Sometimes Ireland Made Me Want to Hurl
Last week we had the opportunity to go to a hurling match. It was the All-Ireland Semifinals in Dublin, with Galway up against the favored Limerick. We had been staying in Galway, where people we met at a pub told us all about hurling. From the moment we decided to go to the match, all we had to do was bring it up with anyone we encountered. No further icebreakers necessary. We would hear their opinions about the game, about the team, about their fellow Irish as well as a number of opinions about other sports or countries that are less superior. What is hurling, you ask? We had no idea. So. Picture thirteen people from each side (at least by my count) running around on a pitch that is larger than an American football field. They each have a helmet and a hurling stick. Imagine a giant wooden spoon, and you sort of have a hurling stick. They use the stick to keep a very heavy tennis ball in motion by bouncing it, hitting it, scooping it off the field or carrying the ball on the stick...