9 IRISH CAP THE DAY WITH ANOTHER CONVINCING VICTORY
On a dreary Sunday morning in May that greeted the opening of play with a two-toned sky of platinum and gray, the laddies and lassies in green and black looked to rebound from a tough, hard-fought and competitive defeat to the “Kids Who Dressed Themselves”, officially known as the inverted shirt-wearing brethren of Centerpoint Brewing. Centerpoint was graced with an appearance of a “Puerto Rican” shade by the name of Dave “The Ghost” Riordan, this author’s favorite hurler of ever. Luckily for 9, this legend was so encrusted with corrosive oxidation of Caribbean disuse he was largely a non-factor. Even his ghostly ankles were snapped succumbing to a signature move of his own by Brogan “Anything-You-Can-Do-I-Can-Also-Do-As-Well” Sheedy.
After enduring spitting rain that graduated to a fairly heavy shower in that opening tilt, game two saw the sun showing signs of possibly breaking out in its tussle with those brightness-dimming entities of floating water vapor that some simply call clouds. The rain was so convincing that, drunk on moisture, Brogan’s hurl took a whirl and smacked like rain on the rooftop of the equipment shack. That very sky emulated the match over which it hovered.
After a delay caused by a Bent Rail player who speculatively either could not find her way out of the cavernous Eugene Burns Water Closet for Lady Patrons or possibly, just simply fell in, oh my! the sky epitomized the hopeful attitude of 9 Irish to avenge their earlier defeat. But, as the sky began to revert to a semblance of its previous hue, that hope turned equally gray. The first half, barely won by the Checkers with just a lead of seven on total points, was exemplified by The Lady in the Red Helm, Jillian getting pancaked into one of the small mud bogs that had found residence among the green.
A stirring halftime speech that found Knute “Jimmy” Pepper jerking on all the heartstrings he could grab with one hand while pushing buttons with the other exhorted his crew, to, ahem, pull their heads out. The desired effect conjured the desired result.
The second half again showed of what the Green-and-Blacks are capable when firing on all cylinders. As the sky began to clear and the sun’s heat could finally be felt, 9 Irish torched Bent Rail with a torrent of goals and points. Even Pigpen, once known as Jill Beyke, put one in net and assisted on another. Her alley-oop pass to The Other for the one-timer, finally lit the lamp (Number 13 to 14, goal, like tic-tac-toe) for this author after a disappointing early season.
Bent Rail lay broken after a second half blitz that turned that aforementioned seven point lead to a final 18 point judgment, 6-14:3-5. Despite only two notches in the win column thus far, 9 Irish Brothers are finding their identity while proving, at least to this observer, a team to not take lightly as the season unfolds, a fortnight at a time oddly, and as the playoffs take shape.
This week will also be a great loss to the Irish. As we lose a teammate in Tommy Smith, it is worth noting at least one aspect of his parting words. That being that we are blessed. That we are. Always appreciate God’s blessings and as far as yours truly is concerned, any day that one can play like children is the greatest day one can have. Gloria in excelsis Deo. NINE I-RISH!