Not just another weekend

Tournament away days in places like The Hague, Lux, Amsterdam and Maastricht don’t have so much appeal anymore. It’s an easy drive up and down in the one day so it doesn’t do much for the imagination.

Throw in a bus or a train and it gets fellas’ heads up to listen straight away. We’ve had the infamous fun bus to Munich and the epic train journeys to Rennes and Zurich. There’s something about those modes of transport that even a plane can’t match. Usually it involves cans.

But an away day is about much more than that. Spending long hours on a train, bus or in a car means you get plenty of time to get to know each other. You don’t have much choice. You might also end up rooming with a lad you wouldn’t know that well. These factors naturally bring guys together which of course helps slowly build the spirit of a team and club.

Sometimes you learn things you didn’t want to know or didn’t want to remember. Take Johnny O for instance. Normally he will depend on someone else to drive him to a tournament. He will always be late but he will always get there. On Saturday he was coming from Nuremburg off his own bat. Johnny was three hours late. There are actually two Frankfurts in Germany. The other one is by the Polish border. Now it hasn’t been confirmed but Johnny’s GPS may well have pointed him to the wrong one.

There’s obviously drink involved at some point and of course the subject of girls will come up from time to time. Discussing which feature he found most attractive in a lady, Johnny O informed us his favourite is the collarbone.

That’s a fairly moderate admission. When Eoin Sheanon started to discuss the enjoyment he got out of a recent pedicure, the lads fell silent. That had a shock factor far greater than the story of him turning up to his driving test without a car.

On the subject of pedicures and the like, poor Colm MacEoin revealed some pink toenails on Saturday. Never a good start with the lads.

Of course the journey home is always a little shaky after the night before. You can rely on Darragh Cotter and Crusher to calm the nerves though. In Budapest a few weeks ago, they told us of the most important things to do to save yourself from a plane crash. Sit at the back and don’t be on the inside of an old lady apparently.

The return from Frankfurt was no different from the great bus and train trips of the past. It was planned to perfection. 14h30 departure, not too early, not too late. A party in Timmy’s and a bank holiday Monday.

Oh how we tried so hard to contain ourselves. It was only at the half way point that we noticed the signs which said we were in the ‘quiet’ carriage. We respected them until we got to Gare Nord and only then did Ross break into song. One stop latter and we were in Midi.

As in most cities, you will have people playing music and collecting money on the metro. We joined forces on Sunday and helped the gentlemen with his efforts. Well, some of the lads anyway. I spotted Ricky engaging two lovely blonde ladies. It turns out they had enquired did we know Paddy Cassidy (no idea how they linked us). Even if we didn’t, we did now. Slovakian girls. Big fan.

On to Timmy’s we went, stopping briefly for photos outside the European Commission and a burger in The Oak. What happened thereafter was like any other bank holiday party. There was drinking and singing and devilment in plentiful supply. The only one who seemed to get left out was the trophy, which was found upright on in the garden on Monday morning, with rain rolling down it.