We began with high hopes.
We got off the plane around 6pm and no one spoke as we crossed the runway to the terminal.
Accompanied by my fellow travellers from Leeds – Adam, Tony and Andy – the first assignment was simple, locate a taxi to drive us to our AirBnB.
“Will this take over or under 10 minutes?” I pondered. “I am definitely taking the over… with all these other people here.”
I gesticulated toward the large group of Robbie Williams fans. They were in town to see the man himself performing at Croke Park tomorrow.
As for us, we were here for the College Football Classic between K-State and Iowa State. The inaugural game of the American College Football season was due to be played at the Aviva Stadium on the same day.
A turn for the worse
Walking out of the terminal door, we were confronted by 10 taxis, none of them taken. “Our luck is in this weekend, lads!” I shouted. “The luck of the Irish!”
Two hours later, we were standing kerbside in an ungentrified area of Dublin without a bed for the night.
Adam was on the phone to our AirBnB host, explaining our situation. Our situation was this.
Following a €45 cab ride, which seemed to take in almost every road hosting a street party, we were dropped off in an area where the cabbie advised us to “keep to the streets on the left, they are safe”. Or was it the right?
Anyway, that issue seemed to evaporate when we entered our abode for the weekend. We discovered a cross between Abu Ghraib prison and a CSI Vegas crime scene.
After scouring various websites, we managed to secure a hotel for the night – at twice the price. Into another taxi we jumped, and crossed the Liffey to the north of the city.
At last, a Guinness
By 9:15pm, we were finally sat down with a pint of Guinness in The Oval Bar, a pub hastily plucked from a revisited version of my intended bar crawl.
All our best-laid plans had literally gone to waste, but at least our new accommodation was near the epicentre of Dublin nightlife. A couple of unplanned stops and we should be firmly back on track.
I had memorised a couple of factoids about our initial route, but this venue was a bit hazy.
“I think this one has got something to do with the uprising against the English, lads.”
As I am unintentionally dressed in an orange top, we finish our first drinks and move on swiftly.
JR Mahon’s was our next stop. Last year, it hosted Pat McAfee. This year, there appears to be a German NFL show named ‘Football Bromance’ holding court.
The live act belts out ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’ and there is a Bavarian/Celtic vibe to the attendees.
Purple haze
This is where the night gets slightly hazy. The modern-day journalist’s dictaphone is a trail of WhatsApp messages and drunken photos.
Stopping at The Palace Bar, I order a Changing Times stout, then step outside. I am greeted by a marching band running through a repertoire of pep rally classics.
It must be K-State, as the fans in attendance bopping their heads are resplendent in purple and white.
Why are the band members still awake? It is 10pm the night before the big game. Where is the curfew?
No curfew for us! We head on to Bruxelles. The interior of the main bar is European Union-themed – niche.
But we are interested in the basement bar, once a haunt of Thin Lizzy frontman Phil Lynott.
After a Murphy’s, we pose next to Phil’s statue outside, then head to the famous Kehoes, which vies for the honour of serving the best Guinness in town.
The end is nigh
After stumbling out close to midnight, we hear music booming out of a doorway and do the only sensible thing: head straight in.
The bar on the right is huge, and appears to lead up to a mirror, giving the impression of a large, expansive club. As we get further along the busy bar, we realise this is not a mirror.
We appear to have fallen down a rabbit hole into an alcoholic wonderland. Small warrens leading to more bars, more music and dance floors. Where the hell are we? This place is as vast as an aircraft hangar.
Anything seems to go now. Guinness, Baby Guinness, Espresso Martinis. At one point, we have lined up 10 drinks on the table.
We stumble out at 2am, passing a gorilla dressed in a K-State top. It’s a young man’s game.
