First we go on the Drink and then we go to the Dogs.

Episode 2

We left our intrepid party outside the Welcome Inn on the corner of Parnell Place, Cork with the words of an improbable Kinlochshiel supporter ringing in their ears. What happened next would have been the stuff of legend but decorum bids one say…... no why should the truth be hidden? The sponsors demand clarity and clarity is what they and the public will get.

We walked our way back to the Jury’s Inn along the side of the River Lee- and not particularly salubrious it was if you kept your eyes open. En route the journey takes you past a Homeless Shelter and the inhabitants - poor souls - were hanging about with their gear. As far as one could make out none of our own lads were hanging about with them - yet.

At Jury’s we were picked up by Jean/Gene in his bus and taken to the Jameson Distillery. There we were to undergo the Jameson Experience. The Distillery is based at  Midleton  which is about 6/7 miles out of Cork City Centre and the tour explains the history of Jameson Whiskey and the distillery that operated before it was produced there. The Old Midleton Distillery in which the Jameson Experience is located began life as a woollen mill, before being converted to a military barracks and subsequently a distillery in 1825. The distillery operated until 1975, when a new distillery was constructed alongside it to house the consolidated operations of three former whiskey-making rivals, John Jameson & Son, John Powers & Son, and Cork Distilleries Company (original owners of the Midleton Distillery), who had come together to form Irish Distillers in 1966 The tour includes a film, and walking tour, in which the group was How does the Wing Centre know all this stuff? Easy. He read the posters on the walls, took notes and when he was sure that no-one was looking he helped himself to a leaflet.

We get off the bus- we go in and there with El Presidente and Goalie Smack in the lead (funny how the goalies always team up together to get to the front of the queue in a Distillery - just like the pipers in a band).

There we counterfeited interest in loading bays, grain stores, bits of twisted copper pipe and stacks of barrels while being led through a dark labyrinth by a smart colleen who had drawn the short straw in that morning’s tour party lottery. As we passed other tour parties their leaders look smug and complacent and smiled a grin at her as she plodded stoically on giving her spiel which included temperatures and the whole afternoon, worts and all, must have been excruciating for her.

We had the tricky questions for her - as all Scots know everything about whisky.

“Where do you store the peat?” Trick question - but she was ready for it.

“We don’t use peat to heat the mash. Back in the day we used anthracite coal from Wales just over there.” She pointed out beyond the yard where Wales presumably lay filled with whiskey producing coal. Its clear that Irish independence when it came in 1921 did nothing to prevent the supply of anthracite to the Distillery

“Why do you spell whiskey that way not our way - Whisky?”

The colleen had an answer too “We go with the American way - its more modern. On the other hand, just look at how we spell Midleton.”

None of the lads had noticed.

In the end after showing us Sandy Ross’s the Distillery Manager’s House- (all the Master Distillers were Rosses - descended from a Highlander presumably, by his surname, from Glenmorangie) she eventually took us to the only place anyone who goes on a whisky/whiskey tour wants to go - the tasting room.

There we were allowed to sample - a rubbish American grain whiskey, a rough Scottish blend and a top of the range Jameson.

“Which was best?” Colleen wanted to know.

As if we would say.

Naturally we all chose Jameson in the hope of getting some more which we did – and then some more again this time for the Wing Centre in the form of a very pleasant cocktail. There we met up with the two goalies who very sensibly had sneaked away from the tour in the darkness of the cellars and had spent the time “waiting” for the rest of us. Fortunately, we had the free drink tickets of the youngsters who were too young or too sensible to try a sample - truthfully whiskey is wasted on the young - and so a fine time was had by all.

Back to Jury’s Inn then and a quick change of jacket and we were off on Jean/Gene’s bus to the Dog Track at Curraheen. 

A nice little drive to the park and then a pleasant evening, betting on the races eating chips and mixing with the people. It was a family crowd - dozens of kids mingling with the punters and a whole evening’s entertainment for very little. A friendly crowd too with the kids especially - bless them - starting at the side of the track on the terracing and attempting to beat the dogs to the line as they entered the home straight. In my opinion no child ever won though it appeared that some of the older punters were betting on the kids races too. (Big up the pics to see)

All too soon we had to go: we were playing Bandon GAA in the morning and so the President decreed we had to get our beauty sleep. However, it dawned on the Wing Centre that he would not be playing so with zero requirement of beauty sleep for several reasons he set off to the Welcome Inn for some folksinging only to find half the team there ahead of him. The crowd were into Irish folk songs and clearly had a  restricted view of what Irish Folk Songs were – a request for Ronan’s “No Matter What” fell on deaf ears as did a request for Fergal Sharkey so we pushed off up the road to the “Oliver Plunkett” a music bar on surprisingly “Oliver Plunkett Street” where we found the rest of the team whom we had supposed were back in bed preparing psychologically for the game the next day. The President was there too. He said it was better he went with them than let them loose on their own. He was right.

“To pot with it” said the Wing Centre to himself – and promptly used his Dog Track winnings to buy a round. Its just as well it wasn’t real money.

On the way back to Jury’s the President shepherded the squad to a late night MacDonalds for some essential chips. At the door was a huge guy with a beard and wearing a black jacket. He was the bouncer to end all bouncers - he would have chucked Roy Keane clear into the River Lee.

“Hello Santa” said one of the squad.

He turned slowly to face the group. “It’s the lads,” said he. “Just you go in and stand in the queue nicely or you won’t be around to get anything for Christmas” He smiled politely and turned to assist some girls in a state of giggling inebriation who were trying to punch their order into a Digital Menu Board

We did what he said, ate the chips and then went home. It had been a long day.

In Episode 3 We all head off to Bandon in the green ……... for the big game

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