By BrianC
March 27 2006

The title of this piece was bellowed from a few rows behind me by a certain person known to many of us as Finnegan. We were a few minutes into the game had a penalty. The facts that it was a few meters out from our own posts and Barry wasn't playing didn't matter.

I can still recall the very first time I met Alan (Finnegan). It is probably fair to say that he and I are amongst the first London Irish supporters to have been online. One evening during the season we were at the Stoop (99/00) whilst queuing for some Guinness I struck up a conversation with him. It was only after we had been talking for some time that we realised that we already knew each other. We had in fact been joshing around online for a year or so before we actually met.

In the years since meeting Alan both our circumstances have changed substantially. He has moved out of London and I have moved countries. Meeting him again, perhaps for the first time in a couple of years, has caused me to reflect somewhat on the nature of our community and how it has changed down the years and continues to do so. Our once small homely club has grown to such an extent that many peoples St. Patrick's party experience will have been very different to the story I tell here. I'll come back to that later but what I want to say at this stage is that a report such as this can only be a personal one.

My plan was to have a quiet Friday. I had the day off work and my flight was not until late afternoon. Having had a wonderful lunch we popped into Cafe Corso, Amsterdam's rugby pub, for 'a drink'. Five pints later it was time to go to Schiphol. Before doing so I parted with fifty or so green balloons. They had decided to green up the place for our big game. It may have happened elsewhere in the world, I don't know, but there was certainly one little corner of the Netherlands that was celebrating with us on our big day.

It was 9pm before we reached the hotel. We went down to the bar to have ‘a drink’. Perhaps I should have known better, all good intentions went out the window. Now at times when we’re traveling to games we think must be mad to do so. Our journey pales into insignificance compared to the couple we ended up drinking with. Kent and Teresa Hamlin routinely make the pilgrimage to our games from their home in Philadelphia. The ‘quiet’ Friday ended at around 1am.

I made one bad mistake on Friday night. Eek suggested something and I said yes. This is always a bad thing to do when you are under the influence. This fact had gone clean out of my head until the following morning. Lo and behold Eek arrived with the pink flying fairies costumes that had first seen the light of day at the Bognor Birdman. I had, I now remembered, agreed to wear one and do some bucket shaking. So it was to be.

During the next couple of hours Eek and I made several forays out to the village trying to pick up the waifs and strays that Dublinannette hadn’t already cornered. The cold and nipple rash aside it has to be said that doing such a thing is great fun. It was here I got a good look at the Guinness village. Lessons learnt from earlier years are now being put well into practice. It was laid out pretty well the same as last time. Big stage at the front, main AG bar at the rear, a bar at each side and various catering stalls sprinkled around.

In the village there also was the LISC marquee. Any time I saw it, it was mobbed. In what has been a very good year for the committee with a regular string of events, much improved merchandising and a growing membership this marquee has to be the single best innovation of the year. I know that manning such a thing requires an inordinate amount of work but having a presence on match days is fundamental to the success of the LISC. Here and now I take my hat off to the current committee. You are doing a great job, thank you and keep up the good work.

Inside the ground a few new things were tried. Some worked well, others less so. Before the match Le Cheile played from one of the North Stand balconies. The idea was a good one, the execution less so. The sound system was a bit hit and miss and they seemed rather distant from their audience. To me this impacted on their performance. Perhaps the latter could have been remedied by doing a video feed to the big screen. There was a stilted Irish tea lady walking round the pitch. It might have been different if I was closer to the touchline but she did nothing for me. To me her only entertainment value was when she had her bottom sniffed by that naughty dog digger.

Half time, after an on pitch interview with Gloria Hunniford, saw Digger with the Irish dancers in the center circle. He turned out to be quite an accomplished dancer, even if he had shrunk by a foot and developed lumps on his chest. It was a nice touch for our special day. One other nice touch was at the end of the match. The team came out as is now usual to thank the supporters. This time they were led out by Brian Smith. I can’t recall that happening before.

At this point I must say a special word about our top dog, Digger. He was in awesome form yesterday and worked the crowds wonderfully. Bum sniffing aside he managed to get hold one of the Sale supporters plastic shark. The things he did with that were outrageous. When a TV sound effects microphone was placed below the drums he took the opportunity to use it as a representation of his, shall we say, manhood. I think everybody in that part of the stand missed part of the game through laughing. He also came up to the Eastie gallery and made a point of banging a drum that we have specifically reserved for wee Jack when he gets to the stadium.

Sadly I learned this weekend that Diggers No.1 operative Dean is to retire at the end of the season. He will be sadly missed. With due respect to the others that have donned the costume over the years they have not come close in terms of entertainment value. Dean, if you do read this, thank you for all the laughs you have given us down the years.

By the end of the game the rain had set in. I hightailed it to the hotel bar. That is where I stayed all evening. Reports from outside were that the music was great, the fireworks disappointing. The wet weather certainly didn’t seem to put people off enjoying themselves. The crowd in the hotel bar gradually dwindled away and at 2am I though we might be looking at our earliest ever St. Patrick’s finish. Then the Caseys came back from town but that’s another story.

One thing that struck me as I was walking round yesterday was just how much things have developed since our move to Reading. When I first met Finnegan at The Stoop the prospect of us playing in front of a twenty thousand crowd was unimaginable. If we are to survive and thrive as a club we have to develop more of these special days. To me the next prime candidate would be the end of season game.

The price we as supporters have to pay for this is development is a loss of the intimacy many of us enjoyed in the good old days. Having seen Finnegan inside the ground I did not get a chance to speak to him later. Indeed I missed speaking to so many people including one of my co-editors. This is inevitable with such numbers.

So another Saint Patrick’s game has come and gone. It really is a great party. Full credit must go to all those in the club who have worked so hard to make it happen.