I woke up, once again, early and starving. Barbara and I managed, with a feeble crawl, to get to the breakfast room to get fed. Bronagh and Junior were there before us, and had already eaten half the buffet. “Jeez!” we thought, “we better eat up before Dean and Brian get here or else there'll be nothing left for anyone!”.
We headed out to Bishopstown. We were due to play a new set of teams today – teams who might have more food that yesterday's lot.
First up was Bray. They didn't bring any food. In sheer frustration, we started hitting the softballs into the river. Having run out of softballs, the game ended in our favour. Next we were pitted against Marlay B, who taunted us about them having food earlier, but they had eaten it. This was too much for me. I had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, from the softball pitch for turning on one of their fielders and having him sent to hospital to get stitches in his bite mark.
We took a break to regroup. I'd had enough. I was so hungry. I bundled up Barbara and drove back to the Centra and ordered the entire Deli Counter in a sandwich. If this couldn't keep me going for another while, nothing could.
The entire team fed, we started playing again. Rumour had it, that if we kept winning, we might win a plate of something. Emer thought she had heard earlier that it was a plate of sandwiches, but she wasn't sure, as it could have been the starvation playing games with her mind. Our mouths watered at the thought. This was better than the main competition, where, according to Emer, it was just a cup of tea, or the bowl of cornflakes competition the Suspects were currently vying for.
We began the games again in earnest, beating 2 more teams that afternoon – Cork and Shutout 7 again, who still had no food for us, so we taught them a lesson and beat them. We were now in a position to enter the final and win the plate of, we hoped, sandwiches.