Keith Duggan/Sideline Cut: [Scene: Dimly lit bar and a single bulb lighting a bare stage. Furnishing is vaudeville in style. A man in a washed-out tuxedo appears].
"Ladies and Gentlemen, appearing for one afternoon only. At great expense here in the Last Chance Saloon, give a warm round of applause please for Tommy Lyons and the Heartbreakers."
[A familiar looking gentleman in a navy blue ensemble appears on the stage. He waves. There is a lone cough].
"Ah yeah. They say a week is a long time in showbiz. Seems like yesterday since I was filling stadiums. Anyway. Let's get rolling. Here's an old favourite."
[To the right, an ancient piano player cranks up a familiar tune. The performer clears his throat].
A long, long time ago
I can still remember
How the music
Used to make me cry,
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make the oul Hill dance
And maybe ye'd be happy for a while.
But Saturday made me shiver
When Armagh arrived and they delivered
Not a word was spoken
Me forward line was broken.
I can't remember if I cried
When I read Paul Curran's latest whine
But something touched me deep inside
The day the football died.
I started singing, Bye-bye Ms American Pie
Drove me Chevy past O'Hanlon's and the laughin' was high
Those arseboxing bastards from the year '95
Were singing this'll be the day that I die
This'll be the day that I die.
Did you write the book on Dubs
And do you have faith in Lyons above?
If the Herald tells you so
Can football save your mortal soul?
(Does Keith Barr not get up your hole?)
And can you teach me how to walk real slow?
'N'do you believe in Rock and Duff,
That Bealo and Heero had the stuff
And that Charlie and Big Joe were enough
To keep the Hill alive?
And yez say the seventies were best
With Paddy, Jimmy and the rest
Beating Kerry for the Cup,
But they never filled oul Croker up
Or sold a million Dublin shirts.
I was a flashy Kilmacud bronkin' buck
With a TV gig and a Southside strut,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the football died.
I started singing, Bye-bye to the Sam for a year
To arseboxing and to Arnotts
And Dublin's brand new paper.
Yez have forgotten this time last year
That we were so nearly there,
Singing Tom, we'll love ya till the day that we die
We'll love ya till the day that we die.
Now for seven days I've been out in the cold
And me oul pal Brolly is on the scold
But that's not how it used to be.
They say I should have stuck with Johnny Magee
To mark that fecker McEntee
But that's just shite talk for TV.
It's never really been the same
Since I left The Sunday Game,
But God, I really miss that show
With Lyster, Spillane and even Joe,
They stabbed me in the back, you know,
The day the football died.
Spillane was singing, Bye-bye, the One Hit Wonder boys
You can't be winning titles with them ferocious wides,
Sure me granny would do better in your forward lines
And it's Kerry till the day that I die,
Oh, it's Kerry till the day that I die.
Helter-skelter in the summer swelter
The Dubs flew off to a fall-out shelter,
Leinster champs and fallin' fast.
It's the dream that died out on the grass
As I roared at them for just one good pass
And some gobshite near the sidelines
Givin' grief.
Now, the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the Artane Boys played a marching tune
We all got up to dance but we never got the chance,
Cos as the players tried to leave the field
The Armagh boys refused to yield
The tunnel, it was ours to cede.
Do you recall what was revealed the day
The football died?
We started singing, Bye-bye Ms American Pie
Keep pegging on the points and we are home and dry,
A handy oul draw and we'll be back ridin' high
And it'll be Dublin till the day that they die,
Oh, Dublin till the day that they die.
Oh and then me midfield was all over the place,
Me goalie, me defence, lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on, Jacks be nimble, Jacks be quick
Gimme McEneaney on a candle-stick
Cos fire is the devil's only friend.
And as I watched them on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage,
No Dub born in hell
Could break that Armagh spell.
And as the points climbed high from left and right
And we went down without a fight
I heard Keith Barr laughing with delight
The day the football died.
He started singing, Bye-bye, Tommy, oul pie
Sure you're not even from Dublin and your luck has run dry,
Take yer swagger and yer big talk back to the southside,
There's only one man for the Blues job and that is no lie,
Oh it's Barrser till the day that we die.
I met Marty Morrissey in the loos
And I asked him for some happy news
But he just smiled and turned away.
I went down to Arnotts stores
Where the tills were jangling the year before
But the man there said the Blues flags
Were on sale.
And in the streets the sirens wailed
The Dub fans cried and the poets dreamed
But not a word was spoken,
The Lyons spell was broken.
And the three men yez admire most,
Heffo, Brian and the Holy Ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the football died.
And they were singing:
[SLOW CHORUS]
Bye-bye to the boys on the Hill
We had the titles, the sideburns
And that famous Magill.
Dublin football stopped with Mullins
And that two-fingered goodbye
But we'll haunt yez till the day that we die,
Oh it's Dublin till the day that we die.
[Altogether now]
Bye-bye to the boys on the Hill . . .
