Let's Not Wake Up In The Year 2000

FOR A newspaper that thrives on sensationalising the most trivial of stories, the Evening Herald seems remarkably unconcerned by the news that technological Armageddon is imminent. Take, for example, the literary fare on offer in a recent edition of the paper, which was unexceptional. There was good news: "Car bomb bid foiled", bad news: "Deadlock as deadline looms", sports news: "Keane to step up training" and entertainment news: "Bye bye to Boyzone?".

Essentially, there was news of every description to cater for the discerning infomaniac about town. And then some . . .

On pages 17 and 18, beneath the headline "Yes, it's a doomsday scenario", was an article penned by Clodagh Sheehy, in which the Herald scribe reported the threat of the Millennium Bug, a technological malaise which looks set to kick in the very second that millions of drunken revellers the world over begin slurring the opening bars of Auld Lang Syne at midnight on December 31st, 1999.

"The problem arises where computers refuse to recognise the date 2000 which will roll up as the year 00 on their systems. It affects everyone and everything . . . computers control cars, buildings, telephones, aircraft, power supplies, retail chains, traffic lights, banks and hospitals," expounded Clodagh.

"Embedded computer chips are found in huge numbers of common appliances like fax machines, calculators, air conditioning units, automatic doors, wrist watches, mobile phones and washing machines.

"It is almost impossible to predict how individual computers will react. Some will take no notice, some will be suspended and some will crash completely."

While the prospect of hordes of grimy and unkempt, abacus-toting chartered accountants slowly suffocating behind the locked doors of their stiflingly hot offices is an appealing one, there was something about Clodagh's story that made me feel decidedly uncomfortable.

After all, here was a newspaper renowned for its ability to construct picturesque, sweeping, snow-capped mountain ranges out of the most innocuous mole hills predicting the end of the world as we know it . . . and they felt fine. So fine, in fact, that all they could muster as a headline for this most earth-shattering of news stories was "Yes, it's a doomsday scenario".

Where were the screaming block capitals? Why were there no exclamation marks, to impress upon us the profound gravity of this grim scenario? Why wasn't it on the front page? And most importantly of all, why the devil was Clodagh Sheehy sporting a toothy, melon-slice grin in the by-line mug shot accompanying an article predicting universal technological meltdown? Hell's bells! The broadcasting equivalent would be Pat Kenny dissolving into a fit of the giggles while reading out Linda McCartney's obituary.

According to the feature, one senior executive at Barclays Bank at least has his finger on the pulse. He has warned people to sell their homes, stockpile their cash and buy gold in case of a global economic collapse caused by the Millennium Bug. The same man knows of one company director who is going to set up a commune and buy a shotgun because of the potential looting. (That's more like it.)

Of course there will be other far more critical problems:

Alex Ferguson's stopwatch will cease to function, resulting in football matches at Old Trafford that last a mere 90 minutes . . . even when the home side is losing.

The stroke of midnight will see thousands of people with pacemakers drop dead.

Cattle will run riot nationwide as electric fences are rendered useless.

Stock exchanges worldwide will collapse, resulting in stockbrokers throwing themselves out of skyscraper windows (okay, so some good will come of it).

The speaking clock will develop a stutter.

With the world's geo-political military defence systems thrown into chaos, Bus Éireann's Westport/Dublin express may inadvertently arrive on time.

Every mobile phone in the world will ring at the same time, resulting in total cellular gridlock.

Electrically operated prison gates will short-circuit, resulting in mass jailbreaks nationwide. The ensuing crimewave will enrage the public, and enable the Evening Herald to embark on one of its hysterical crusades against society's plummeting standards.

So that's why it was buried in the middle of the paper!