Hunting Keith 2 by Luke

So I took a taxi with Mike Blair. He was standing by the door, well up for a little excursion. People call him Blade, apparently because he isn't the sharpest. He's the only one who dosen't know this. Perfect.
We arrived at what I can only call a shebeen. There were no lights on the street, which I think was probably a blessing.
"Wait here." I told the driver.
"I do not think so, sah." He said, and put pedal to metal as soon as we'd got out.
" Must be his busy time, och?" Said Blade, watching the brake lights disappear into the night.
"Right" I said. " Lets do this. You go first. "
We went in through the front door. Blade first. It was as if I'd walked into Clohessy's in Limerick wearing my Leinster gear and a billboard that said " Turnip-Munchers should play Bog-Ball and leave Rugby to Real Men". There was a silence broken only by drinks being put down and knuckles being cracked.
"Hows it goin', boys ?" Said Blade.
There was a sharp intake of breath. I was about to run for it, then thought about my chances of making my way back to the hotel in one piece. I decided to step up.
" Hello, gents." I said. " Sorry about Blade, he's Scottish. I'm just looking for my friend. Bald head. Looks about eight. Might have been carrying a toy lion."
The largest man in the world stood up.
" Where you from?" he said, glaring at me.
" Errr, Ireland." I squeaked.
" Ireland." He siad, with a smile. " Conas atá tú, a bhuchaill? Tá tú i bhfad ó bhaile anois, nach bhfuil?"
Well, you could have knocked me over with a Ronan O'Gara tackle.
" Tá an nGaeilge agat?" arsa mise.
He nodded.
" Conas?"
" Chuaigh mé ar scoil leis na mBraithire Chríostí. "
" Tá brón orm. " arsa mise, suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat.
" Na bac, fuair me mo n-oideachais, buíochas leo. Tá do chara thuas staighre ag imirt X-box le mo bhean. An bhfaighidh mé é duit?"
" Le do thoil." arsa mise.
He went off, and I remembered Blade, who was standing looking at me, his mouth hanging open.
" Jeez, Luke." He said, " Well done."
"Thanks." I said.
"Tell us, " he went on, "how long you been learning Xhosa ?"

Hunting Keith by Luke

Winning the Heino was obviously fantastic. Yes, I had a bit of a stinker, as my dad was quick to point out in the papers, but we won, and thats the main thing. But now its time to move on to new challenges. Anyway, I was in my room last night, writing a letter to the IRB suggesting a change to the ' taken back inside the 22' rule, when Paulie burst in. I covered up the letter ( I had given up on the letter, to be honest, and was drawing a picture of myself with the cup and Buatoir Corn na hEoraip written above it) and looked up at him.
"Keith's gone." he said." We have to find him. His Ma will kill me."
He looked genuinely scared. Turns out Keith had finished dinner and then vanished. No sign of him anywhere in the hotel. And only four of his Chupa Chup stash were missing, which suggested to Paulie that wherever he'd gone, he didn't think he'd be gone so long. He eats about two an hour if hes let, apparently. Paulie went down to the leisure centre to make sure he hadn't got lost in the steam room again, while I went outside to see if he was in the grounds. No sign of him.
On the way back I thought to ask the door dude.
"Oh yes sir. I saw the young man. He went off to see some ' wild life'. " He siad, winking at me and grinning.
"Wild life? Are the zoos still open this time of night?" I asked.
"Sir is very funny. Let me draw you a map."

I have to go to training now, I'll tell you the rest later.

Truth is Stranger than Fiction by Senor Loco

Senor Loco would just like to point out that he is not ghostwriting Tommy Bowe's Blog, no matter what you might have heard.

"On arrival at the hotel, we were greeted by a traditional South African song and dance performed in front of the hotel - certainly different to the type of moves I would be pulling on the dance floor. My new roommate Mike Blair, or ‘Blade’ as he likes to be known, has been doing his best to copy them in front of the mirror….naked."

Snr. Loco could not make it up.

What I Did on my HOlidays By Keith

Africa is like Kilkee only brown. It is very sunny just like in Kilkee and there are lots of Limerick people here. Well. Paulie and Me. But that is enough.
Like in Kilkee, some parts makes me feel a little homesick for Moyross. Townships they are called here, caravan parks in Kilkee. The townships look like my friend Leons' back garden with the sheds only much bigger and with African people living there.

There are no Lions here only us. No Giraffes or Elephants or Monkeys or nohin'. I asked Paulie and he said the African wild life lives in the countryside, like badgers and cows at home. I think he was pulling my leg because I seen them in my Babar books in the cities. I asked the Door man at the hotel where I could see some real wild life in the town. He smiled and said he was the man to ask. He drew me a map and all and said to ask for Queen Mama when I got there and that I would see some wild things, sure enough. Then he winked at me. I think this is an African thing. I winked at him and I said thank you and put the map in my pocket.

I will go and look for some wild life later.

Tommy Bowe Early Leader in Lions ' Camp ' .

Lions watchers have identified the new game played by the touring party to pass the time at interviews. Sound as camp as possible:

"There are the inevitable ice-breaking questions like 'Are you married?' or 'Do you have a ­girlfriend?' But soon you realise that we are all rugby boys together." -Stephen Ferris

"You have guys standing next to each other who have never played together before but that can press buttons previously not touched, something that is very exciting for the coaches." Ian Mc Geechan

"On the last two Lions tours, all the coaches wanted their pound of flesh and it meant you ended up staying on the training field too long."This time, the mix is better and players are not being flogged at the end of a long season." - Martyn Williams

"I didn't know what to expect, having not been in this situation before, but to see people from all the different countries coming together has been great." - Tommy Bowe

"I've been able to feed off guys like Shane, Lee Byrne and James Hook – they are world-class talents – and it's great for me to be able to train and play alongside these guys. You are always picking up things from them, whether in training or during games." - Tommy Bowe again

My Red Jock Shame by Donners.

Whats apparently red, arrives when it wants and completely fecks ya? The curse. The Munster curse. No laughin' matter, boys.

I am not a superstitious fella, normally. Well, I am, actually. And why wouldn't I be, with what happened to Tomas, and Fla, and of course Quinny. I said it to Paulie and he told me that the only curse I should be worrying about would be the one I'd be screamin' when his foot connected with me arse-bone. He's a bit of a materialist, is Paulie.

I worried away about it for a few days, when I remembered, I was probably immune. I had me own lucky charm, haven't failed me yet. Me red jocks. Normally I put them on before the game, but just in case, I've taken to wearing them all day every day. This means I've had to hand wash them every night before I go to bed and let them dry on the radiator in the bathroom. One night Tommy arrived in lookin' for some of my teabags cause him and Stephen Jones had used up all theirs, even the poncey ones you get in these flash hotels, and he heard me at it. Hammered on the door and told me to stop chokin me chicken. Told the whole team about it too. The rugby men of four nations skittin' at me like children for the last few days.


Now, I wash them every night using a toothbrush.

Tommy's.

Insurance Claim Form

Give a brief description of the accident. If you suffered any injuries as a result of the accident, describe the cause and extent of the injuries:

I was driving home when I hit a Rocky Elsom . My two airbags exploded, the front and rear windows smashed, and my van was a complete write off. He suffered a slightly torn trousers and a bad case of embarrassment. I initally filled my trousers when I saw who it was, he is an Australian man of unusual size, but he said Jeez, sorry about that Mate, must have been daydreamin, eh? and that was that.
Can I claim for my trousers? The dry cleaning bill was horrendous.

If another car was involved in the accident, please detail any damage done ;
N/a

Pre-Match Nerves by Luke

Nah.

Ah to be the Underdog - Text Chain Bod and G Murphy

From Geordan to BOD -
Well done on the semi's. YOu fellas are definitely favourites now.

From BOD to Geordan-
THanks, fella. But lets wait til after the Premiership final, eh. Much Love.

From Bod to Geordan-
Good win over LI. Typical Leicester performance. You fellas have to be favourites for the double. See you in Edinborogh.

Geordan to Bod
Just Lucky, really. You guys will be so well rested. We're wrecked. Really. You fellas are shoo in. We're just hoping to make a game of it.

BOD to Geordan
LOL. Yeah right. See you've got that animal Tuilagi back. We're screwed. Lets face it, concistency not our strength. Just go easy on us, yeah?

Geordan to BOD
Listen, seriously, my parents will be watching. Make it look like a bit of a struggle, then open up at the end. Have to tell you, Tuilagi a bit overrated. Elsom will eat him. Tell the lads they should target him.

Bod to Geordan
You Guys are great, fantastic. Think we may not even bother to show up tomorrow.Elsom taking early flight home due to special offer, along with Wright, Nacema and Checks.

Geordan to BOD
Have made official request that the cup be given to you before the game.

BOD to Geordan
Sleepless night ahead of me. HAve made official request that you be given a bye.

Geordan to Bod
Ahead of you? HAven't slept for days. Nervous wreck. Wife leaving me. Dog died. Can't seem to stop crying. But willing to do my best on the field. Just don't kick me the ball. Have developed phobia of same. You guys odds on to win.

BOd to Geordan
You don't have a dog. Have had one leg amputated, but still going to do my best. But have to say you guys favourites.

Geordan to Bod.
Well, anyway. You guys are definitely favourites.

Bod to Geordan.
Lets agree to disagree.

Geordan to Bod
OK. Hi to the lads.

Geordan to Bod - 4 A.m.
PSYCHE -We're going to kill ye.

BOD To Geordan
Can't sleep either ? See ya tomorrow.

NEW LIONS TRAINING GEAR LAUNCHED

Body Hair Rory Best's Own

The Conversation - By Luke

"Further to that end, the Munster semi-final win has been done and dusted, with all mention of it apparently off limits, even internally." - The Irish Times.

" Dingoes took my babies!" swears Checks from behind a newspaper. " Them fellas have had some foul luck."
"Who's that?" I asked him.
" You know. Them boys in the South."
" Wicklow? Yeah, poor bastards. Bray, eh?"
"What? No, no, errrr, that rugby team."
"Ahhhh ! Clontarf. Yeah, stinker alright. Still, at least they didn't have to have a penalty kick competition, eh?"
"Clontarf is on the northside Luke." He said in a resigned voice.
"Is it? Not Clontarf. Blackrock?"
"When have Blackrock ever had bad luck, Luke? Lucky from the day you're born, you lot. No," He said, leaning in close. "That bunch we don't mention."
"Oh. Right, gotcha." I said, nodding confidently. " Woofters."
"Great Googly Mooglies in Wallahooly, Luke! MUNSTER."
"Oh right. Sorry. What about them?"
"Luke! Don't you read the papers?"
"You told us not to."
"Oh yeah. Well, Flannery's broken his arm."
"Oh no. Shite. What a run. What could it be?"
"I dunno, Luke, its almost......biblical."
We both looked over to the corner of the room.
"What?" Said my Cuz, looking up.
"Nothing, Brian." Says Checks, looking at me significantly. "Nothing."

Clubhouse Hi-jinks by Luke

Had a good laugh at Phil's interview in the Turbine at the weekend. " We all know he had a terrible game but that dosen't mean he lost the game." I mean, ouch. When you bury the hatchet, the burier dosen't normally aim for the buryees spleen. But thats Phil for you. Never would miss out on a chance to draw blood.
Anyway, after training we played a little game in the steam room. Bernard started it.
"Johnny." He said innocently enough. "We all know you have terrible breath, but that dosen't mean you shouldn't breathe."
"Its the protein diet." Johnny said, after we'd all stopped laughing. "You know I have to muscle up. Yes bastards."
"New Zealand." Rocky offered. "We all know they blew the World Cup, but that dosen't mean they're absolute chokers! "
Him and Chris had a good laugh at that one.
"Bernard." Said Johnny, still steaming. " We all know you couldn't hit a barn door with a Sherman tank, but that doesn't mean you're a complete liability to the team."
That one got a groan.
"I just had a problem with my contacts." Bernard said, to no-one in particular.
"Fianna Fail. We all know they don't know anything about economics, but that dosen't mean they completely messed up the economy."
Devin. Always with the smart stuff. Some of the intellectuals raised a titter. A sympathy one.
"Maybe we should stop there." Leo said, the voice of reason.
It was too late. It just popped out.
"Rocky, we all know you had a terrible investment idea, but that doesn't mean you lost all your money."
There was a collective intake of breath. Then everyone moved away from me.
Thank God the steam was thick enough that he missed me in the tackle. I still had to spend an hour hiding under a table in the office with just a towel wrapped around me while he blundered around the place looking for me.
Slagging is a cultural thing, sometimes, I guess.

Magners is Not Cidona bY Keith

I learned two very important things this weekend. It is that Magners is not Cidona no matter what Fla tells you. ANd that if you drink too much of it from the Trophy it makes you vom all over the floor of your bedroom later because the room is spinnin'. And the dogs will come in and lap some of it and they will be drunk too and run all over the house and into the sliding door and your ma will hit you over the head with a sweeping brush calling you a good-for-nothing guttie but you will not feel it til the next day. And the dogs will look at you like you are a right gowl and that their sore heads are your fault.

That is three or four things.

My head still hurts.

At the Movies - by Keith.

I went to Star Trek last night with Fla an' Paulie. I thought it was brilliant ! That Nero fella is a very bad lad who looks a bit like Bernard Jackman but Captain Kirk tackles him in the end.
I had a mini-combo of coke and popcorn. Paulie would not let me have the maxi because he said I would be up all night with the caffeine.
Paulie said he felt that Captain Kirk was not really playing for the team but that there is sometimes room for the individual moment of brilliance, even in the Captains Role. Fla said that he thought the directors mis-en-scene, in the French sense, was a little cluttered, but that this was a failing of every Science Fiction movie of the modern age.
Paulie said that Spock reminded him of Eddie O'Sullivan.
Someone asked us to shut up talkin' during the movie but Paulie looked at them and they left.
When I grow up, I am going to marry Uhuru.

My Holidays - by Quinnie

Thanks for all the support, lads. Big shout out to Leo, Drico, Paulie and everyone else who spoke up for me. I'm going to take a little break now, head over to England to do a bit of manhunting. Did I say manhunting? Hunting, I meant hunting. Manly hunting. Yes, that's what I meant. Hunting, in a manly manner. Like a man.
Heh heh, slip of the tongue, there, is all. There is no need for any increase in security around the offices of Sky Sports Headquarters, or any of their employees. Specifically any employees responsible for the decision to endlessly replay a certain incident from a certain game. Endlessly. Again and again and again and again. Sure weren't they only doing their job? Its not like they had some agenda, now, is it? Nahhhhhh, no agenda at all. Just, doing their job.
I will be as surprised as anyone if something happens to them. Shocked, would be the word for how I will feel. If something unfortunate was to happen to them, like. Which I'm sure it won't. Probably. I mean, who's to say? Accidents happen all the time. Shocking, bloody, accidents. With nails, and, I dunno, metal sheeting of some kind. Electricity. Deadly, so it is. You can drown in two inches of water, I hear. But, really, what are the chances?
Look, let me be clear. They should sleep soundly in their beds. Soundly, verrrry, very soundly. Like babies. Big fat Tom Croft loving babies. And whats wrong with that? Its not a crime is it? Not like, say, hangin' a fella.

Yes, sleep well, Sky Sports.

If ye dare....

I will get OT on Yo' Ass - By Luke

So I called in to Rob's to congratulate him on the call up for Sunday. His garden still looks a bit bare after the locusts, but roses are for girls, really. I reckon a good cobblelocking was in order. Maybe Stephen Ferris could sort him out. Anyway, I was thinkin' it looked like his luck was back.
Then I noticed a plume of smoke rising up from the patio round the back.
Everyone likes a good house fire, I know, but seeing the run of luck the guy's had I decided I'd better pop the head round and see what's what. Not actually tackle the fire, but at least see if An Brogaid Doitean needed to be called.

Turned out it was Roberino, standing over a barbecue.
"Robbieeeee !" I go.
"Luuuuukieee! " he goes, a big grin on him, just like old times. " Step in, my brovvvver!"
" Throw an old prawn on the barbie for me, will ya?" I go, opening the gate.
"No can do, pal o' mine." He goes, fiving me.
"Why not ? Saving it all for yo' mama? She so fat." I says, chuckling.
" Because this is not a barbeque, you Gaelic speaking gobdaw." he says.
"Well it certainly looks like one, you disease ridden poxbag." I go, reaching for a tongs.
He slapped them away from my hand, got serious.
"This is not for us, man. This is for You-Know-Who."
"My Cuz? He's calling over? Wow, duder, you must really be back in with him."
"He's not calling over Luke."

He looked around, leaned in close. "Two words for you, Luke. Burnt."
He looked around again.
"Offerings."
It took me a second.
"You have finally lost it. Burnt offerings, like in the Old Testament. Burning goats to Gods in temples, and all that? Thats completely mental." I told him, genuinely shocked
" Am I back in with him?" he asked.
I had to nod.
" The Old Testament." He grinned, and turned back to it. "It's my new Bible."

Well, whatever it takes to get your confidence back, I guess.

Euro Elections are Confusing by Keith

There was a man outside the grounds this morning looking for my vote in some Euro Elections or something. He shook my hand and gave me a balloon ! ! ! I will get Paulie to breathe in the helium and do his funny voice later. He's brilliant.

I asked the man what party he was with, because that is what my Da does and if he doesn't like them he gets our Jack Russells Jack and Russell to bite them on the ankles. The man smiled and said " I'm with Fianna Fail. "
I said " What?"
He said " Fianna Fail"

I asked him if it was a secret and he laughed. Then he got serious and said, Kind of.

Politics is strange.

Win-Win by Quinny

So I was a little late for training. As I walked into the room Rog was standing by the whiteboard, looking very guilty. The whole room was very quiet, actually.
This was written on the board ;

Guilty - 2/1 on
Guilty, but gets to go to play against the Saffers - 3/1
Leo to drop him in it - 5/1
Leo to offer to have his children - 6/1
Checks, Dumper and Leo to sing a chorus of " We shall overcome " while giving a black power salute and eventually causing the room to be cleared. 20/1
Nigel Owens to be on the Disciplinary Panel. 12/1
Felipe Contempomi to be called as a character witness. 200/1
Innocent of all charges - 50/1

I walked up to ROG.
" 50 to 1 ?" I asked him, hurt.
" Sorry Quinny, " He says, " But I had to get them to lay money on it somehow, shur."
I looked him in the eye and took 100 Euro out of my wallet.
" Innocent, is it?" He said, narrowing his eyes and starting to work out the change in the odds to himself.
" Don't be mad." I said.

Dr Phil - By Luke

After the game, Felipe was about as happy as I've ever seen him without a hunk of bloody, pink meat in front of him. And I don't mean ROG, either, yuk yuk. I mean a raw and bloody steak. The man loves his meat.
I mean, ok, he was crying, but it was crying like Rob cries when The Cuz doesn't actually growl at him in training, ya know? An overwhelming emotion, you'd have to call it. I'd looked up the Spanish on the interweb, got a few pointers.
" Adios, Felipe. " I said to him, giving him a hug.
He froze.
"No Luke, not Adios."
Crap. Bloody Wikipedia. I'd probably insulted his mother or something.
"Adios means goodbye. Lets say, Hasta Luego. See you later."
Then he hugged me again, and limped down the tunnel on his crutches.
Hasta Luego, Dr Phil.

Sad Saturday by Quinny.

I think its fair to say that this week has been pretty tough. I had my consolation prize though. Not that it was easy, mind. I went down to the reception desk in Croker, mainly to get out of the changing room. I've been in more cheerful morgues.( Although I was drunk and naked that time. Hi to the Clanwillan Lads!)
So anyways I'm standing at reception telling the young wan behind the counter that my name was Mr Quiff and I was there to collect a package. She gave me a funny look but handed it over. And then I felt a hand on my shoulder. Alan Gaffney.
"Good'on ya Quinnie!" he goes, "I knew you'd be man enough to come to the Players reception! "
So I did. Me and the entire Leinster set-up. Ever go to a child's birthday party and accidently kill their puppy? Like that, only more awkward.

Anyway, this morning got up nice and early, put the package in the back seat and drove up to The Bull's. It was a big package and all, I reckoned the jersey that was in that would definitely fit one of The Bull's weedier specimens. Thank you very much, Mr Linde.
The Bull was leaning over a gate when I pulled up.
"Got a good one ready for me, Bull? " I said, getting out, " I've got a lot of tension to work off."
Bull nodded and turned around. There was a bullock in the field behind him.
"Nice one Bull. Lets have a look at him."
We both looked at it for a minute. And a minute more. It took me another minute to figure it out.
" Did you put goggles on that Bullock, ya fecker, Bull?"
Long story short, Bull had decided on a new protocol. I let it go. Those Bullocks are like pets to him, really. Until Mart day.
Anyway, I hefted the package out of the bag. Good brown paper, wrapped up with string. Opened it up. Looked at it.
A Munster flag, wrapped around a very large cow pat. And a note.
" Mr Quinlan, Bra. You must think I'm a right mompie altogether, to try and pull this one on me. Buy a Jersey like a normal person, willya? See ya next year."
I sat on my bonnet and sighed. Bull regarded me thoughtfully.
"Beaten off the park, cited, and now out-thought by a saffer, Bull. Does it get any worse than this?"
Bull snorted.
" Next week?" he asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Mouthy bollix, sometimes, is The Bull.

Meeting the Queen by Donners

Alright ? Don't mind tellin' ye lads, I was a bit nervous meeting the queen. Eyes of two nations upon me and all that. We had to meet a protocol director and everything. "Protocol? Toe-to-call is more like it," I says,"what with Darce and his flipflops." The lads cracked up at that. Think they were all a bit nervous.

Anyway, the Protocol lad says as citizens of a Republic we don't have to bow or anything, just greet her as you would any normal vip. Rog got the wrong idea there, I think, but how was the protocol fella to know that Rog is always the I-est P in the room? At least he didn't try and slip his hand down her top.

So we were waiting in Hillsborough for her to arrive. Fancy ol' gaff, like. Makes City Hall look a bit tatty, but then I guess the Brits never burnt it down, did they? I turned around to find someone to share that gem with , but the only fella near me was Rory. Hes no Stephen Ferris, but I decided I'd still best leave it, just in case like. Always the way.
So instead I goes, "C'mere to me, Rory, did you hear about the Dyslexic Agnostic Insomniac Leinster Fan?"
He didn't say anything, just stared right through me.
" He lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there is a DOB."
He didn't even blink. I was wondering if I told it right when this small voice pipes up behind me;
"Well, he won't be wondering after last Saturday, will he, Mr. O'Callaghan?"
Nice ol' doll, the Queen. Sharp, like.

My Fourth Tour Diary Again by Keith

Paulie saw my post that I made about Johnny and said I must not talk about people like that. He said that really he is just a cheeky young pup with the manners of a kerry footballer and that all he needs is to have a few rough edges knocked off him. Rog said he had a baseball bat at home that would do the job. Paulie ignored him. Besides Paulie said that sometime in the future I would be playing in the Irish team and I might have to play with the poopy head. He might be the next Irish no.10. Rog asked if he'd care to lay money on that but Paulie asked him had he forgotten all the trouble in 2007. Rog left after that.

Paulie siad I must be upset because we lost. He said a man must learn to '...meet with triumph and disaster, And treat these two imposters the same'. He said I should think about that. I did and said I would, but that if that imposter Johnny turned up in Moyross, my dad would be givin' him a wiggin'.

A wiggin'

Paulie said that was fair enough.

My Fourth Tour Diary, By Keith

Johnathon Sexton is a big poopy head.

Erc - Internal Memo

Mark, Stuart

Just a couple of issues around the weekend. Getting a lot of blowback in the papers re the penalty shoot-out, so on Monday had a conference call with Phil, Jon, Jean-Paul and a couple of my people to come up with some working suggestions going forward for how we should settle a draw. Obviously penalty countbacks, tries scored etc all came up but we felt from a commercial point of view they lacked pizzazz, and, not to put too fine a point on it, commercial exploitability. So instead here are some of the Suggestions we came up with going forward ;

1. The Penalty Shotgun Shoot-out - Five players to be nominated from each team. Each player to be asked how many cans of H they want. They then take turns to drink this amount in a set period, say two minutes. The crowd to be encouraged to cheer them on, join in, etc, preferably by the zaniest on-field announcer available. They then have to drop-kick the empties from the 22 over the bar, each empty counting for a point. Teams would have to decide on the size of the players, skill at kicking, how many cans to shotgun, and so -on.
Jean Pierre went mad for this because of the physical comedy element, thinks it'd play well in a country that reveres Jerry Lewis as a God. Sponsors a bit lukewarm due to drinking responsibly message they're being forced to put out at the minute. On a more personal note, I think it buys into the finest traditions of stupid rugby-club drinking games, something we have sadly lost sight of in the professional era. Anyway, I'm on for setting up a working group on it, let me know what you think.

2. - The H-Factor - Have you seen the viewing figures for that ugly Scottish bird on the internet? Think we should go for a slice of that. One player each ( the uglier the better, think M Johnson ) to sing for a team of celebrity judges who give their opinion in the most sarcastic vein possible. A public vote to be held on telephone lines open for ten minutes and the winners of this to go through.
One of my lads has already put a call in to Davina Mc Call to announce the verdict, and if we could get Simon Cowell on board we'd be made. Of course, no-one wants to see a professional rugby player cry, but thats a chance we'll have to take. Also, the possibility that players might play for a draw in the hope of launching a singing career would also have to be considered. I'm thinking of a certain T. Bowe here.

3 - The Rolling Mall - Forwards sent into a mock shopping mall to pick the finest yet cheapest outfits possible while Gok Wan shouts unintelligible drivel about bangers at them. On the plus side, should reach out to the pink demographic. On the minus side, needs a little work. It was late when we came up with this one.

Anyway, thats just a few thinking points. I'm open to your input on this one so feel free to kick it around for a day or two with your people, then get back to me. I think Serge might have a bit of a negative view ( surprise ! ) , so lets keep him out of the loop on it for the moment.

Kind Regards.

Derek

After The Game by Luke

Until you've seen Bernard Jackman doing a flamenco dance on top of a table in a Croake Park dressing room while the rest of the team sing 'LA la la , La la la, LAY-DEE BOYS, La la la , La la la, LAY DEE BOYS," to the tune of America from West Side story, you haven't lived. It was so funny I forgot how bad the cramps were.
Felipe was hopping around like a demented Argentinian street-hawker getting everyone to sign a ball he had.
"Is that the game ball?" I asked him when he came to me.
"Si. " He said, grinning. " And I have fifteen more, one for each of us."
Never misses a trick.
Gaffney was asking if anyone else had any questions about his game plan at the top of his voice while Michael was telling Isa that if he played like that in the final he'd see to it that he'd never have to pay for a piece of clothing ever again. Shaggy had just picked up Bernard and was giving him a shoulder ride around the room while Johnny Sex kicked empty water bottles of his dome when the door opened and my Cuz walked in from his interview.
He didn't even raise his voice, but he still cut across all the noise.
"Whats this?" he asked.
All of a sudden the only sound was of Bernie clambering down from Shaggys shoulders just as fast as he could.
He looked around at us with his eyes narrowed.
"We haven't won anything yet." He said. " Have we?"
We all looked at our feet.
" All we've done today today is won a game. One game. One game over them. All we've done today is wiped the smile from their faces and made up for THREE YEARS OF HURT. NO MORE LADYBOYS ! "
"NO MORE LADYBOYS !" That was the chant now. Then everyone was cheering and I was dancing a tango on the table with Jackman as if I'd never had a cramp in my life.
Of course, we fell off when he tried to dip me, but luckily we landed on Rocky so no-one was injured.
And all the while, my Cuz just looked on with a satisfied smile, his arm around Rob as if they were the best of friends.

In my defence , by Quinnie

Lets be honest, lads, it looks bad. But as I explained to Leo at the end of the game, gouging is horrible, only done by, er, gougers, and has no place in the game of rugby, the game that I love. There was no way I was trying to gouge him. I was trying to twist the head off him, maybe drill my fingers into his brain through the auditory canal and lobotomise him, leave him a quivering shell of a man fit only for the retirement home, or the Sky commentary couch.
Nothin' nasty, you know?
And Leo, fair play to him, wished me all the best with the disciplinary panel. Of course, now that I think about it, I hadn't been cited at that stage...

Message from Senor Lococomico

There now follows a brief hiatus for the small matter of THE GREATEST RUGBY MATCH EVER. Til the next one.
See you next week.
Loco.

Paulies Talk - by Keith

Paulie looks around at us.

"Everyone know what they have to do?" He says.

We all nod.

Then we get on the train.

The Speech

Leo gathers all in after training. Just the players and their Masseuses. Massuesi. Massagers. You know what I mean. While we're all getting a rub down he starts reading from a list.

" Lord Wellington.

Oscar Wilde.

Charles Stuart Parnell.

William Butler Yeats.

Jack Butler Yeats.

Bono, the Edge and Larry and... the other guy.

Michael O'Leary, Tony O'Reilly, and Ross O'Carroll Kelly.

What do all these people have in common? "

I was never very good at History, but I do know one thing about Oscar Wilde. Felipe must have been thinking along the same lines.

"Estan maricones, no?" He says, looking confused.

" If that means they are all great men, Felipe, then yes, you're right." Says Leo.

"Errr, I think Maricones means f...." I start to go

" Flippin' great men, that's right, Luke. " says Leo, giving me a glare that shuts me up. " Great men, and great Leinster men. Leaders in their fields be it art, popular music, cut price air travel, or War. And tomorrow, we can join them. We can write our name in the sky higher than any of them, higher even than Michael O'Leary. Do you think its any co-incidence those planes are blue?"

I can see some of the guys nodding.

" It doesn't matter that you weren't born here. It doesn't matter if you don't like Heineken, or want to pay 8 Euro for a sandwich in town, or sit in traffic for 3 hours to get to work. Once you put on the blue, you're Leinster. You're tapping into a history that goes back at least 300 years, to the time of the Pale. A time when everyone hated us, when we stood together against the hordes who would destroy us. The ancestors of the very same people who are shambling onto trains, planes and luxury four by fours with actual mud on them, to come up here and try and destroy us again. Destroy us like they destroyed poor Oscar Wilde, that brave Leinster Hero, because he dared to be flamboyant, to play the game his way, at his pace. Will we let them destroy us, lads? "

"NO !" we all shout as one.

" We're going to play it tomorrow like Oscar would have wanted it lads. With style, with panache, and if necessary, up close and personal and IN THEIR FACE."

" YES !" we shout now.

" For Oscar, and, FOR LEINSTER ! " he goes, pumping his fist in the air.

" LEINSTER LEINSTER LEINSTER !" we're all giving it now.

" VIVA LOS MARICONES !" Shouts Phil, and we all go even crazier.

Bring. It. On.

Plan C - Surveillance Recording

-Hello?

-Hello. Can I speak to CJ Van Der Linde

-Speaking, bra. Ken I hilp you?

-Errr, yes, Mr Linde. My name is Alan Qu...., er Quiff, Alan Quiff. I'm calling for a charity down here in Limerick called, errr, Shams Without Shoes.

-Izzit ?! You've got scrompies down there withoet shoes, bra? I mean, the guys on the team told me stories, but I thought they wuz having a laugh, hey? Angelas Ashes vibe !

- Ah, no, no, they weren't. Plenty of us without shoes. Plennnty. So the thing is, we were thinking of holding a fund-raising raffle to, you know, buy some tackies, like, and we were wondering if you'd like to donate a jersey for it?

- No problem , bra. Hows about the one I wear on Saturday? Ought to be worth some money after we klap the kak out of your lot, eh? Eh?

- Heh. Well, given the , ah, sensitivities of the situation, we were thinking maybe one of your old Springbok jerseys might be better down here, you know ? A lot of people have Leinster jerseys since 2006, like, anyway. People were throwing them off before the game was over. Shame, I guess. Eh?

- Ah right. Wouldn't know about that, bra, before my time. Well, anyway, no problem Mr Quiff. I've got a few in the ol' suitcase, ja? Where should I send it to?

- Errr, I wouldn't want you to be out of pocket on the postage. Sure, why don't you bring it to the game on Saturday and I'll have someone collect it.

- That'd be lekker, bra, lekker. I'll have it there for them. Just ask at reception before the game.

- Thanks a million, Mr Linde. The shoeless shams of Limerick salute you !

- You're welcome bra. Glad I ken hilp.

- Goodbye.

- Laters.

*RECORDING ENDS *