I love the skullduggery in the week before a match. I love the clandestine phone calls and the meetings in darkened doorways. I love the muttered calls.
Howya. We might have three. No. Three. NO! THREE!! Yeah. Three. Yeah. Ok? Not fifty.
We’re off to the game. The big game. Myself and the Bullet, again.
We’ll head towards Dublin on Saturday morning, as we’ve done so many times over the years, this little Bullet and myself, though he isn’t so little anymore. His days of sitting on my shoulders at matches are over and done. Finished. Now it’s my turn.
Bullet, gimme a heave up there lad. I’m tired.
Hmm. Maybe not quite yet.
Who knows? Perhaps we’ll be disappointed this time too, though Munster’s performance against Ospreys gave us hope that they might go all the way. Who knows? We’ll have to wait till Saturday.
Also on Bock: