It’s been a while since I provided an update on what’s been happening in the championship mini-league where, with only three matches now left to play, the battle for final placings is reaching something approaching fever pitch (well, sort of). The race for the big prize (whatever that it, it’s been so long ago since this started that I can’t remember what’s on offer for the winner) now seems to be a straight two-way battle between Mortified and rayosilke, with the former holding what could well prove to be a decisive 35-point lead over the latter. Go on Mort, you can’t very well let someone using the name of the first Galway captain to lift Sam in 32 years pip you at the post, now can you?
Further down the rankings, my own slide towards mid-table mediocrity appears to be heading towards its inevitable conclusion. For a while early on in the campaign I was up there fraternising with the leading bunch and had hopes of pushing on further but then fell to earth. A bit like the senior team in this year’s championship, in other words.
The most mystifying placing of all, though, has to be that of my esteemed blogging colleague, An Spailpín, who is languishing at the foot of the table. This is the same Spailpín who, with unerring accuracy, warned us how foolish we all were to have written off the Kerrymen ahead of their walloping of the Dubs. He’s obviously not taking his prediction form-filling duties as seriously as he does his silken prose, otherwise he’d have the lot of us beaten out the gate ages ago.