3-8-14

Not much to report today, except for one curious incident.

Struck out walking to downtown today, feeling pretty confident that I know the way. A lot of the aged, brick or stone buildings look similar, but there are enough landmarks that it is easy once you are used to it. Did a lot of walking around, venturing into unknown places to broaden my horizons. Had been feeling very much the stranger yesterday, but today felt more like I could do this, like a visitor who belongs. Maybe a good night’s sleep made a difference.

Last time I was in Ireland, the 5 Nations Rugby tournament was happening. Ireland, England, Scotland, Wales and France were duking it out to see who had put up the best team. I seem to recall Wales won in 2003, if memory serves. Well, it’s on this time as well – must be a March thing. Only now, it’s 6 Nations because Italy has joined the party.

Today was Ireland versus Italy. As you may imagine, this is serious business. The pubs were pretty full down in Temple Bar, including The Quays where I had been before. I looked in and spotted a very slim opening at the bar and made for it before it closed up. Ordered a Guiness and watched the game, already more than half over.

Ireland was beating the snot out of Italy, really embarrassing them. I recalled the recent one-sided Super Bowl in the states, where the Seahawks pretty much manhandled the Broncos. Most Americans stopped paying attention to the game by the halftime show. But here, right up to the end of the game the crowd was fiercely into the game, cheering every time Ireland scored as if it mattered. Even when it was like 40 -7 with very few minutes left to play. (It was later explained to me that it actually DID matter in the overall tournament, where all the points that a team scores figure in to the championship.) Also of note in rugby is that scoring is called a “try.” To me, it seems an odd thing to call it when someone actually succeeds…

The curious incident was the lady next to me at the bar. Caught up in the frenzy (and however much she’d had to drink), she took to beating me on the back every time Ireland scored. And I mean hard. As in, I am bruised. She also grabbed my ass a couple of times. I may be bruised there as well. She was very friendly, but I don’t really know if she was flirting or what. Talk about your mixed signals. Anyway, I have now been both beaten and molested in an Irish pub – all by the same woman, who claimed to be from Tyrone in “the north.”