| Intervarsities
Report '99 (Belfast)
courtesy of James Butler |
Note: due to the fact that we were drunk most of the time, there are many quotes/events etc. that I have forgotten, and things that I have got wrong - please remind/correct me so I can update this
Monday
The Star was reached at whatever time we were supposed to be there,
in fact I was a little early. There I received the news that we weren't
leaving until 30 minutes after the time Simon had said. Cunning. Simon
himself, and also I think Sammy failed to make it on time. Miaouw!!!! The
chicks who were joining us stood amongst themselves, namely Susan D, Orla
the sub-goalie, some random girl from Belfast whose name escapes me (if
I ever had it captured (as it were) in the first place), and another girl
seemingly called Emma who seemed very quiet. Little did we know...
The crappy heap of shite bus was as usual way too small for many bags of hockey gear etc, so the cool lads were deprived of most of the back seat. Nonetheless, we made the best of it. As we settled down to our seats, Jeremy broke the silence by announcing: "Gav - look at the tits on that!" I think he was referring to Vicki, 20, from Doncaster on Page 3 of the Sun.
The first piece of major entertainment occurred with the unexpected and bonus trip through the tunnel. Sadly however the excitement of that soon wore off, so the pen-pictures of the squad were handed out providing amusement. It must be pointed out though that the whole '' thing really is getting old.
Later, a game of cards was invoked to relieve the tedium. Eric, Simon, Hutch, Elmer and I played 'Switch' with serious money at stake, luckily for the losers (me) the game was of infinite duration and as such has yet to be completed. Pity next year's Varsities are on in Limerick - maybe we'll have an away trip to the North in some cup to continue the drama...
We gratefully stopped at Urlingford for the 1,000,000th time to sample the delights of the cuisine of the pseudo-famous Josephine. Unfortunately, the banks were shut for lunch, so our quest for Sterling would have to be delayed. Hutch and I bummed fags from Eric for the traditional Urlingford pre-varsities smoke. I'm sure Eric noted with a sinking feeling that he was the only 'real' smoker in the squad, and hence would be the victim of countless bummings.
Back on the bus, we continued North. The hot card action continued at the back of the bus, and soon we were through Dublin and going through bizarre places like Meath and Louth. There was an appeal to raise cash for the Ronan Enright Woolly Hat fund, but donations were sparse. We stopped again in either Dundalk or Drogheda, I don't remember which. This was once again to resume the challenge of obtaining Sterling. A few cunning souls managed to penetrate the unwelcoming frontiers of Bank of Ireland - others weren't so lucky and waited outside looking through the window at the smug ones wallowing in the warmth within. As a consolation prize, we headed into some pub for a toilet break. I made my first idiotic comment of the week as I saw the driver of the bus staring at a map of Ireland - "Er, I think it's Belfast we're heading to - keep going north and we'll be alright!" The driver rightly ignored me and Shammy rightly rebuked me.
We headed back to the bus via the scenic route, or to be more precise, the slightly different but equally boring route. Once on the road again, we missed the actual border crossing due to the onset of dusk. We stopped again in a petrol station, so somebody suggested that some 'adult literature' be purchased, to celebrate our arrival in the more liberal U.K. Jeremy nominated '40+' as the magazine of choice, leading to the First Quote of the Varsities, from Hutch - "40 plus???? That's three feet of schlong!!!!" I don't think he was clear on what the 40 was referring to...
A religious debate provided further entertainment, Phil the Proud Prod arguing the cause for his crowd, trying to deny that they are a lazy religion. In fairness, they never have to go to 'church', and when they do, they don't even bother kneeling down. What's that about? Then someone tried to convince us that Mary was in fact 13 or 14 years old when she had Jesus. We agreed to disagree, and given the fact that we were heading to Northern Ireland, it was probably a good idea to let the whole religion thing rest... The final religion-related incident occurred when I started humming that Whitney Houston song, and Elmer joined in with 'O Come All Ye Faithful'.
Eventually, after a journey of epic duration, we reached Belfast. The bus was rapidly unloaded and rooms sorted out. The girls team formed a guard of honour and cheered loudly to celebrate our arrival. A porter at the lift asked us where we were from. We told him Cork, and he opined that he hoped we were here to represent it, not to disgrace it. I made my second idiotic comment - "Hopefully, a little bit of both!". Within approximately 1 minute of reaching our rooms, we left them again to go for a pint in the bar. The Second Quote of the Varsities comes from an unlikely source, namely the lift - "Going down." God, we're immature.
In the bar, we discovered that Tennent's was the nicest drink in the world, ever. (Note: obviously, Vodka and Red Bull doesn't count because it is the drink of the Gods.) The team assembled and had a good bitchy discussion about what to do. Eventually we agreed to do our own thing, as long as we were back at 11pm for a team meeting. Yawn.
We split up into smaller groups, Sam and Simon went over to Ye Ye for a meeting - Gavin Finn was being obstreperous, unsurprisingly. A few of us headed to McDonald's for some Quality Munch ((c) Pamela Ryan and the Galway chicks), and then we headed to some of the places we had frequented during last year's visit to Belfast as part of our glorious cup run. As a testament to the drunkenness of that night last year, not one of the places looked even vaguely familiar. In the first place (Manhattan) we had more Tennents and watched 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?' This was quite entertaining, especially as one bloke was doing really well, and in fact was on £125,000 with all three lifelines intact. However the enjoyment turned to horror soon. We looked on aghast as it all went pear-shaped big time. The question was:
What is a Bichon Frisé?
A) A dog
B) A wind
C) A muscle
D) A lettuce
To be fair, none of us had ever heard of a BF, but the very friendly barmaid immediately exclaimed 'Dog! It's a Dog!' The bloke on the program scratched his chin for a while and contemplated kicking Chris Tarrant in the groin before deciding to Ask The Audience(tm). We watched the drama unfold as the votes came in:
A) A dog 93%
B) A wind 0%
C) A muscle 7%
D) A lettuce 0%
Despite the overwhelming result, the gobshite continued to agonise for a while (not helped by Tarrant's inane ramblings and smug looks). We shrieked hysterically at him to go with 'A', but eventually he decided to go with '50-50'(tm). 'Arrrrgh!' quoth the lads, and a couple of drunken Belfasters. 50-50 removed muscles and lettuce, leaving our favourite moron with two options, one with 93% of the audience's support, and the other with 0%. Hmmm, what to do, what to do. It seemed clear to us, but yet again, he deliberated. Luckily he couldn't hear the abuse being screamed at him from five hockey players, two drunks, and a barmaid from Belfast. In his wisdom, he decided to Phone A Friend(tm), in the form of Tony from Runcorn. Quote of the Varsities #3: "Tony, good afternoon, this is Chris Tarrant here from ITV's 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'... " Tony from Runcorn had the question put to him, and said that he would have to go with A, dog. Idiot Contestant duly thanked him, and resumed face scratching. So there we have it. He has a choice between 93% and 0%, and his friend also supported A. He's gotta go for it, we shouted, surely!
But it wasn't to be. Glasses and bottles were hurled at the television as the fateful Words of Despair were uttered by the contestant: "I think I'll take the money Chris."
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(Of course, the answer was A, dog)
After a while, we moved onto another pub, then headed home. However on the way we bumped into the rest of the lads who had been elsewhere with the Galway chicks. We decided to go back to meet them. There were only a few of them there, but it gave us an excuse to have another pint. Eventually we did go back to the hotel, we just made the 11pm deadline.
Simon delivered a stern lecture to us, as he had pre-emptively been given out to by the hotel staff. Squire, Jer, Gav and I sat at the back and tried not to make too many smart comments. Simon and Sam duly said their pieces, then I shocked everyone by adding a brief but passionate speech about representing both U.C.C. and more specifically the Hockey Club. Phil had the final word by instructing us not to eat sausages with breakfast the next day. Why? Because they don't digest. Squire offers "But Phil they taste nice!"
All that remained was to retire to bed, feeling slightly guilty about having 3-5 pints, depending on who you were...
Just as I was about to go to bed, Simon called in looking very stressed. He had decided that a fag was the only way to calm down after the trauma of various issues he had had to cope with, among them finding a solution to the crucial Ronan Enright hat issue. I had vowed to smoke as little as possible during the week, and certainly not while sober just before sleep, but I just couldn't resist and the two of us went down to the comfy sofas near the talking lifts. We asked a porter if it was okay to smoke, and he was really friendly and said of course. I asked him if he had a light, but he didn't, so he told us to wait there while he got us one! He duly returned with a lighter that he told us we could keep, and wished us good night. Nice bloke.
After a pleasant (though guilt-inducing) smoke, it really was time for bed. In my room were Phil and Squire, 75% of last year's Dream Team, the missing 25% of course being Alan. We talked for a while, and rang random rooms invoking QOTV #3. Squire and I, sharing the double bed (enduring image), couldn't sleep, so we talked shite for a while. Squire passed on some interesting facts, the best of which being the following dictionary definition:
faggot n 1: a bundle of sticks and branches bound together [syn: fagot] 2: a disparaging term for an openly homosexual man [syn: fagot, fag, fairy, pansy, queer, poof, poove, pouf]
'Faggot' is officially the Word of the Varsities, with all due respect to 'dearth'. Dearth was the solution to Five Across in some crossword, and I was asked to put it in a sentence to help those who at the time didn't know what it meant - "There has been a dearth of goals scored by UCC men in this years Varsities."
Squire also told us that he was the Blair Witch, though he hasn't actually seen the film. That's a shame, because there are loads of faggots in it.
Anyway, we eventually nodded off, despite my alleged muttering under my breath which Squire had to put up with.
Tuesday
We awoke feeling refreshed after our night of abstinence. Not. Some
idiots got up at the heinously early hour of 7.30 to watch 'Trin' ((c)
Trinity wankers) play Ye Ye. The more sensible of us got up around 9.30,
had a turbo-shower, and just made breakfast by 10am. We headed off to Great
Victoria Street station for the train to Ye Ye. Annoyingly, we had to change
in Central Station (how many rail lines can there be in one crappy city?)
We did ultimately reach the sanctuary of the jumped up polytechnic, happily
just in time to see the girls play UL. They lost against them for the first
time, and hence would need to win both games tomorrow. We then took to
the field for our clash with Queens. The starting lineup was something
along the lines of this:
Ciarán (shocker), Sam, Gav , Jer , Alex, AndyT , Shammy , Squire, AndyB , Simon , Jim,
We played quite well, I think, and only lost 2-0. The first goal was from a short (probably), the second annoyingly from a reverse side shot, or 'Argentine' ((c) Seb). In fairness, we didn't get near their circle, so didn't deserve much from the game.
After refuelling in the Ye Ye canteen, Jer and I went back out to the pitch to watch whatever game was on. We were surprised and pleased to spot a few college ladies fleeces among the crowd, but it turned out that the average age of the UCC 'girls' was about 50, which wasn't quite so pleasing. We watched whatever game that was, undoubtedly a multiple goal thriller. Several of the lads were taken with 'Juliette', who played for Queens, and expressed their affection by shouting lustfully at her as she was trying to concentrate on her stick control. (Fnarr Fnarr?)
The girls headed back to the hotel before our second game of the day. Just as well really. I have no idea who started against Ye Ye, and I swear I've forgotten the result also. Must have been a dull game, a scoreless draw perhaps...
Nan had been talking to Phil earlier about the traditional meal out, I suggested to Phil that Wednesday would be the optimal time for it, due to the likelihood of us being well pissed off after losing twice on Tuesday, and overcome with a lust for booze. So it proved, in fact we were so dejected after the Ye Ye game that practically half the team bummed fags from Eric as we strolled disconsolately back to the train station. (I better finish up this section, as I'm running out of words that express general pissed-offedness.) The only thing I must say is that the Ye Ye bastards were the greatest shower of wankers I have ever encountered on a sports field. Once again, we had to change trains in the Central Station, whereupon Phil said: 'Get off the train lads, it's going to Portadown!', followed very quickly by 'Aright lads, back on the train!' He's no Gavin 'Troubleshooter' Finn!
Once back in the comforting embrace of Jury's, we probably went for a pint straight away, before getting ready for some hardcore drinking action. Despite initial food-shmood guff from me, we were slightly sensible and decided to eat before tucking in to the night's business. Expediency being the preferred option, we chose KFC. We were punished for that decision, as the two people working struggled to cope with eighteen of us in one go. I was also punished for Gav and Jer leering at some random Belfast chick - she had entered the restaurant and left, while the boys appraised her (result: not the cutest), then she came back in. I was standing near the door, and she must have thought I was one of them, because she said 'You're ugly!' out of the blue to me as she walked past. I was dazed by this shocking announcement and had to go outside to recover...
Alex came to the fore next as he displayed his detailed Belfast knowledge he gleaned from the Varsities of 1987, as he successfully guided us to the Botanic Inn. Setting a trend for the week, UCC men were the first team to arrive, and we were told to go to the bar downstairs first. I tucked into an energy-replenishing (though financially punishing) pint of vodka and Red Bull. After a while we were told that upstairs was open, so up we went. There was a minor bitch about where we should sit, ultimately it was decided that the option next to the bar overlooking the dancefloor was the optimal choice.
We sat and chatted for ages, whilst the more important task of getting demented was performed. The Galway girls were around, and our girls also arrived, though all under strict no-alcohol guidelines. Susan Delany excepted of course. Imagine if she weren't drinking! Elmer put in some work with the liaison girl, though occasionally Sam joined in with a view to maintaining his impressive record with liaison officers. I think Baz made a show of himself on the dancefloor, drunkenly forgetting that all the UCC girls he was dancing with were stone-cold sober.
The word soon spread that the bar had cool shots of weird things, with weird names. Many of these were then consumed, and the night degenerated into a blur of drunken images. The one vivid one that remains for me is the picture of me standing about 1 inch from a very very fat bloke and doing a Mr. Blobby dance. He may have had his back to me, but the sight of Jer and Gav laughing uncontrollably might have alerted him to someone taking the piss in the vicinity. Nonetheless, I kept this up for quite some time. Blobby Blobby Blobby.
Next thing I remember is being outside The Bot, with a gang of Northeners around me, some looking hostile, some friendly, all a lot taller than me! It soon became clear that one of them was very pissed off with me, so I did my unbelievably outraged and indignant act, with Gav as my sidekick - he would usher me away saying things like 'Jim cop on for fuck sake' etc. and I would look really sheepish and apologetic, whilst muttering under my breath 'Gav, give me a slap - it will make it look better!' Then 'Slightly harder Gav', 'Not quite so hard Gav', 'How about the other cheek Gav'! This seemed to be working, but the only problem was that we were being ushered deeper into this dodgy carpark, which I'm sure has seen a punishment beating or two in its time. Eventually, thanks to the intervention of Claire the liaison officer (aka Elmer's bird) we all escaped with our kneecaps in full working order.
It seems that the blokes I offended were either the Banbridge rugby team, or bouncers from a pub in Banbridge, or maybe both. Also, the reason they offered to explain their dislike of me was that I allegedly told one of them to fuck off, not once, not twice, but thrice! Also, I 'said' to someone 'Fuck off, this is my road!' (???????) Obviously I was drunk, but I'm about as sure as the audience in 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?' that I didn't say any such thing. Anyway all was well that ends well.
We walked back towards Jury's. Jer and Susan had serious problems keeping up with us, must have been something to do with Jer's groin strain. Gav nearly joined him on the injured list after hilariously miscuing an attempted vault from the nth to the n+1th bollard beside the pavement. (Note: the first n had been accomplished with considerable aplomb.) The other stragglers included Eric and Squire's sister Mary, the official UCG masseuse.
We stopped about half-way home in McDonalds, and I was suddenly worried when I thought I saw some of the Banbridge boys in the restaurant. At first I thought I was being paranoid, but then I recognised a few more of them. They saw me too, and I began to panic. I got Squire and told him what was going on, he said he'd come home with me. Gav, Ronan, and Ciarán also came outside. I think the original 'cunning' plan was simply to run to Jury's, but the sight of an empty cab outside the door was tempting. We hopped in and gratefully headed home. However, after a few seconds, it struck me as strange that a hackney cab should be waiting outside McDonalds, and then it seemed to me that we were going the wrong way - total paranoia sets in as I think we're about to be taken to the Shankhill Road as the main attractions in the 1am punishment beating! Thankfully, after a minute or two we reach Jury's, never was a boy so happy to be home than me!
I decided that a pint in the resident's bar was definitely in order to help me calm down from my ordeal, but sadly it had just closed. Luckily, shaken though I was, I was still drunk enough to fall sleep with ease... The lads in their kindness allowed me avail of the single bed - which is a lot better than Simon did. For some as yet unexplained reason he slept on the floor between the two beds in Eric's, Hutch's and Ciarán's room. This worked out well however for Jer, as it freed Simon's bed for Ronan, leaving Jer in peace to grapple with the complexities of bra clasps. QOTV #5: "Oh - there are two clasps!"
Wednesday
This morning offered the ultimate dilemma of using the potential for
a lie-in to the fullest, or getting up for breakfast. Most opted for the
brekkie option, especially as we were leaving slightly earlier to see the
girls' match against DCU. Today we were sampling the delights of Mossley
HC, deep in some random Loyalist heartland type place, Union Jacks galore
- they would have made a nice souvenir, I thought. Anyway, the girls beat
DCU comfortably, setting up nicely their clash with Ye Ye later that afternoon.
We took the pitch against Trin, with Sam assuring us that they weren't
as good as Ye Ye, despite the 3-3 scoreline between them yesterday. Indeed,
so it proved, as they only beat us 6-0. We were quite pleased, though I
don't think Baz would have picked this game as his first appearance of
the competition. We actually played okay in patches, and even managed to
piss off the Trinners chaps from time to time. In fairness though, like
the Queens boys they were quite sound, despite their nauseating D4 accents.
Thus, our elimination and humiliation was complete. We thanked the girls for their excellent support, and got ready for their game. It wasn't on for ages, but we watched Ye Ye play Queen's in the battle of the Belfast teams. Needless to say, we were sternly going for Queens, but they lost 2-0 to the polytechnic pricks. The next game was some random Chilean game, so we took this opportunity to stroll to the nearby shop. There we availed of such things as sausage rolls (again defying our physio/coach/manager/ nutritionist/faith healer Phil) and multiple yoghurts.
Jeremy, my trusty drinking sidekick, and I decided also to probe the mysteries of an off license. (Note: judging by the bus trip back home, I'm beginning to wonder if it's not more accurate to say 'Jeremy, and his trusty drinking sidekick Jim...') We got a conservative number of beers (i.e. 2) and returned to Mossley. Shammy had also accompanied us on our twenty-minute excursion, eager to sample the ambience of this delightful suburb. We went inside the building in the hockey club, and exchanged witty banter whilst watching Jerry Springer. Elmer spoke of imaginary buses that could fly. And this was before any head injuries.
Outside in the lovely sunshine, we played frisbee. Gav was remorseless in his winning, until eventually losing to a combination of Baz and I. Squire tried to look the coolest, but needs to work on his throwing technique. Ciarán was worryingly shite at it - perhaps his confidence shaken by the barrage of goals flying in. Dave Hackett arrived from Cork at some point, in time for the girls' game against Ye Ye. Mine and Jer's beer had gone down surprisingly well, and it seemed that two cans was a silly amount to have purchased. We toyed with the idea of asking Dave to return to the Offy in his car, but it would have been futile asking him after a drive from Cork.
Unfortunately, the girls didn't play to their potential in their game, and were beaten 3-1 (I think). Simon however produced a bottle of Sambuca, and in a sure entry for one of the Greatest Ideas In The World, Ever, Vol. IV, also a packet of plastic shot glasses! Painstakingly, the Sambuca was administered and we formed a circle for a quick Oggy-Oggy, followed by a swift downing of shot. I think the girls were quite pissed off with not getting into the semis, but we had a good laugh nonetheless.
The next problem was how to get back to Jury's. There were conflicting reports of buses going to Jordanstown, going to Jury's, going to Jakarta, but luckily it transpired that two buses arrived to bring us back to Great Victoria Street. I ended up in the second one, and we chatted quietly amongst ourselves as we plodded along the M2, until Aoife suddenly exclaims "Oh my God - it's the ladies goalie gear!" And sure enough, right in the middle of the second lane of the M2 motorway is the girls' goalkeeper gear. A couple of hundred yards further down the road is another minibus, with two beleaguered lads running from it back to the gear! We continued on home, but listened intently to the traffic news on the radio hoping for a mention of hockey related obstructions on the M2 in Belfast!
We had an hour or so to kill - annoying as it was too little to go to sleep, and too long to put up with Sky News. I think in our room we rang people telling them we were Chris Tarrant from ITV's 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?'
Tonight was the night we were going to go out for a meal with the girls. After the usual showering etc, the inevitable phone call between Jim and Jer took place, arranging a quick pint in the bar. The Tennents, as always, was marvellous. The meal was in some Italian place, and was very nice. I paid special attention to wiping the tomato sauce from my pizza crusts prior to giving them to Squire. Apparently he likes tomato ketchup, but not tomato sauce on pizzas. Well, I suppose since he is the Blair Witch, he is entitled to one or two idiosyncrasies.
Luckily, the venue for the night's revelry was on the same street (in fact, we must have walked up and down the street 1,000,000 times). It was in Robinsons - a fine establishment though they didn't have Tennent's. Our hands were freezing from the cold Belfast night - I commented on this to Gav. He said, 'Yes, cold: bad!' We noticed a warm glass panel over some food - we placed our hands gratefully on it. 'Warm: good!' I said. Beers were placed for us on the counter - 'Beer: good!' said Gav. 'Beer: cold, cold: bad!' I said. Aargghhh! A paradox!
There were no seats available where most of the people were, so Jer, Gav, Squire and I sat over by the window. Squire was worried that the Europa was across the street, fearing fallout from any potential explosions. We were quite sober at this stage, but it didn't stop us singing loudly and raucously. Once again, due to fatigue and the beer not going down too well, I decided to invoke the Bull. Once again, this was delicious but costly.
Soon, everyone was in great spirits (no pun intended). Squire was chatting to some Galway acquaintance of his. I was strolling across the dancefloor when the Best Song In The World, Ever, Vol. X came on. I was ushered into the middle of a large group of UCC people having entrusted my priceless Quadruple Vodka and Red Bull to Dave. I waited patiently while the voice rambled on about blueness, before dancing excessively to the 'I'm Blue Da Ba Dee Da Ba Die' bit, whilst fending off Thelma Kingston's attempts to expose my beer belly to the world. I withdraw any negative comments of Baz's performance last night. After the song I was thoroughly knackered, so I finished my QVARB and got a glass of water. Despite not being drunk by any means (contrary to what my dancing might suggest) I decided that I had had enough booze. However Gav suggested that we have a sneaky shot of something for the laugh, I decided that one's not going to kill me. We settled on vodka (no Sambuca, I hate Tequila) and we tucked in. The one went down well, and since Gav had bought them, I felt obliged to buy a round of them. This also went down well. 8 vodkas later, we decided to call it a day... Thus, I managed to officially stop drinking after 8 vodkas, and yet still have 8 more. Worrying. Not surprisingly, I don't remember much else of the night... In fact, I have no recollection of the whole Elmer being bottled thing. I suppose I was just grateful there were no rugby-playing bouncers wandering around. I do however remember doing the Mr. Blobby dance next to a bloke who turned out to be the UL goalkeeper. Bygones.
Back in the hotel, nobody was really in the mood for sleep. Apparently, Simon's/Baz'/Gav's room was where the place to be, namely for some Hot Rum Action. Unfortunately, for reasons that still escape me, I missed out on this, but I went up there after. There was still some rum left, and after making sure Gav's puking was going okay I went off to find Jer with the glorious booty I had plundered. We went down to one of the couches by the lifts and soon more arrived. Julie and Jean were there from the girls, and soon Dave and a scantily clad Shammy joined us. Nan and Jill arrived in official capacity to bring the errant girls to bed. Their authority was challenged by Jer, in the form of him taking the piss of their pyjamas. They left, we laughed. To be honest, I don't think we managed to finish the rum: rum is, after all, disgusting.
I assume I went to bed then. I don't think Jer did...
Here, courtesy of the man himself, is ...............
The Bottling Incident:
The bottling incident (as Jim so affectionately calls it) Not much to this story except that it made Clare's night a very interesting one. While on one of my many excursions over to Clare, I felt a rather large thud on my head. I thought to myself "Oh, what was that?" ('thinking' not being one of the better attributes I was experiencing at the time). I carried on walking until I reached Clare. She noticed I was looking slightly more dazed than usual. I took my hand from my head and noticed blood all down my hand and arm. Oh bugger. So she took me to the bouncer, who promptly ran away. I must say I thought that was a little odd. Next thing I know all the alarm bells are ringing for everyone to get out ('cool' I stopped a night-club all on my own (again thinking not being the best)). And I am in some random kitchen being told I had to go to hospital and I should get a taxi outside (sound). I must congratulate all the Robinson's crew on super job and thanks for the bog roll lads, excellent stuff. I would like to thank Tennents larger, sambuca and tequila (of which there were many) for the next part. I get to hospital (the waiting and taxi journey drawing a bit of a blank on my part). Apparently, getting a staple shot out of that monster of gun is very, very sore (almost on the point of a minor anaesthetic). I stress the apparently cause this is my quote of the varsities courtesy of the doctor (whose name escapes me). "Normally I would give you an anaesthetic or get you to squeeze that pillow, but I don't think you are going to feel this", as I happily hummed some random tune and dangled my feet (I must admit I was quite pissed). So he shot the staple at me, I felt a slight pinch as my head got blown back a bit, and I carried on with the tune 'happy as Larry'. Doc just smiled and gave me some instructions, which included something about alcohol, but that escape me now.
The taxi journey home is again a bit of a blur, all I remember next is getting into the room with Clare and seeing Ronan on the single bed giving a pretty sound argument on why he should sleep there that night. So our attention turned to Jeremy and Jean and tried an argument and eventually came out with "aww, sleep in the bath". Thankfully, Clare was there because after her second night of negotiations (Jim), we got the bed. Me, in my concussed state, fell straight to sleep and Clare had to wake me every 3 hours (to make sure I was alive) courtesy of a phone call from Phil who got a bollocking every time the alarm went off but I will let Jim explain that.
I would like to thank three special people for one of my better nights on the piss. Phil, some expert stuff I am sure you did but it failed to register. Clare, for being a kick ass Liaison Officer and being a good sport about it all (I really feel sorry for you). And last, the bottling bloke for giving me something tell the kids about and not the parents.
Elmer No. 13 (I have got to get a new
top)
I suppose I better apologise yet again to Phil for my antics in our room that night. As outlined above, I went to asleep, very very drunk (SHOCKER), and hence was not too pleased when the unbelievably annoying tones of Phil's mobile phone pierce the calm of the Belfast night. (calm Belfast night???) Woken, and not best pleased, I ask Phil politely why we are being awoken at this ungodly hour. Well, maybe politely isn't the best way of putting it. It was more something like this: "Phil, you ******* ****, why the *** are you ******** waking ******* us ********* up at this ***************** hour you *** ***** ***** ******* *** ***** ******* ********!" (Note: the intensity of this outburst has been curtailed.) Phil patiently explained that he had to ring Elmer every three hours so he didn't die. I paused, and said, 'Oh right. Sorry. Night night!'
And so back to sleep. For another three hours that is, until once again,
the not so dulcet tones of the Hated Nokia 5110 ring out. Awoken, and nonplussed,
I ask Phil: Jim: "Phil, you cocksucker, why the **** you waking us up,
you ******* ****** **** ******?" Phil: Back to sleep, for another blissful three hours of rest. When we did
get up the next day, Phil wasn't best pleased, but we're all buddies again,
right Phil, old buddy old pal?
And that was Wednesday.
PS Apparently Mary O'Dwyer, having scored with more than one of our
team, had instilled in Eric an interest in scoring with many people from
the same team, so he decided to consult the expert...
Thursday
This was the one match of the week that we were expected to win, and
it was one we really wanted to win. Hence, the teamtalk was even more intense
then usual, and I didn't endear myself to some of the lads with my surfeit
(opposite of dearth) of smart remarks. Obviously some of the lads who like
me were still drunk found them amusing enough, but when I randomly burst
out laughing during the final teamtalk, the final straw had been administered.
Not surprisingly, I was on the bench for this one...
The match was a terrible affair, we were dragged down to their level
of shite hockey, honest... In fairness it was like playing a different
sport after 'competing' with Trin, Ye Ye, and Queens over the previous
days. UL had a French bloke who was supposed to me good - he wasn't hard
to find as he was wearing a baseball cap on back to front, and he was to
be heard moaning and whining like David Ginola - 'Zey won't let me play
hockey!' Hilariously, he was sent off for totally accidentally tripping
Jer. He really was an idiot.
Luckily, some sort of combination of N Sands (sic) and more factually
Andy Tait managed to nick a tasty goal to win the game. After, as we ran
passed the UL lads during our warm down lap, they all applauded us, which
was nice. I think during the game, the girls had arrived, fresh from their
victory over our other girls, UCG. I felt even guiltier, as I recalled
last night's drunken leading astray of some of the ladies.
We had a bite to eat from the nearby life-saving Mace, and chilled out
inside in the tv room. We had a laugh with the norrie umpires, Hutch offered
QOTV #7 as we were talking about the idiot French bloke: "I am a footballer,
not a superstar!" (David Ginola shampoo ad)
We returned outside and settled down to watch the girls vanquish their
Queens opponents with two excellent goals from Nan and Orla (Curtain, not
Russell, obviously). Baz was slightly gutted as his beloved Juliette was
on the losing side. We applauded their victory, before taking the field
for the final, also against Queens - bizarrely, not one of the Queens lads
had known that their girls were playing in the final, clearly they lacked
the fantastic UCC spirit of mutual support.
The starting team for the final was as follows, I think:
Ciarán, Sam, Jer , Gav , Alex, Simon , Shammy ,Squire, AndyT
, Hutch , Jim de Butler (?)
We played fantastically well, this time we even managed to get into
their D from time to time! However we all got nosebleeds at this point
and our attacks petered out... After about twenty minutes, they scored.
To be honest, I can't remember what sort of goal it was. I do remember
one incident in the half when a ball unexpectedly came across into the
left corner as we were attacking - it seemed to be going out of play until
I realised 'Fuck it, I suppose I better chase this!' So I ran like fuck
to get to the ball, managed to keep it in play, almost cried as I realised
I had put it on a plate for the defender, somehow managed to get it back
from him (with a hint off illegality I think), carry it into the D, try
and hit it of someone's foot for a short, and watch despairingly as it
sailed through his legs and away to safety. Anyway the point of this anecdote
is that it prompted Ronan to ask me at half time since when did I have
pace!
In the second half, we played very well, and were arguably on top. We
had good possession in their 25, though they probably had slightly more
of the ball in general. I managed to put the ball in the net, sadly a second
or so after the umpire had blown for a short. From the short, Sam bizarrely
decided to work the option right to where I was - sadly in training I had
always been the bloke backing up, and thus fluffed the shot appallingly
resulting in a moan of despair from the crowd!
Later on, Andy Barber had a chance to make a name for himself, but his
shot sailed narrowly wide. Eventually the whistle went, and we were beaten.
However we were all absolutely delighted with our performance, it was certainly
a huge difference from the Jordanstown debacle. We almost celebrated as
if we had won the thing - I remember hugging Jer and Gav for their heroic
performance all week, then Squire and I fulfilled our promise to build
a faggot, and then offer homage to it. The girls came on and we had great
fun, with the traditional Sambuca. Gav almost got burnt by my (well Eric's
really) ciggy - 'Burn: bad!'
(Serious note) I must say that the spirit
we had shown in our performance, coupled with the fantastic bond between
the Men and the Ladies, and the great fun we had for those few minutes
caused me to be so proud of UCC, and the UCC hockey clubs. I have never
been so proud to wear the red shirt as I was then.
(End of serious note)
I for one was reluctant to leave the pitch, but we had to get back to
civilisation to prepare for the banquet. Aboard the minibus, we sang 'My
Heart Will Go On' for no apparent reason, plus the 'Fields of Athenry'.
I was worried that the usual 'We had dreams and songs to sing/IRA' bit
would happen, but Elmer cunningly sang something PC loudly instead. We
all tried to claim the first shower in each room, and to juggle the little
time before the bus to Ballymena (why the fuck were we going to Ballymena?????)
between getting ready, getting offy, and getting a beer in the bar. Having
showered and changed, I checked with my fashion guru, aka Squire, to see
if I were looking optimal. He assured me that I was, so I rang Jer. Shocker.
We arranged to meet in the bar. Shocker. There, Susan, Ann and Aoife were
lingering, shin guards aplenty, not seeming all too worried by the bus'
imminent departure. Jer and I strolled off to the offy, as it were, and
got stocked up both for the bus there and for the actual banquet itself.
A nice pint of Tennents was ordered, as the final act before departure.
A fleet of buses soon appeared outside to ferry us and the other colleges.
Disaster strikes! The bus driver has a strict no booze policy! I run back
to the hotel, leave behind some of the cans, and insert one can, a naggin,
and a can of Red Bull into various pockets - never was I so pleased to
be wearing a suit jacket. Once on the bus, we were subjected to a lecture
only fit for schoolkids on a day trip. As well as the whole no drinking
thing, we were amazed to hear that the banquet was due to finish by 1am!!!!!!
Danger here!!!!! Many murmurs of discontent at this revelation. Minor drama
then ensued as Johnny P rushed of the bus after a few minutes, apparently
Jill had been spotted standing alone outside the hotel.
All was not lost on the booze front, however, as one of the Trin boys
had a Burger Land style soft drink cup. I never found out what he had in
it, but he gave it to me when he was finished. I said the word 'Faggot'
to Squire to make him laugh, and under the cover of this, opened the can
of Carlsberg that would have to sustain us to Ballymena. (Did I ask why
the fuck we were going to Ballymena????) We had serious head issues, and
another problem arose due to the flimsyness of the cup - Shammy nearly
had a major disaster as he almost dropped it on himself, as it was only
a small bit of froth tainted his trousers. We shared this pathetic excuse
for a bev amongst four or five of us, alas it dwindled long before we had
reached God-forsaken Ballymena. (Why?????)
Eventually we did reach you know where, and we went inside for the tempting
Buck's Fizz promotion, first having hidden away our emergency beer supplies.
We assembled in one of the rooms, and went to work dishing out naggins
of vodka and cans of Red Bull into legitimately acquired glasses. Jer borrowed
my jacket to smuggle in his supplies of V and RB. We began to cheer up
to a certain extent. The two of us bumped into Antoine, the French UL bloke
- we had been told he was in fact really sound, and so it proved. We chatted
about football, bizarrely his greatest footballing hero is none other than
the legend from the dark days of the eighties when Aldo and Big Cas were
injured - John 'Limited' Byrne! Apparently Byrne had finished his days
playing for Antoine's home club of Le Havre, and had shone in the low pressure
of French lower league football.
Jer had slight issues gaining entry to the banquet due to his lack of
ticket (idiot), but triumphed ultimately over the combined forces of the
bouncers and the UL girls who mustn't have liked him for some reason. We
secured seats and tucked into the starter - I've forgotten already what
it was. A few people (mainly girls!) started tentatively chucking food
here and there, I tried to quash this. Ronan in particular received an
earful of high moral ground stuff from me.
We were terrified that last year's disaster of closed bar for the excruciating
speeches might reoccur - thus Jer, Carrie and I accepted the waiter's kind
offer of a look at the wine menu. We chose the cheapest one there, and
patted ourselves on the back for our cunning. The wine duly arrived, and
the waiter asked me if I would like to taste it. Despite knowing nothing
about wine except that it comes mostly from France, I took him up on his
offer. I had a taste, and deemed it acceptable... I remember not eating
much of the main course, and instead wandering around the now quiet bar
area. I was talking to a couple of Queens's girls, one of whom asked me
if I had been at the Oasis concert in Cork a few years ago. I replied that
I had been, expecting her to say something like 'Yes, you were the bloke
who had to hide from the security people after puking in the middle of
the pitch', but instead she said, 'So was I.' I had no choice at that point
but to relate my puking story, sadly.
My next duty was to go back into the banquet, and bring out two sets
of cutlery, and two meals for Jill and Johnny P. Apparently JP had made
it onto a different bus, but Jill, Ann, and Aoife had to make a rather
substantial investment in a taxi.
Back inside again, the presentations were thankfully brief. I think
possibly even the Trin captain was moderately gracious in victory - of
course we were delighted they had beaten the hated Ye Ye pricks. That didn't
stop us joining in the inevitable 'Trinity, shite!' chants, or indeed the
equally witty riposte 'UCD, wank wank wank!' Nan accepted the Plate, and
in a nice gesture dedicated it to Alan. Next the university training squads
were announced - gutted I didn't get on... Genuinely surprised though at
the low UCC Ladies representation. Some of the girls noticed the frisbee-like
properties of the Chilean Plate, and decided to investigate further...
The formalities over, it was time for some Hot Disco Action, as well
as some serious boozing. People started buying rounds of shots galore -
apparently Susan Delany amazed all by managing to carry over a tray full
of glasses without mishap. I had a shot, not realising it was the dreaded
juice of the Blue Agavé (Tequila to the lay man), and consequently
felt shite. For some reason, I decided not to go to the jacks, as is normal
in these situations, instead I went back to our tables, and treated a few
random UCC people to some Hot Puking Action. I must emphasise that this
wasn't a 'Had 20 pints and want to go home to bed to die' puke, more of
a 'Jim you know you hate Tequila so don't do it again, but by all means
keep drinking other stuff' puke. Thus the discharge, as it were, was small
of volume, as the rest of the booze stayed put, quite content in my stomach.
Now that I think of it, I remember being outside the banquet room at
the bar drinking Double Vodka and Red Bull courtesy of the Most Sarcastic
Chick in the World, Ever, Vol. VI, namely Pamela Ryan. She has this unique
skill of ignoring every attempt you make to reply to her by cutting across
you with yet another devastating quip. I could learn a lot from this one.
I also remember being interrupted from my study by my triumphant Galway
Mixed Hockey Festival team members - Elmer had finally bought the Captain's
Round. Sadly though, Bacardi Breezer was the beverage on offer - not an
optimal choice for downing by any means, but sure what harm. I remember
next strolling to the Gents with my vodka, only to be told that one couldn't
enter the jacks with a glass. So I replied 'Fine, I'll stand here and talk
to you for half an hour while I finish it!' And I did. I subjected the
poor guy to my long tedious story of why I hate Galway City, and then I
started rambling about the whole Northern Ireland Politics thing. Luckily
Thomas (or Tom as I called him at the end) was a nice bloke, and endured
me without complaint.
Thus fuelled and watered, I went inside for the last frantic few minutes
of dancing. Apparently Jer and Mary O'Dwyer attempted to help the band
(I didn't even know there had been a band), but were told in no uncertain
terms to stick to the hockey. I remember being assaulted by certain members
of the ladies, who once again wanted to reduce my neatness quotient. I
tried my best to resist, but was unsuccessful. I've no idea what happened
at the end of the night.
Next thing I do remember is getting onto a bus with Squire (+AN Other)
but leaving again because that bus wasn't going to Jury's. I finally found
one that was, and got a seat towards the rear. Sadly, I was soon surrounded
on all sides by a combination of Trin tossers and UCD gobshites. They were
singing their usual tedious songs, I was very bored. At one point they
were singing 'Stand up, if you've won the cup' for the 1,000,000th time,
so I waited for a lull in the song and I shouted out 'Stand up, if you
give a fuck', which I though was very witty under the circumstances, but
sadly a stony silence greeted me. I then amused myself by pretending to
the guy next to me that I played for Ye Ye, throwing in such useful buzzwords
like 'Senior-One' and the like in a vaguely northern accent. Eventually
that bored me too, so I went down to the front of the bus to where Aoife,
Ann, and some UL girls were. Unfortunately, a discussion on the selection
policies for the Ladies Universities Squad didn't prove quite the boredom-killer
I had hoped for...
Back in the hotel, who knows what happened? There were stories of parties
in rooms, broken up by Curtain twins ringing reception inviting them to
join them. I obtained my last two cans and I think went down to the foyer.
Alex and Eric were sleeping peacefully, the only people exhibiting any
signs of life were Shammy, Sam, Julie, and one or two others probably also.
I commented on certain luminescent characteristics of Julie's pants, amongst
other things. I think earlier I also invented a song and dance about one
of the phones in the foyer. Later, in search of some room party fun, I
ended up in Ann and Aoife's room, with Orla R, where Ann and I tried to
outdo each other in the field of gymnastic disasters.
Eventually, in the region of 5am or so, I suppose I must have gone to
sleep.
Friday
We stopped in some random place, where most people bought food for the
journey. I bought fags, and Jer and Julie got more booze. Soon it became
clear that this was some serious competition. The two of them drank relentlessly.
Naughtily, a few of us smoked a fag or two in the stairwell at the back,
but sure 'twas only fun.
Down at the front of the bus, amusement was being taken in the form
of playing 1,000,000 questions. The edge was taken slightly off the game
by this more lenient approach, in my opinion. Also, I would have to question
the legitimacy of including pseudo-famous people you know nothing about,
Orla!
We stopped, in an amazing twist, in Urlingford for the 1,000,001st time.
Luckily, we were spared the ordeal of yet another helping of Josephine's
Chef's Special by the girls' knowledge of the slightly less pseudo-famous
The Forge down the road. The food here was fine, and I was grateful for
Ronan's plentiful supply of good old Punts.
Back on the bus, Jer and Julie were the life and soul of their two-person
party, though everyone else was happy to look on in amazement and amusement.
We also availed of the opportunity to take a photo or two as the 1,000,000
cans of beer lulled them into slumber. Julie at one point also risked a
season-threatening injury as some sort of athletic vault from seat to seat
went horribly wrong... Jer was content to sleep on the floor of the bus,
using my inner thigh as a headrest. I asked him to try and keep to the
lower-inner-thigh region, if at all possible. Later, he announced to all
around that I do indeed have very comfortable inner thighs.
Finally, to much relief and joy, we arrived at the welcoming arms of
the Star. The gear was unloaded, the bus driver was thanked, and the pints
were ordered. In that order. Some of course nipped away early, but most
hung around for a while. Jer and Julie pooled together their last few pennies,
with a view to procuring more booze. After a while, everyone had gone,
except the intrepid duo. A bit of investigative journalism has established
that apparently they continued until one of the two (whose name shall be
withheld) fell asleep. They left the Star, Jer rang his Dad, and Mr Jer
brought them to their homes. I'm currently working on getting an exclusive
interview with Mr Jer, for some lurid details of just how drunk they were...
What a week! Thumbs up to UCC Hockey! ? Arís! ?
This is a lot longer than I expected, so as Squire would say, 'Oi, Jim,
Shut it!'
(c)Jim November 1999
Unfortunately today the girls plate semi-final was on in Ye Ye, whereas
we were up in Mossley again. Today we were facing the mighty UL in the
grudge match with the lofty accolade of top Munster University at stake.
Squire stood up at one point, and announced to us all:
"I
was fierce stiff before I went to the jacks, but now I'm fine!"
- QOTV 7.
Feeling very much the worse for wear, we went for breakfast. After
packing (stuffing, more accurately), Jer and I went to the bar for a last
pint of Tennents, in my case anyway purely for show. Everybody thought
we looked like idiots, I'm sure, except Julie who joined us. Their pints
went down so well that they decided to get some booze for the bus. I got
a pathetic 3 bottles of Bud. Aboard the bus, the drinking continued. Julie
was the first, though not last, to notice the comfortable properties of
my legs.