Morto
During the half-time break last night, I had a thirst on me to beat the band. So I joined a long queue to get a cup of tea. Teams were coming back out as I floundered up the steps of the stand, scalding my hand in the process.
Having lost my bearings I asked a steward for directions. He said go right, I went right, along a row of seats, "sorry, can I get by you" being uttered constantly until I reached the other end of the row. "Where are the boys, where are the boys?" I kept saying to myself.
Looking left I see the boys waving, laughing uproariously and calling me by some strange name. When I got to them, they had managed to attract the attention of three rows to my bout of disorientation. And everyone was calling me "Rocky"? One of the jeering crowd was none other than an Irish sporting legend.
I sat down and laughed it off. What else can you do when you look a fool with a burned hand and some fucker who secured the Ryder Cup for Europe is laughing at your stupidity?
Published by Colm.
Having lost my bearings I asked a steward for directions. He said go right, I went right, along a row of seats, "sorry, can I get by you" being uttered constantly until I reached the other end of the row. "Where are the boys, where are the boys?" I kept saying to myself.
Looking left I see the boys waving, laughing uproariously and calling me by some strange name. When I got to them, they had managed to attract the attention of three rows to my bout of disorientation. And everyone was calling me "Rocky"? One of the jeering crowd was none other than an Irish sporting legend.
I sat down and laughed it off. What else can you do when you look a fool with a burned hand and some fucker who secured the Ryder Cup for Europe is laughing at your stupidity?
Published by Colm.
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