Hurlers Retain Title (Almost)

Much like Leonidas and his 300 Spartans, Sat 3rd November found me leading 10 Imperial hurlers. This time however the hammer would fall, not in Thermopylae, but in Birmingham. Same difference some would say. The challenge facing us was very much as daunting. Our titanic adversaries were University of Dundee, Robert Gordon University (Aberdeen) and University of Liverpool.

First game definitely put the wind up us. We were ten sheets to the breeze and two men down from the minimum requirement (13; i.e. 11+2 = 13). Luckily our brethren from County Kilburn came up trumps and facilitated us fantastically; fixing two fine fellas for our force. Sean and Luke they claimed their names were. We were sceptical but bought it for the time being. Making up the numbers, we descended onto the pitch and gave the attending crowd (estimates were from between 3 to 35,000) an outstanding display of sweet hurling skill in a rather haphazard and garish warm-up. I skipped the warm up, and went out for the ‘toss’ with the ‘ref’. I won with an outstandingly delicious call of ‘heads’. I elected to play with the wind, a decidedly handsome call, as in any hurling game the wind, that flowing channel of atmosphere, often plays a surreptitious and provocative role. Unfortunately it made little or no difference to our performance. An awe-inspiring and beautiful display of hurling (by Imperial) saw us trail by the slim margin of 8 points to nil in the first half. The team talk was tricky but using some sad rubbish I downloaded from ‘The Internet’ I managed to corral the lads and convince them to stay awake for the second half. “Job done”, I smirked as we embarked back out onto the pitch for the second half. And as if by miracle or something, my half-time mutterings were paying off. Big style. We had scored a point! An excellent move involving most of the team resulted in new star signing “Seán” from Kilburn flashing over a gorgeous point. We all cheered. Imbued by this arrogant display of class Imperial surged forward and managed to only lose the game by 21 points. Hurling’s like that my old dad would say. One minute you have it, then its gone. No big deal. No sense in boiling your cabbage twice he’d also say, so yeah, ya know yourself.

We decamped to the dressing room in preparation for our next game against the team representing University of Liverpool. Whilst in the dressing room I had a cheese sandwich. I’m sure someone else had a wrap. One of the lads was even meditating under a steady stream of cold water from the shower. The level of zen and calm in the room was palpable, as was the stale smell of drink and the peaky hungover faces. A lethal, and winning combination I scoffed.

After our 30-minute break I rounded up the troops and told them ‘to give it a lash this time now lads like, thanks’. And they did just that. Once again I heroically won the toss, sticking with my secret formula. The lads gave another expert display with the warm up. You could have melted butter off those pulsing legs. Staring down the tremendously ugly opposition we let rip in what was to be our most successful encounter. We hurled well until half time and arrived only 1-0 to 0-1 down, having pointed a well earned free. The cheers were embarrassing but definitely arousing. A short recess and another boring team talk and we were back on the pitch. I think most of the lads had a drink of water aswell.

I felt we really did ourselves justice in the second half. A great passage of play culminated in Tipp All-Star Darragh Ryan being pulled down in the box, resulting in a free. I fluffed the 21 metre free but luckily it sailed over the bar so we got to leave the pitch with two whole points, which I was very happy with. Whereas the first result may be compared to a heavy smacking this one was more comparable to a playful bit of slap and tickle, so nothing to moan about like. Contemplating the game with the end of my cheese sandwich, I really felt that I could relate to the old Irish saying “don’t give cherries to pigs”.

Final game of the group stages was against none other than – Robert Gordon University. I told the lads that Aberdeen hasn’t a great record in the Champions League so therefore I felt supremely confident that we’d do well.

This game was to be our last but by God we gave it everything we had, including the kitchen. Aberdeen turned out to be a decent outfit and we had a very enjoyable game of hurling. Our All-Star and player of the tournament came up trumps with a devastatingly scrumptious goal. We lost, but not by much, which made for an inspiring trend considering our limited preparation. Rather like General Custard and his last stand, Leonidas and his issues with the Persians, I proudly lead a beaten but cheerful Imperial College Hurling team home after the Aberdeen match. There were no tails between any of our legs.

In one serious paragraph, I would like to mention a couple of things. Thanks a million to the Union for the lend of the bus, thanks to Warwickshire GAA for hosting the event – they are credit to the GAA massive, as are the troopers at the British Universities GAA, mighty men so they are. It is with such unswerving dedication and commitment that the proud Irish traditions have not faltered, in well over 100 years.

My advice to next years hurling team: don’t be afraid to tie your haystacks down when the wind is blowing.

May the cabbage always rise with you and your family.