Stag Hunting Season

08-04-2013

That title could have been a bit funnier, but I am crashing from a combined lack of sleep and coffee at the minute so suck it up.

This weekend I was away in Galway, partaking in the age old tradition of going on a Stag for a mate who shall soon be walking down the aisle with none other than H from the old Roommate Chronicles.

From the weary warriors/drinkers/drunkards that assembled in the hotel restaurant on Sunday morning it was clearly a weekend of madness and craic. But it has to be said the craic was up in the stratosphere of fun.

The Stag was a weekend affair but some folk, myself included, only arrived on the Saturday to join in on the, as some of the lads called it, carnage. Saturday saw an event that involved no pub or drinking for two hours, something to give the drinkers a slight break from liver failure. It was a few hours of going around sport cages, taking part in various challenges involving everything from golf to baseball to kicking a rugby ball over goal posts.

Needless to say I was in the bottom of the scoring bracket for the entire event. My sport skills have always been in the running department and that doesn't appear to have changed magically over the last few years.

Post sport fun there was some grub grabbed before the pubs were once again subjected to the madness of almost thirty men without female supervision.

What was really enjoyable about the Stag was that there was no stupidity. Nobody got so blind drunk that they became a mess and had to be babysat by people. The few folk that did drink were not shunned or judged for the lack of drinking. Even with the varied mix of friends and groups that the Stag himself as collected over the years there was a great amount of craic to be had. People made an effort to mingle, folks that had only met that day behaved like they were life long friends.

Even better was there was no stupidity done TO the Stag himself. He wasn't subjected to the dumb "prank" effect, meaning he himself was able to relax and just enjoy the night without needing to be "on guard" for something dumb coming towards him.

I've heard tales before of the dumb things done to poor Stags in the pursuit of "fun" and some of them border on "a swift kick to the bollix for all involved". One tale actually involved the swift kick being delivered by the Stag on the night, along with mass wedding un-invites ( who knew that was a thing that could be done? ).

But with myself and the lady friend's second wedding season approaching (because apparently being under the stupid idea that you only get one of those in your life) there will be a few more Stags cropping up in the next short while.

More "carnage" awaits no doubt.

Blue_jester

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