Chapter 2
Chapter 4

The team I had assembled gathered in the bar of a rundown motel in the edge of the city of Cork. I could tell it was the edge of the city, because any further away from the front door, you'd be in the water, flapping like a Flyer whenever the balls comes near.

I explained the plan as best I could, outlining an offence, a defence and a strategy for taking the trophy and gaining the Corkese Falcon. My plan was met with blank stares, only ceasing with an offer to move downtown to Reardens to consume more beer. I was beginning to get that bad feeling again, but once I switched from beer to bourbon, the bad feeling went away, replaced by a lingering memory of shouting "LIKE!" and "LANGER!" at the natives, much like the way a Flyers 3rd base coach shouts "HOME" at no-one in particular, because Flyers don't usually make it that far in a game.