‘What’s in your head, in your head, Zombie, Zombie…’
The band at The Temple Bar belt out the Cranberries classic at 11:30am as we all contemplate what is in our heads… and indeed our stomachs.
This is not even our first pub of the day, having stopped off at the K-State Pints with the President, before the quietest pint of the day at the Badass Bar.
Before Saturday’s shenanigans, be sure to check out the drama that unfolded on the previous day here.
Done that? Good! Let’s get back to game day!
The rule – One drink per bar!
That rule is immediately broken as we get chatting to Mike and Wes, housemates from Bristol – via Australia in the case of Wes.
The lads are great craic, and one pint turns into two, two into three.
Mike and Wes go to the bar for another, and return with a third drinking buddy, his face flashing an enormous grin almost as big as his forearms.
The guy is built like the Incredible Hulk. He offers his right palm which engulfs mine in a handshake like a father holding the hand of his toddler.
“The name’s Kelechi, pleased to meet you.”
A Raven enjoying the ravin’
Mike explains that Kelechi is an Iowa State alumni they saw at the bar, over in Ireland to experience the game and some traditional Irish hospitality.
I clock the Iowa State championship ring on his left hand, grasping a Guinness that is probably a pint, but appears to be half.
Our band of four has now become seven, and Kelechi is cracking jokes about college days and fully engaged in the British/Australian banter. He turns and gives me a high five, for which I have to reach a lot higher than him.
“Wait. Is that a Super Bowl ring?” I ask. “Hell yeah! I was on the Ravens in 2012!” The Blackout Bowl.
Kelechi was in the thick of it, yet never mentioned it to this point, humble as a lamb. Someone finally clocks the Rolex on his wrist. “Oh yeah,” he says, “Paddy Mahomes bought me that!”
Kelechi Osemele, former Baltimore guard, has now been rumbled by Iowa fans and Ravens fans, as well as Dublin girls who want their boyfriends to hold their handbags while they take selfies with him.
En route to the Aviva
We decide that now is the time to go and leave Mike, Wes and Kelechi to it. It is 3pm and we are now on the 45-minute march to the ground. Time for one more on the way.
As we get closer, the stream of fans gets heavier, as does the rain, now pouring down like a winter’s day.
I wrap my obligatory half-and-half scarf round my head and we run into the stadium, an absolutely beautiful structure reminiscent of a cut-glass ornament sitting on the floor of the city.
We are in our seats by 4.30pm, another Guinness in hand, ready for kick-off.
The game itself
Despite being the underdogs, Iowa State start strong. They get the first touchdown on the board, before Kansas State get back into the game. It is 7-7 at the half and a period of stalemate follows.
The cumulative effect of the Guinness, late night, early morning and lack of action has lulled me into a semi-conscious state.
There are pop tarts dancing on the pitch. Is this real or is this fake? I wonder how the Robbie Williams concert is going…
Then bang! Touchdown follows touchdown. The red touchpaper is lit, and all defense has seemingly gone to the wall.
The game ends as a contest when K-State fail to convert on fourth down, but Iowa State blaze a late touchdown in to land the points total over at the bookies.
Or maybe not. The player is called down at the one-yard line and Iowa State kneel it out. They leave Dublin as 24-21 victors.
After-match aftermath
We have now lost Adam as we exit the ground and flood back onto the streets. I suggest to the others we visit the bar in the city centre where JFK allegedly had his first Guinness. There, we conduct a debrief of the day.
We receive a text from Adam and arrange to meet for a final nightcap at the hotel bar. But first, we desperately need food.
We decide on a burger, and have plenty of choice on a row of fast-food outlets where four burger chains have branches next to each other.
Feeling adventurous and slightly contrarian, I decide against McDonald’s and Burger King. Instead, I enter the unknown world of Supermac’s, a bizarre Irish burger chain that appears to have a Papa John’s in each branch.
My chicken burger is spot on but the chips are big chunky things that are hotter than the sun, perhaps over-maximising the use of the national vegetable.
We head back to the hotel, meet Adam and order a double Bailey’s each from the bar. Then drunkenly book the Guinness Brewery tour for the next day. Then order another double Bailey’s.
In bed before midnight. We must be getting old.
