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Weekly Contest #364
Mick ‘Mossy’ Ó Súilleabháin glared down at me in the dressing room, surrounded by low, empty seats. “Why did ye lie to me?” His voice boomed in the concrete room. “What do you want me to say?” I said. “I’ve already told you, it isn’t mine.” “Well it didn’t just sprout legs and traipse into your gear bag, Canty.” I laughed. Mossy didn’t. “Are ye an athlete or an addict?” he asked. I cast my eyes down. Which one was I? The vulcanised floor was strewn with football boots, their studs impaling pitch sod and muck. Intercounty jerseys were left on...
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