A Brief History of Dublin City

In 2001, a new eircom League club took shape. Some say that a mighty warrior, Ronan Seary, slew the dragon known as Home Farm, taking all of its powers... and its league membership. In truth, he was a mere publican, and the dragon was retiring anyway, though it wasn’t keen on being replaced by some guy who’d worked in its bar.

The new club quickly sold its soul to a demon called Carroll’s. In return, Seary was given a mysterious amulet to ward off creditors. Shortly afterwards, he was walking past the steps of the central bank. An old beggar shouted at him, "Seary!" "Ha! Who calls?" replied Seary, "Speak; Seary is turn’d to hear." "Beware the revenue commissioners," intoned the beggar. Seary turned away, saying "He is a dreamer; let us leave him: we’ll be in the Champions League in five years."

Two summers passed, and the Viking earned the rank of Premier Division club. Still, its enemies hissed and sneered behind its back, saying, "At the rate they’re spending, they’ll go bust. They don’t even have any fans. Boo. Hiss." That winter, they fell from grace, having failed to uphold their name. Embarrassed, Dublin City swore revenge, cursing its enemies, saying "Ye who sneer now shall taste my wrath. The mightiest among you shall fall at my hands."

And so it came, one summer later, that the mighty Shamrock Rovers, driven to its knees by a sharp kick to the groin from the revenue, fell to the blade of the Viking. It still hurts Shamrock Rovers to sit on that part. Thus, Dublin City did again come to stand with the mighty of the Premier Division. Still, its enemies cried, "Look, it’s completely untenable. They’ve got debts up to their ears, no fans, no ground, no assets of any kind at all. They’re losing half a million a season. They’ll be lucky to last the season. Boo. Hiss."

Still, for a time, the Viking prospered, and stood, mighty among the Premier League. Well, not exactly mighty. More middling really. Anyway, the height of summer came, and the sun bak’d the earth. Rumblings of weakness among the mighty were heard throughout the land, but the warlock Delaney was astride the league, offering the mighty a deal. They would support him, and none should stand in their way.

Then, with narry a word of warning, the revenue rode into town astride a spectral steed. In the dead of night, they challenged the Viking. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, Seary reached for his amulet, but its power was gone, squandered on squad building the previous Spring. Revenue spoke, "Author of evil, unknown till thy revolt, unnamed in heav’n, now plenteous, as thou seest these acts of hateful strife, hateful to all... how hast thou disturbed Heav’n’s blessed peace, and into nature brought misery, uncreated till the crime of thy rebellion!" "What?" cried Seary, "What does that mean? Speak English man." But the Viking had not heard and met the challenge in turn, "Hast thou turnd the least of these to flight, or if to fall, but that they rise unvanquisht, easier to transact with mee that thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats to chase me hence? erre not that so shall end the strife which thou call’st evil, but wee style the strife of Glorie: which we mean to win, or turn this Heav’n it self into the Hell thou fablest, here however to dwell free, if not to reign: mean while thy utmost force, and join him nam’d Almighty to thy aid, I flie not, but have sought thee farr and nigh." "Seriously, what the hell is going on?" cried Seary. "Hey, you can’t fight them. You’ll be killed." But parle had ended, and both addresst for fight.

With a single blow, the revenue struck the Viking dead.

Few mourned it. The corpse was not yet cold when the brigand OB tried to lure away its followers. "Hast thou turnd the least of these to flight?" the Viking had asked of revenue. It could not and OB could not better it.

The revenue left town that day and made the long trek to Langerland, whence it raised its sword aloft, and cried aloud for a challenger, but all had heard the tale of the Viking, and they hid in fear. The revenue strode away, swearing to return.

EPLIOGUE

"Man, this place looks expensive. I feel like I’m wasting a fortune just standing here. [scratches and looks around] Well, better make the most of it." The Viking scratched its ass and burped. "Viking!" cried the disembodied voice of Seary, "what’s it like in there?" "Uh... it’s like... did you see the movie Tron?" "No," replied Seary.

Back in his cave, Seary turned to the magician he had hired, "Well, where is he?" "Well, it should be obvious to even the most dim-witted individual who holds an advanced degree in hyperbolic topology, n’gee, that it has stumbled into... the fourth dimension."

"Can you get him out?"

"I can try..."

This article originally appeared in Volume 6, issue 5 of STIG.