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."