Musgrave
Mayhem.
The rain beat down incessantly,
shimmering ‘neath the floodlights in the night sky and the car park
made Lake Delia by Raving Hill look more like a small duck pond. Not much
had changed at Musgrave Park over the years and the old ground certainly
did look a damp and dreary place.
Mind you, times had changed elsewhere. Mr A T Henry’s low lying
fields had obviously all been sold, for a tidy sum it appeared, for the
natives were all driving around in Beamers and Mercs. And the weemen had
all turned blonde.
My wee fleg hung limply by my side as I queued to gain entry. Not for
me the grandiose arrival of Colinh in his gleaming limo. But I did have
an appointment to keep, so I was early.
The mobile phone rang. It was Jennifer. “Hi, where are you?”
she asked.
“I’m locked outside, by the East Terrace”
“Sure aren’t you the daft laddie, you’re at the
wrong side. Come over to the Dolphins Club House."
The iron gates swung open and I trudged along the coastline where the
car park used to be. Colinh cruised past in his amphibious car, on his
way to some pre match regatta no doubt. I rang the reliable Jennifer.
“Hi, where are you?” I enquired.
“I am standing in front of you....” said the attractive
blonde who had just answered her mobile phone.
“Could you do me a big favour,” I blurted out. “The
man from Satan TV is supposed to meet me here but he has left his tickets
in Dublin. And he has four VIP’s with him as well.”
Just then my other mobile rang. (It is de rigueur to have two mobiles
in Cork.) It was Satan himself! “Just hang on – I’m
pulling all the strings I can find – here – speak to Jennifer…”
And with that the attractive blonde took my other phone and disappeared
in the direction of the Musgrave Park Offices. (Apparently it is chique
for blondes to have three mobile phones when at rugby matches…)
Unknown to me, at that very moment, a certain ticketless Ulster fan was
peering through the bars of the other big gate, trying to gain my attention.
(No need to worry though – the Fat Controller had everything under
control and slipped a complimentary stand ticket his way. Great chap!)
Presently the smiling Jennifer returned, with my other phone, and with
a man who claimed to be Declan Kidney. “This is the nearest
thing to Declan that I could find,” explained my new found
friend.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, not knowing if this
was really the real Declan Kidney. “And pleased to meet yourself”,
replied the Declan Kidney look alike, grinning as if he already knew the
result of the Annual Musgrave Park Maul. “Where are the rest
of the Ulster lads?”
“Oh, they’re still in the city centre,” I replied.
“They are running a bit late. Had to stop off at the Victoria
Hotel to pick up a chap from Holywood whose name no one can spell.”
“Enjoy the game,” Declan’s double added, before
handing me a rather bulky brown envelope. “This is for you boys
from the North,” he said, explaining the function of the Munster
Beer Tokens. “We have a keg of Heineken set aside for you upstairs
in the Dolphin Bar!” And with that he was off to have his photie
took.
“Did you get Satan sorted out?” I enquired of the
lovely Jennifer. “Yes, here he is now!” And with
that a well dressed Dubliner appeared genie like, clouds of steam drifting
heavenwards. (“Ghost riders in the Sky,”
I thought.) “Hi, sorry I am late, must dash, I’ll meet
you after the game.” And with that he slipped away into the
crowd. Staring after him as he walked across the flooded car park I swear
I saw the water bubble and boil beneath his feet……….
Did kimble really meet the real Declan Kidney?
Did ding dong2u ever find out what was really in the Heineken Barrel?
And how do you pronounce ArdtogetintoMusgraveParkwithoutaticketmichael?
Tune in next week for another gripping
installment of Musgrave Mayhem
This Scoop exclusive
has been sponsored by the Royal Cork Yacht Club – when in Cork try
not to get out of your depth.
SCOOP
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