The Power of Ger
Ger Loughnane hovers ominously, trying to catch Michael White in his famed 'Evil-Death-Lough-Stare'.

An earlier example of 'The Stare'

A great story posted on the GAA discussion board by The Bard.

The Day I Met Ger Loughnane.

I have to say that I was surprised when I actually met the man yesterday at my local petrol station. I really thought he would be as obnoxious as I have always expected him to be. But he wasn't. I have to say that I found him most charming, erudite and well-spoken, almost modest in his ways, I would suggest.

We talked hurling for about half an hour as he filled his car with petrol. He said he was looking forward to the replay on Monday and that he felt Offaly and Clare would once again be fighting it out for the McCarthy cup. I asked him what he thought of Kilkennyís challenge and he said they might struggle with a poor backline.

But how did he feel about last years controversial championship? I really wanted to know.

"I'm really really proud of this Clare hurling team," he said in that thick Clare accent of his. "It's was all the fault of those 3 priests, Waterford and the Munster Council."

So did he think Colin Lynch and co. were a little over the top at times?

"Are you looking at my wife?" he asked, suddenly fired with anger.

No, I told him, wanting to talk hurling.

Then he started swinging his fists and falling over. "Yah bbb-b- bastard!" he screamed. "Come on! I'll f-f-f-fucking kill the f-ff- fucking lot of yee, yez basssturdz. Lookin at my wife, ye dirty f-f- fucking basturd."

I suggested that perhaps he had had a little too much to drink at lunchtime.

"Drink?! Drink, is it? I will tell you this, boy. Yer f-ffucking bollix. F-f-f-ffuck offf!!"

I grabbed hold of him and tried to stop him driving away as he was clearly incapable. "You're not safe to be behind the wheel," I suggested.

"F-f-ffuck you, you f-f-ffucker! I drive b-b-better when I've hic! hic! when I've had stout. Nah f-ffuck off b-b-before I deck ya."

Then he threw up all over a patio set in front of the garage.

"Bleeeuurrgghhh! Get out and walk, ye bastard!" he cried. "F-f-ffucking chips and curry. Where am I? Ugghhh! I've pissed in me pants again."

And as the police came and ushered him into his car, sending him on his way home without even breathalysing him, I thought to myself: What a nice man.

I did hear later that he ploughed into a bus stop full of kids on their way home from a school trip, and that the survivors are being prosecuted for damaging the front wing of the great manís car.