Paphos People

THE LUCK OF THE IRISH

September 9th 1995 a significant day in the boxing world, the venue-Cork, Republic of Ireland. The bout was a return match between Chris Eubank (England) and Steve Collins (Ireland) for the WBO Belt. Eubank had lost it to Collins earlier in March the same year and was determined to win it back.

We were in Cork-well to be precise we were in the ferry port of Ringaskiddy fifteen kilometres down the coast from the city on the banks of the River Lee. It was the end of a successful house removal to Ireland from the UK. We had made this trip a few times before, arriving on the Swansea to Cork ferry at seven in the morning, drive to the new house, unload the furniture, then drive hell for leather back to Cork to catch the evening ferry back. That didn’t give you much time to take in the ambience of the Irish way of life. But this time was different, it was the ferry’s layover day, which meant that it would stay overnight and sail the next morning. So having unloaded the furniture, showered and then being treated to dinner by the grateful clients, Myself, Magic (my right hand man) and Stuart my sixteen year old son, took a leisurely drive back to the port and parked the lorry in the loading bay.

“Right lads lets go to the local pub and sample the Irish hospitality, then we can come back, sleep in the lorry (there was a sleeping pod) ready to load onto the ship in the morning.” They didn’t need any encouragement.

We approached a large pub and eagerly went into the bar expecting it to be buzzing. It was surprisingly quiet, a few middle aged couples having a quiet drink and that was about all. We ordered three pints of Guinness (a habit we had acquired on previous trips) and sat down.
“I’m just going to the toilet” I said. Getting up and going through the door at the back of the bar I found myself in a corridor with the toilets at the far end. On coming out I noticed another door which seemed to have a lot of noise coming from it.
Opening the door I peered in, it was a huge function room with a large screen set up on the end wall and about a hundred guys all seated ready for the big fight!!
I scooted back down to the bar, opened the door and called to Magic and Stuart “Come on, it’s all going on down here.”
We entered the room which was packed and stood at the bar.
“Three Guinness please” I said to the pretty colleen behind the bar.
She reached for three pints of the black stuff already three quarters full and topped them up. “English?” she asked.
“How did you know?” I asked.
She just laughed and then turned to her next customer.

The Boxing match was just catching the attention of the crowd as the commentators ran through the preamble discussing the fight last March when Eubank was floored in the fifth round and then Collins was floored in the seventh. The fight went the full distance then it was decided by a judge’s decision and awarded to Collins.
I don’t follow boxing at all but armed with that information I felt confident in starting a conversation with the guy next to me.
“How do you fancy Collins’ chances this time?”
“English?” he said.
“How did you know?” I asked.
He just laughed.
The boxers came into the arena and Collins climbed into the ring to great applause and cheering. He looked serious and confident.
In came the big flamboyant and black Chris Eubank who vaulted over the top rope into the ring to silence from the crowd - except for me.
“YESS! Come on Eubank” I shouted waving my arms in the air, suddenly aware that the whole room was looking at me. Magic and Stuart were facing the other way and keeping their heads down.

“We’ll see English!” said the guy next to me.

“Another pint English? Said the barmaid who was already pouring them.
“Yes keep them coming”

The match started and even to my untrained eye it was obvious that Collins had the upper hand. Round after round Eubank stood his ground but clearly was the underdog. At the end of each round the crowd all chanted “How’s yer man doing English?”
“He’s biding his time!” I replied.
“Another pint English”
“Keep ‘em comin’”

That’s how it went until Round 10, the bell rang and two exhausted men stood in the ring waiting for the judge’s verdict. Both had stayed on their feet for the entire match. After what seemed a lifetime the referee received a message, stepped forward and raised Collins’ arm. The crowd in the room erupted. I sat down, suddenly aware how much Guinness had passed my lips. Making my way to the toilet I found myself looking up to the ceiling like you do, when the chap next to me spoke.
“Hard luck English it was a hard fight, but there’s one thing I don’t understand.”
“What’s that then?”
“Well it was the three judges decision, now we all know that Collins was the superior fighter tonight, yet the decision was two to one for Collins that means that one of them thought that Eubank was the better man.”

“Well I think I can explain that” I said “The panel were all from the States right”
“Right” he replied.
“With the current racial equality P.C. trend they had to send at least one black one-so there you are!”
“Thank the Lord they didn’t send two of the buggers!”
“That’s what you call the luck of the Irish!” I said.
With that we both zipped up and returned to the celebrations which were in full swing.