Operation Dublin

Any great Naval Operation requires proper planning, because as we know: "Prior Planning Prevents Piss Poor Performance." Our swift deployment to Dublin in support of the United States Naval Academy football team demanded split second timing and stunningly swift execution.

One of the suggestions on the table was that everyone have a code name for the operation, which put someone in mind of an animated children's show, Captain Pugwash.  Character names included Master Bates, Seaman Staines, and Roger the Cabin Boy.  (Alas, a check of Snopes proved these names to be a bit of an urban legend, though I was mystified by Lieutenant Scratchwood.) 

We planned to meet at 06:45 in front of Jelly Hill, our local, and one by one the cadre appeared, receiving and donning their one bit of uniform gear, a NAVY baseball cap.  We were only missing one of our number, Callum, who fortunately lived just across the street and was easily summoned by battering down his door with the assistance of a SWAT team from Strathcylde Police. Our lad had ended his evening but a couple of hours before, thus giving the rest of us the impetus we needed to help him in assuaging his precarious position.

Gylen arrived carrying a rather large hold-all.  There is an interesting turn of phrase here, "taking the piss"' for which you can substitute giving someone a rather hard time.  Poor Gylen, I am afraid we rode him quite hard about the amount of product he carried in his bag, he being the only metrosexual in our team.

I must say, there is something rather delightful about a Guinness at 07:35.  The only debate was the propriety of ordering a Guinness with Ireland but 45 minutes away by Aer Lingus.  The question was never should we have a beer, only the brand. It was the first, but not the last.  By the time we boarded the plane we had been fortified by a wee battle of Beck's (desperate times in the departure lounge called for desperate measures.)  

Now we have been all been on flights where a group seems ecstatic about their destination and the prospects of having a wonderful time upon arrival.  Ah, those groups can, at times, be a bit exuberant, and perhaps we have judged "those guys" rather harshly.  Well, we were those guys, though I would like to think that we delighted our fellow travelers,  Our flight was momentarily delayed because of problems encountered in loading the golf clubs of one of my countryman, a towering fellow who must have gone 6' 8" so you can imagine that his clubs were probably not normal size.  We'll have to leave the tiny bathroom and the parabolic flight path for another time.

Our transport entertainment continued on the bus as we kept the entire top tier of the double decker in stitches.  I am certain that the family from Spain thought we had been hired by the city fathers of Dublin to provide frolic and good times on what would have been a boring bus ride.  We dumped the bags at the hostel.  Gary challenged a young lady lieutenant to an arm wrestling match, though fortunately for him it never came off.  She was the Brigade champion 125 lb. boxing champion.

We infiltrated Notre Dame's tailgate location at Temple Bar where the Guinness continued to flow.  After fortifying ourselves with a pizza we hiked to stadium.  Walking in front of us was a fresh-faced couple, the quintessential Americans, he a tall, good-looking lad with short hair, and she, a pretty lass, and they were lamenting the fact that they didn't have tickets to the game and hoped that they would be and to buy them from a scalper at the stadium.  And that's how we met Justin and Iris Smith from Nashville, Tennessee who remained our boon companions for the rest of the day and well into the night.  I traded my tickets for their money, at cost.  Good karma.  I heard that tickets were selling for $400 each I the states, but since I got the tickets through good karma, it only seemed fitting to pass them along in equal measure.

Let's not dwell on the game, a 50-10 shellacking with a shelelaigh by the bigger, faster, Irish team who also sported shoes in the color of the Irish flag.  Highlights, watching my five Scottish mates trying to figure out when to boo and cheer, being stunned by paying €48 for six hot dogs, seeing a few if my classmates, and getting an on field moment with Admiral Jon Greenert, Chief of Naval Operations, but more important, a class of 1975 graduate.  Jon is a real American hero and a true patriot.

You can imagine what followed, and despite the immense amount of Guinnsess consumed, either eight or nine Imperial pints before I switched to whisky, I was never in extremis.  We met scores of midshipmen,, sailors and Marines.  I asked one first class bosun's mate to play "all secure" on his pipe.  We sang The Pogues' "Body of an American" outside of The Blarney Inn.  While holding court we were approached by a somewhat familiar couple who looked at us and then shouted "You're the guys from the bus!"  They then spoiled their insight by asking us if we had had a nap yet.  Our answer, "We'll sleep when we die."  Though my second-in-command,  Commander John, went hors d'combat, he provided key on the ground logistics.  We had a stunning meal a Gallaher & Company Bistro.  I decided to call it a night after dinner, but half the team continued operations until the wee hours of 2 Septemeber.

After stumbling into our hostel room, four bunk beds, at different hours, all to hear John's admonition, "Use the wee light!" we all rose about the same ungodly hour of morning.  We sent our official photographer, Chris, off on his Spanish holiday and the remaining five had a proper Irish fry-up breakfast.

Our final Guinness at the airport sealed the deal.

But remember, what happens in Dublin stays in Dublin.