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.