Santa, the fastest milkman in the West

The fastest milkman in the west - Santa


C’mere ‘til I tell ya
Daniel Carey

LAST Tuesday, the RTÉ programme ‘The Afternoon Show’ ran a competition where viewers were asked to answer the following question: What does Santa deliver to children on Christmas Eve? Just in case anyone was struggling to come up with the solution, three possible answers were offered, with viewers being asked to choose between (a) toys, (b) milk, and (c) newspapers. I’d love to know if anybody submitted an incorrect entry, and I’m tempted to ask Santa for a pint of Dawn’s finest.
If nothing else, the insultingly easy question presumably meant there was at least one right answer. Most people charged with running competitions want to keep them as simple as possible, and avoid controversy – which, with Joe Duffy only a phone call away, isn’t always easy. Some time ago, an irate father rang ‘Liveline’ to grumble about the inaccessibility of toilets to competitors in the underage Irish dancing competition at a feis. “Did the teachers not complain?” asked an indignant Joe. The father maintained that the teachers dare not raise any objections for fear that the judges would hold it against them. “That’s a very, very serious allegation, Paddy,” warned Joe.
Of course, some competitions draw controversy on themselves. The refusal of the Augusta National Golf Club in Georgia to admit women members drew a crowd of feminist protesters to the US Masters competition a few years back. Standing at the back of those seeking equal rights for females was one man who held a sign which read ‘Iron my shirt’. Local reports referred to the man as ‘brave’. I suppose that’s one word for it.
Other competition organisers are simply caught out by the unexpected. When the Republic of Ireland soccer team qualified for their first ever major tournament in 1988, fans literally drank one German town dry. The orgy of alcohol prompted Kevin Myers to comment: “They made Attila the Hun’s marauding troops look like the annual PTAA outing to Knock.”
And then sometimes a competition is just right, a perfectly-pitched effort to honour those who might otherwise go unnoticed. Alongside all the noble ‘People of the Year’ schemes and suchlike, I’ve just been reminded that in November 2004, Ray Darcy mooted the idea of running a competition to find the smartest fish in Ireland.
An old college friend e-mailed Today FM about his mother’s goldfish, Gussey, and if he really can do all the things my friend claims he can, he definitely deserved the honour. Gussey followed his owner around the room (well, from inside his bowl anyway); started to wag his tail and ‘go mental’ when he heard her voice; ate out of her hand, and kissed her through the bowl (I don’t think I’m alone in thinking that one’s a bit weird).
Strangest of all was the accusation from a woman who insisted that the goldfish was ‘checking her out’ while she was changing clothes. She spoke of his ‘searching’ eyes and ‘cheeky’ demeanour. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: could you make this stuff up?