Boss casts spell over Cork on a magical night

Drunk on the run of sunny days, anticipation hovered above the strollers’ greased-back hair-do’s as they ambled past static lines of cars on their way to Páirc Uí Chaoimh last night.

The Cork show couldn’t possibly be as good as Limerick, could it? Surely he can’t be that good twice in the one week, their whiskers whispered, their chunky sideburns tensed at the thought of the night ahead.

Then silence. They stared down at their crotch-challenging denims on the last leg of their pilgrimage.