Sunday morning once again greeted us with blue skies and hazy sunshine. I gathered my equipment for the final day and a successful end to the case, when I was filled with a sudden sense of foreboding - the kind of foreboding a Flyer feels when they're up to bat, with 2 outs, at the bottom of the 7th, and the tying run on 3rd.

The bad feeling was triggered by Dave, and his lack of success in finding his way out of the bathroom the night before. The bad feeling was further reinforced by the defection of Bro and Jnr, the hangovers that were claiming most the of the teams talents for the morning, and the stark discovery that there was no more beer left in the cooler.

Under a cloud of confusion, causing Brian to believe he was the manager, the first game of the day against the Tigers went our way. We were two victories away from our prize.

In a brief moment of insanity, similar to putting Cora second on the batting order, Ian screeched out "LANGER!" which in local Corkese meant "Only 2 matches left and the Flyers can claim the Falcon and return it to it's rightful owner!" A hush descended over the pitches - almost like the hush that descends over the Flyers when someone who has volunteered to do a beer run asks the other Flyers for money. The IBSF, after overhearing Ian shouting "LANGER!" and who was now frantically shouting "LIKE!" - Corkese for "Take no notice of me sure I'm just a big girls blouse who can't even get into pubs on my own!" - changed the draw, making us play against some big guns who would beat us, ensuring that the Corkese Falcon remained with the IBSF. Their evil plan worked, and with only one game between us and victory, we were beaten as badly as that game between the Flyers and the Blazzers earlier this year when 17 runs were let in during the 1st innings.

I was dumbstruck. I wandered around in a daze trying to make sense of it all, until I realised that it wasn't the quest for the Corkese Falcon that had me in a daze - it was the fact that it was already 1 p.m. and I hadn't had a beer yet. Seizing an opportunity for some free beer, like a Flyer swooping on an empty chair that belongs to someone else, I won a case of beer in the IBSF throw-a-ball-at-some-beer competition, swiftly followed by some more of the team. The lack of success in claming the Corkese Falcon had evolved into one of "if we can't have the trophy we're going to darn well win all your free beer."