They had ya by the bollix – the rose of Tralee

Back in the day, there weren’t many options for paddy where tv was concerned. To say RTE had a monopoly on your evening entertainment is like saying the earth is round ((no doubt some trumpistas would dispute this). Anyway, one of the annual certainties you couldn’t avoid was the ‘rose of Tralee’. I remember one year as I was living in Waterford I resolved to take myself off for a few pints on the night in question to a quiet caboose where there would be some respite from the annual assault. So I shanksmared it out of the house heading in the direction of the nearest emporium but even on reaching the doors I gleaned that there would be no escape there. Continuing on to the next my ears were once again assailed by the accursed noise. A few more attempts all proved fruitless and I was forced to sit out the torture by wanderering around on the dark like a refugee from some Samuel Beckett play about existentialism.

A lot has changed since that long night but I notice that some things never change. Now, don’t get me wrong, people should be free to do whatever they want, live and let live and all that but the reality is that what was really eating at me back in the day was the smugness. They all knew they had ya by the bollix – from the cocky presenter all the way down to the festival organisers busy as they were extending the holiday season in Kerry to the nth degree. You, the viewer, were the captive mug with nowhere else to go. But everything only has a time and in this particular case we now have many options. So even as Official Ireland still dines out on my taxes at least I don’t have to leave the house to escape their smug smiles.⚽️⚽