A Hooker's Diary . . . with John Hogan
ALRIGHT, I'm willing to admit that perhaps I was a little too specific last week when I invited applications from the "most eloquent, well-proportioned and evenly-tanned" ladies for the chance to be escorted by Yours Truly to the end of year Bruff RFC ball.
No doubt setting such a high standard scared off potential applicants for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and has subsequently seen only a couple of hundred expressions of interest come in.
With that in mind - and in the spirit of equal opportunities - I have decided to widen the acceptance criteria in my little recruitment drive by welcoming applications from ladies of all proportions and eloquence.
It will be like my own version of the X-Factor with my good self in the nit-picking role of Simon Cowell.
Tuesday
Many would think that after pulling, dragging and kicking each other around in the muck for eight months, we would welcome the first warm, sunny training session of the year with open arms. However the arrival of the sun this evening also led to an almost biblical-like plague of midgets on the training pitch.
At this juncture it's important to point out that I don't mean the Bruff team were subjected to an attack from a bloodthirsty army of little people. That we could have handled.
No the midgets that invaded our pitch were of the winged, miniscule, biting variety.
I should also point out now that I understand the correct term is "midges" but I've been calling them the incorrect name for too long now to change my ways so bear with me.
Anyway, regardless of what you call them, our whole panel was eaten alive with bites from the midge(t)s tonight which would leave us furiously scratching our arms and legs like a gang of heroin addicts going through withdrawal for several days afterwards.
Unfortunately, bites on his arms were the least of Tony Cahill's worries this evening as he broke his arm while trying to make a tackle.
In order to prevent such an injury recurring, I promised Tony that when his arm grows back, I would show him my own patented "slide-off tackle".
The beauty of this little manoeuvre is that one seems to make a supreme effort to bring down the opposing player, but in reality is looking after their own welfare throughout the motion.
It's simple.
Start by grabbing the other player's shoulders - making it look like you're attempting to knock them over, but actually keeping a safe distance between the two of you - and simply slide down along them, appearing to be just missing the tackle, but in fact ensuring you come out the other end of the encounter in one piece.
All the comfort and safety of avoiding a bone-crushing tackle minus the shame of being seen as a girl's blouse.
Genius.
Wednesday
Not for the first time this year, I'll stray a little off the rugby track to discuss how I managed to get Miss Limerick into my apartment without resorting to any grossly inappropriate measures.
While trying to catch a sneaky 40 winks during work I overheard one of the photographers say that he was going to take photos of Erica Salmon by Bishop's Quay to celebrate the end of her glorious reign as Miss Limerick.
Immediately I was awake and alert to the fact that I could bring the Salmon from the banks of the Shannon to my humble abode in Riverpoint under the ruse that the photographer could get a much better shot up there.
Sure enough, my plan worked and before long Erica was shivering on my balcony while the photographer took his snaps.
However at this point, my plan ran aground.
Having intended to act like the suave, charming hotshot journalist that I most certainly am not, I froze and the best move I could muster was to offer Limerick's finest a cup of tea. Real smooth.
However, I haven't given up all hope and with a bit of luck, once we get this neverending season over and done with, I can get to work on getting Erica back her crown in my role as head of her re-election campaign.
Thursday
It was a bittersweet training session this evening in that we knew it would be our last with each other for a few months, our last ever as a division three club (hopefully), and unfortunately our last with Eugene Murnane as coach.
In his three years in Bruff, the ginger Welshman became a hugely popular figure, not just around the rugby club, but in the many primary schools in the area he visited as an IRFU Youth Development Officer.
The announcement that Euge was leaving was met with great disappointment when the man himself informed us a few weeks ago prior to training.
True to form however, rather than dwell on the matter, he immediately said that his impending departure should only serve as further impetus for him and us to finish the year on a high.
There may have been ball-breaking fitness sessions when, at our most exasperated and sweaty, we may have called Eugene every name under the sun and cursed him to hell.
However, the reality is the man earned the respect of all those who trained under him, despite most of us not being able to understand his accent for the first year or so, and he will missed by all of the senior players in Bruff.
Friday
Given the importance of tomorrow's game, we opted to stay in the Red Cow Hotel in Dublin tonight rather than sitting in traffic for several hours tomorrow morning.
For my roommate, Leo McGrath, and I, it was our first time staying in the four-star hotel.
Our unfamiliarity with such grandiose surroundings probably showed when we spent the first hour playing with the phone in the bathroom, which presumably comes in very handy when you've had a few too many bowls of All-Bran, but also urgently need to speak to reception.
Saturday
When we played in Donnybrook against Old Wesley at the start of the year, the pitch surface looked and felt like a carpet shipped straight in from Persia.
However, such was the scarcity of the grass today, it looked like the carpet had been stolen and the replacement had been bought from the back of a van.
Although we got the first score of the game, it would be our last time leading in a match that we never grabbed by the horns.
Gaps that hadn't been there all season opened up, uncharacteristic mistakes were made and even one elderly Instonians supporter I met in the bathrooms during the game agreed that the referee did us no favours.
Defeat to Instonians was not the way that we'd hoped to end the season and certainly not how we wished to bid Eugene fairwell.
However, had we been offered first place in the league and an unbeaten record that went back 18 months at the start of this season, you can be sure we would have taken it, so it's probably best to be pragmatic about the whole affair.
Like everyone else, I plodded into Bective Rangers clubhouse after the game with a heavy heart and a powerful thirst, both of which were addressed at the bar minutes later.
As Young Munsters fought out the division two final on the pitch, myself and one of the Cookie's supporters went to the bar, which was being attended by a young local Ross O'Carroll-Kelly impersonator.
"Can I have a brandy and Coke?" asked the Munsters supporter, while suspiciously eyeing the barman's immaculate polo shirt, complete with collar up.
"Would you like a Coke or a diet Coke?" asked Ross in his strongest D4 accent.
"Youngfella, if you were in Limerick you'd be f***in' fired," the indignant supporter replied.
With that little exchange lifting my spirits no end, I started to already look forward to next year and the challenges it would bring.
Who cares if we lost our unbeaten run to the better team on the day?
There's a whole new set of teams to beat come October, some of whom are a lot closer to home than Instonians, which should make bragging a lot more fun next season.
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Weather for Limerick
Monday 21 May 2012
Today
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Temperature: 12 C to 18 C
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