, and it was a bit of an anti climax. The pressure was on to get to the Munster game, or the 2nd half of it, at this stage. We climb back up the bridge, to make a plan. My feet hurt, I can feel the sunburn, I’m starvin’, but it’s all good. We’re wrecked. We’d been performing for hours now. So we head off the beaten track to find somewhere with a TV. We peak in a quiet old-fashioned cafe bar, spot the telly .. “Pardon, avez-vous Sports+?”. Sure, it wasn’t great French, but the owner understood and was more than happy to oblige. We’re off the beaten track so we’re alone now, and we’ve got a relaxing second half to look forward to. A few rounds of beers go by, and then comes the free one. The bodhráns are signed by people in the bar and people passing. We give a quick Molly Malone, on request, but we’re wrecked. Taxis are called. De Danú is the place to be, apparently. A driver in front our taxi stops in the middle of the road. The door opens and he falls out of the drivers seat, completely twisted. Judging by the hand signals, he wanted the taxi driver to drive it around the corner. Having none of it we reverse the hell out of there! De Danú is packed.

A good number of Toulousians join in on the craic and celebrations. Many rounds are bought and drank. My turn. In my best French accent .. “cinq biere grande s’il vous plait”, to which a healthy Irish accent replies “pints of what, like?”. Demonstrations of the bodhrán are given to many a French lad and lassie, along with Aussies, Brits and Scots. All came well attached with the disclaimer that this wasn’t the proper way. We’d get the beat going. My co-bodhránist gets a bit carried away and “swings broad”. He takes out 5 glasses, at the very least. ‘Twas perfect timing. We’d our own set of symbols. Second best of all, I could get a glimpse of the bar girls laughing their heads off. The crowd were clapping in beat. Best of all is that he doesn’t miss so much as a half-beat. It was planned, I’m sure. The crowd were anyway, and that was good enough for us. The craic goes on. There’s sing songs inside and out, but we’re failing, and failing fast. It’s been a long day. We’ve certainly given it our best shot. The craic and atmosphere was just unreal. Were we not living it, we’d well believe it was something to do with April Fool’s day.

Then the most disappointing part of the weekend was realised, when I’d noticed my bodhrán was gone. Some one had stolen it from under our bags. Having been on such a high, it was a huge blow. I know it was free, but it had a half pint of my blood on it, and had brought such craic to many people all day, as I’d given it my all, all day. An over-reaction maybe, but that’s how I felt, and still feel. I’d have given my jersey away before that, had someone asked and looked genuine. It wasn’t borrowed, because someone had to go through lots of bags to get there, and they’d have seen the signatures and blood, and know it meant something to someone. My email address is on the back of it. So maybe in some mad twist of karma I’ll get some email in years to come. Perhaps not!

Still, it didn’t drown out the craic we’d had, and the craic we’d generated. I’d met 5 or 6 people who had recognised me/us as being the singers outside the stadium. One French girl asked “have you money from Ireland for singing and music?”. After some exchange of what only some could call English/French, we’d reduced the sentence to “had we been sponsored”. Others bought us all a beer! We decided we should get back to the hotel so that we could get seats and relax a bit and have a quiet pint before an early night. The latter part of the plan, of course, didn’t quite materialise as we were greeted with a cheer back in the hotel. We’d met most of them earlier in the day. The only food all day was staring at us in the form of an ice-bucket full of crisps. Nobody seemed hungrier than I, so imagine my delight when the bar girl asked if we “would like more chips”. By the end of the second bucket of crisps, I was now the “Munster Monster Munch”. After many hours, many stories, and many beers.. the realisation that we’d only a couple of hours kip before a long day of travel back kicked in. I’d managed to lose (no pun intended, I’d worn that out enough at the weekend) our room key in between the buckets of crisps.

After a significant effort to get out of bed, we set off on a long trip home. We’d a few hours wait in London Gatwick on the way home. It was all we could get that had enough time for delays out of Toulouse, of which we’d assumed there would be many. On the contrary, all our flights were fine, and we’d no problems with any Ryanair surcharge on bodhráns, or mid-air stomach revenges for the abuse they’d received over the weekend.

The dumping of the bag marked the end of the best sporting event I’ve been part of, and certainly a fondness of the Toulousains (rugby fans and non-rugby fans alike). I had a ball! I was right, I had nothing (other than a pair of sunglasses) to lose, in Toulouse!

To you non-Irish, Munster and Leinster (along with Connacht and Ulster) are provinces within Ireland. I’m from County Clare, in Munster, but am living in Dublin, in Leinster, for 11 years. To Munster fans, I’m a traitor, and to Leinster fans, I’m a blow in!!! A bodhrán is an percussion instrument used in traditional Irish music. Monster Munch are a cheap packet of tasty/unhealthy snacks, that many of us grew up on.

Are Clare finished? We’ve heard it asked many times, but I don’t think so. There’s obviously something wrong though, but the current team can perform. Lynch feeding a Gilli and Griffin duo for a spectacular performance seems to be a fading memory. Congrats to Tipp, they truly deserve to be in the Munster final, and best of luck to them.

For us supporters who did make the trip, it was a great reward indeed. Now for Waterford.. what will that bring? Was this a one-off? I don’t think so, but it’d be hard to sustain anywhere near yesterday’s performance. Time will tell.