Jack Flynn's Brillant Plan

The week before the annual county fair, I’m in me favorite pub, The Big Potata. I’m with me very best friend, Liam Skehan, a fellow farmer.  I lift me empty glass to the bartender Mick O’Day to show him I need another. When he doesn’t respond, I lift it higher and shake it a little.

“I see ya empty glass there, Jack, and I’ve got to tell ya your glass is as empty as your credit.”

 Me mouth drops open, and me eyes grow wide. “What are ya tryin’ to say? That I’ve got bad credit, and after all the years I givin’ ya good business?”

Pulling up his apron, O’Day points his finger at me. “Ya givin’ me the business for sure. Look here. Ya owe me fifty euros as it is. If I extend your credit further, you’ll be in partnership with me!” O’Day gives me a quick nod and turns his back.

 I run me fingers over me bristly chin before turning a pleading eye to Skehan. “Don’t ya bother a thing about it Jack,” Turning to the bartender,  Liam shouts,  “O’Day! We’ll be havin’ two more beers down here if you please.”

“Sure thing Liam, comin’ right up!’ O’Day responds as he slides the beers down the bar. As we take a sip of our beers, Liam asks, “So then, Jack, will ya still enter this year’s contest?”

“To tell ya the truth, I’m thinking about it. Miss Daisy is up to four hundred and eight kilgrams, and I think she could win.” Taking another sip of his beer, Liam smiles, “You’re right there, Jack. That’s a good weight, indeed. But I’ve heard that the Scotsman MacGee has a sow weighing four hundred and fifty-tree kilgrams.”

I scowl darkly at the mere mention of MacGee’s name and toss down half my drink.”That blackheart! You know how he always wins, don’t ya?  HE CHEATS!”      

         Raising his eyebrows, Skehan questions me.“Now, how the devil can a man cheat at making his pig fat? You’re not saying he’s putting lead weights in it, are you?”

Scratching me jaw with his thumb, I respond, “Ach! Do ya take me for being daff then? Of course I don’t think that! But I am saying he’s cheating by feeding them vast amounts of beer the week before the contest!” I see the light come on in Skehan’s eyes as he understands what I’m implying.

“OH! So you are saying that the beer is bloating the pig up, then? But Jack, I don’t think there are any rules on what you can feed your pig, are there?”

I clench me jaw. “I know, I know! But that cheap Scotty won’t spend a hay penny on his wife, but he’ll spend a fortune on his pig to feed his pride! But don’t worry, I’ve got a plan.”    A little twinkle shines in me eye.”

“Is that a fact?” Liam smiles. “What is it then, if you don’t mind telling me.”

From the far side of the pub, I hear Cillian’s voice boom out. “Hey, Jack! How about I challenge you to a game of darts?”

“I can’t,” says I. “I’ve got no money!”

 Cillian thinks for a minute and then declares, “ If you lose, you can owe me the money. How’s that?”

“I can’t do that neither. I already owe Liam here for tonight’s drinks.” 

O’Day chimes in, “And what about me? Have you forgotten about me already?” I stare O’Day straight in the eye and say, “No, Mick, my good friend, I could never forget about you.” I turn back to Cillian and hitch my thumb at O’Day, ”And I also owe this S.O.B. for a bar tab.” Puffing up like a blowfish, O’Day throws his dishrag on the bar.

Cillian is known as the best dart player in Kerry county, but he also knows I’m known as the luckiest. So he’d like to play me but has to devise the right plan to get me to do so.

“I tell ya what,” says Cillian in a last-ditch effort. “If you win, I’ll pay Liam and your bar tab. How’s that?”

“But what if I lose?’ I ask.

“If you lose, you still owe Liam and O’Day. Simple as that. So, what do you say?”

So here’s the thing. When I’m sober, I’m a lousy dart player. But after a few drinks, I get better, and I feel pretty good right now. But still, I say no. Cillian throws his hands into the air. “Alright then, if you’re scared, you’re scared. But I don’t think even that old tightwad MacGee would pass up an offer as sweet as this!” At the mention of MacGee, my blood starts to boil. I shoot down the rest of me drink and Liam’s too. “Where are those darts!?!”

A great roar goes up from the boys in the bar, and everyone gathers around the playing area. I roll up me sleeves and straighten me cap. “So, what is it we’re going to play?”

With a straight face, Cillian looks me in the eye and says, “Darts.” 

I snap him an angry, hard look, “I know that, ya bloody fool! I mean, what game, 301 or 501? What game do you want to be getting beat in?” The crowd gives a united “Oooo.” 

Laughing, Cillian says, “I was just having a bit of a giggle. So let’s keep it simple and play 301, okay?”

In this game of darts, the players start with a total of 301 and have to reduce it to 0. To start, the players throw a dart at the bullseye to see who will play first. I pick up the pub darts and examine them closely. As the crowd silently watches, I inspect the feathers, check the point and feel the heft of each dart. In the end, I yell to O’Day, “Mick! Don’t ya have any better darts than these? These are all dull and crappy!”

 Cillian smiles a cheeky sort of smile, reaches into his jacket pocket, and removes a mahogany box. Opening it, there inside, lying in red velvet, are three darts. Me eyes start tearing up, for there are three of the most beautiful darts I’ve ever seen. The dart’s feathers are made from pheasants. The shafts are two silver and one gold like rare precious coins, and the tips are as sharp as a hypodermic needle. Indeed, these were made by the angels in heaven. I look at Cillian with wonder and adoration written all over my face.

“Go ahead,” he says, “Give one a try. It will count as the one to see who goes first.” I reach for a silver one feeling too lowly to take the gold one. Me hand is shaking terribly. I suddenly withdraw it, “I can’t! They’re too nice. I’ll just use the pub’s darts.”

“Stop being so bloody foolish. Use one.” Cillian smiles in amusement. This time I take a silver one and feel the heft of it. Just as I thought, a perfect balance. I look at Liam, grinning like a Cheshire cat. With a nod, he encourages me to throw it as everyone waits in anticipation. I step up to the throwing line and size up the dart board. I’ve had enough drink to make me tipsy, but I am still having trouble focusing. Then I let it fly. The dart flies straight and true, sticking to the third ring of the number eighteen. Grinning widely, I turn to Cillian. “That’s a damn fine dart, that is.” Cillian smiles and steps up to the throwing line.

“I know,” says he while sighting the target. “I had them professionally made to my personal specifications.”  And tosses his dart.  I pale as I watch the dart sail smoothly, without wavering, on a straight path to the outer circle of the bullseye. The crowd is up on their feet, oohing and ahhing, some even slapping Cillian on the back. I stand stunned.  Liam is sitting at the table of old man Donal and sees what needs to be done. While Donal is not looking, Liam switches the old man’s full glass of beer for an empty one and then brings it to me.

“Here you go, Jack. This might help to steady your nerves.” Someone from the sidelines retrieves the darts and gleefully hands them to Cillian. Cillian has won the toss to go first. He stands sideways on the dart line and cocks his arm, ready to throw. Right as he releases the dart, Brian O’Toole bursts into the pub. When he sees how still it is, he shouts, “Why is it so bloody quiet in here? Is it a funeral, then?” 

Cillian is startled just enough to cause his dart to wobble and drop. It hits the dart board in the number three open position. A great howl ensues in the smoke-filled room.  Some attack poor old Brain. Others demand a rethrow.

“What cha’ yellin’ at me for? “ O’Toole demands. “All I did was enter the bloody room, for God’s sake!”

 Padraic O’Farrell approaches O’Toole and removes his clay pipe. “Ya see Brian, me boy, it’s like this. You’ve just walked in on the dart game of the century. Cillian Pendergast versus Jack O’Flynn, with the prize being that if Pendergast losses, he has to pay O’Flynn’s bar tab. And if ya know O’Flynn at all, it’s quite the tab.”

Cillian holds up his hands and pleads, “Lads, lads! Let’s just all settle down a bit, okay? It’s by no means O” Toole’s fault. I’m a professional darts man and shouldn’t have been startled by a loud noise. The lousy throw is entirely on meself. I’ll take the three and try to do better with me next two throws.” There is a round of applause from the crowd, with some commenting on what a good sport Cillian is. 

“Professional!” I declare to meself. “If he’s a professional, then I’m the son of a priest. Why, there are only six pubs in all of Kerry that have an area for darts.  He’s never even played on the state level, let alone leave the county!” I drain half of me beer before saying, “Are you going to play darts or what?”

“Right you are, Jack! Back to the game.” Once again, Cillian stands sideways at the throwing line, and his next two darts find the double circle of the number twenty. “There. That ought to help a bit wouldn’t you say, Jack?”

 I shoot down the rest of me beer and wipe me mouth with the back of me hand. But, even though I’ve just drunk a beer, me mouth feels as dry as a desert. Walking over to take me position, I hear Conner say, “Prendergast has eighty-three points.” I suddenly stumble over me own feet, which causes Cillian to throw a mocking jab at me, “What’s the matter there, Jack? Did you trip over the chalk line?”

 With an annoying glare, I pick up the darts. Facing the dartboard, everything looks all blurry. But, when I close me left eye, the dartboard comes into focus crystal clear and magnified. So I throw me darts in rapid succession. Conner calls out, “Flynn, fifty-nine points!” I smugly dust off me hands as I smirk at Cillian and walk back to the waiting area.

Cillian steps up to the line. “Well, that was a fair bit of fancy dart thrown, wasn’t it? Sort of like those American westerns where the hero shoots a bunch of bottles off a fence. Boom! Boom! Boom!” Cillian laughs heartily. He throws his first dart and finds the outer circle of the bullseye for twenty-five points. Again the crowd reacts with lots of hoots and such. As I look closely, I see a bead of sweat trickle down his face and, oddly enough, his darts hit the open space for two threes in a row. Conner stammers, ” P-Pendergast, thirty-one points leaving one hundred and fourteen points to go.”

Liam appears through the crowd, carrying another glass of beer he had swiped from Donal when he wasn’t looking. I take a satisfying swig, “Ahh! Thanks, I needed that.”

 Liam smiles. “I think you’ve got him on the ropes,” he says. 

With much concentration, I walk back to the throwing line. But as I cock me arm for the first throw, Connor stops me. “You’re a bit over the line there, Jack. Best step back a might.”

I look down to see that he’s right. So I step back and bow deeply while swinging me arm out to the side. The lads all roar with laughter. When Conner takes his eyes off the boys and looks back at the board, he sees that I’ve thrown all three darts, two bullseyes, and an outer circle bullseye for an additional twenty-five points. He stutters, “M-M-Mother of God! I don’t believe it! Flynn has one hundred and twenty-five points with one hundred and seventeen left to go .” The pub has gone quiet with the amazement of it all. Finally, Liam yells, “That’s the way, Jackie, me boy!” The pub breaks out with cheers of excitement as I strut back to me table and finish me beer.

Cillian steps up to take his turn, but his light-hearted attitude seems to have soured. His lips are set in a tight thin line, and his jaw muscles are twitching violently. He stares at the board for so long that Conner remarks, “It’s your turn, Cillian.” Cillian snaps back, “Don’t you think I know that!?! What do you think I’m doin’ waiting for a bus? Just give me a minute, I’m thinking!”

“Whatcha thinking about?” I taunt. “Ya need one hundred and fifteen points. That’s two bullseyes and a fifteen. Just throw the damn darts, Mr. Professional.”

Cillian’s face is bright red.  If steam could come out of his ears, I think it would have. He glares at me so hard that I am afraid he’ll throw the darts at me! Turning to the dartboard, Cillian throws two bullseyes and a fourteen. Conner yells, “Prendergast has one hundred and fourteen points! On his next throw, he’ll need to get a one!”

I’ll admit that I’m shocked. I never thought he would get that many points seeing the state he was in. I turn to Liam, but he already has a beer ready for me. As I gulp down a swig, I can see over Liam’s shoulder old Donal looking at the two empty glasses on his table and scratching his head. 

I need one hundred and seventeen points. I approach the line, take a deep breath to steady me hand, and throw me first dart. “Bullseye,” shouts Connor.  Then, Finnegan, one of the blocks in the crowd shouts, “I think it’s more in the outer ring than a bullseye.” Conner holds up his hand to stop me and examines the board more closely.

“No! It’s a bullseye, fair enough. Throw your next dart, Flynn.” I’m angry with Finnegan for making me stop and give him a foul look. Again I take a deep breath and throw me second dart. “Dead center, bullseye!” shouts Connor. Now it’s time to throw me last dart. Seventeen, lower right side of the board. I rub the sweat from me eyes and try to swallow, but me throat is dry. I look to the left and see all the lads with their eyes bugging out and mouths hanging open in silent anticipation. I look at Cillian wringing his handkerchief, his lips moving in a silent prayer, no doubt. Finally, I look to the dartboard where Connor is waiting to call the throw. I lift me dart for the final throw, pumping it twice and letting it fly on the third time. It travels toward the dartboard in what feels like slow motion. The pub is so quiet that you can practically hear the feathers whistle. At the last possible second, I close me eyes only to hear the lads shaking the very timbers of the pub with a victorious roar!

Everyone is slapping me back and shaking me hand in congratulations. Cillian pushes his way through the crowd, “You’re a fine opponent Jack Flynn, and you beat me fair and square.” Looking over the heads of everyone, I can see Mick O’Day smiling like there’s no tomorrow. I grab a chair and jump up onto it. Looking straight at O’Day, I shout, “Listen! The drinks are on me!”

 Poor old Mick throws both hands to the top of his bald head and screams, “NO!” but it’s too late as everyone is already racing toward the bar. Not to be outdone, Cillian shouts, “And the next round is on me!”  Another cheer fills the pub, so it goes for the rest of the night with people drinking and taking turns buying rounds to celebrate the grand dart game of the century. After an hour or so, Liam turns to me, “So Jack, you never did tell me what your plan was.”

With my glassy eyes half shut, I scowl in confusion, “Plan?”

“Yeah. Remember you said you had a plan to beat McGee in this year’s county fair’s hog judging contest.”

 I take me cap off and scratch me head, trying to remember what the devil that plan was. Then, after a while, I smile like a jackass. “You know, Liam, I can’t remember a ting about it. But I tell ya this. It was BRILLIANT!”