This past Sunday, the roommates and myself took off to a pub in City Centre to watch the traditional Irish sport of hurling. For those of you unfamiliar to the sport, as all of us were before looking up the rules via wikipedia, it's a game comprised of 1 part baseball, three parts field hockey, 1 part soccer, with just a pinch of barbaric brutality. The scoring is almost as fast as the players are. In short, it's fantastic.
This particular match was the championship between previous 3-peat winners, Kilkenny and the ultra-underdogs Waterford. Seeking to make things a bit more interesting, we decided to place bets on the outcome of the game. As all of us were generally in the dark about both teams, we figured it'd be the fairest gambling any of us could ever take part in. So Derrick and myself, thinking luck was on our side, chose Waterford. Within the first 5 minutes of the match, we realized what a horrible, horrible mistake we had made. I'll spare you the miserable details and just tell you the final score: Kilkenny 36 Waterford 16. Currently, we are in debt to our roommate Joe a pint a piece.
A day later we were reminded of our own foolishness when we overheard an Irish Sports-caster mention, "Oh yea, anyone that knew anything about hurling knew how it was going to play out right from the start..."
That picture up there is not only that of a distraught Waterford player, but a good depiction of what Derrick and I looked like in the pub.
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