You spend 40 years building up friendships which has got you through studying in Blackrock, chamber-maiding in Dusseldorf, pipe-smoking in Donegal, the Law Courts, Belfield Bar, Mount Anville Girls and Uytewaal, hostelling in Kerry, vomiting in urinals and Zilverberg and then one fine November evening a Yank just strolls into town and tries to demolish it all. John B Keane's "The Field" all over again.
But this time not a patch of land but a quiz book - how could we have expected the American to understand what it meant to us - more than life itself as you punched the air because you, and only you, knew that the capital of Mongolia was Ulan Bator. Fuck the rest of them and that put you two ahead.
Mark, when you read this, remember - while we can't forgive you - we will forget. Bunny Carr you'll never be.
