BigSaltyDog

  The dancefloor finally began to slow down after Salty performed a move that experts (aka Sarah and Susan) would later describe as “a controlled explosion with legs.” Lucy wiped a tear from her eye from laughing so hard. “You’re unbelievable, Salty,” she giggled. Salty straightened up, chest out, hands on hips like a superhero who had definitely not just nearly kicked a speaker off its stand. “Aye Lucy,” he said with pride. “They don’t call me Sgt. Salty for nothin’. Well… actually they do. But still.” For a moment—just a moment—the chaos faded. The misfits were catching their breath. The lights softened into warm colours. The music slowed into something suspiciously romantic, courtesy of Funji Squallshy who accidentally hit the wrong button while chasing a moth. Lucy stepped closer. So did Salty. The atmosphere went from comedy… to awkward comedy with a sprinkle of tension. Sarah nudged Susan. “Ooooh look at that.” “Go on Salty boy!” whispered McFinleyyy, adjusti...

  Chapter 7: Galway – The Spanish Arch Showdown The road from Donegal to Galway was long, but the convoy made it in style. The Leopard 2 tank led the charge down the Wild Atlantic Way, bunting still tied to the barrel, while Ye Olde Large Lad’s jeep trailed behind with a BBQ strapped to the roof. Sarah, Susan, and Yasmine sang along to ABBA in the back, while WhizzAir Winky insisted on narrating the journey like it was a David Attenborough documentary. By the time they rolled into Galway, the Spanish Arch stood waiting: a stone gateway to history, romance, and—naturally—the misfits’ next adventure. A Welcome Like No Other Galway didn’t blink at the sight of a tank parked by the Arch. In fact, buskers set up beside it, playing trad tunes while tourists posed for selfies. Within minutes, the Leopard 2 had become an unofficial landmark: “Spanish Arch & Salty’s Tank – two for one photo!” Locals loved it. Students from NUIG climbed onto the turret, shouting “up the misfits!” w...

  Chapter 6: Donegal Undercover — The Salty Games & The Secret Intel Some missions are loud. Some missions are messy. And then there are the missions that require a subtle touch, a friendly smile, and a suspiciously large picnic hamper. This was one of the latter. “Listen up,” Sgt. Salty announced in the briefing tent, tapping a battered map of Donegal with his finger. “We’re heading north. Cover story: The Salty Games — Donegal Edition . Reality: I need intel on some suspects who’ve been — allegedly — importing people the wrong way. We play games, we make friends, and we keep our eyes open.” The misfits cheered. They loved games. They loved Donegal even more. The part about suspects? Less popular, but necessary. Sarah and Susan exchanged looks and immediately started planning “charitable bake sales” as part of their cover. Yasmine packed cocktails that looked like spy gadgets. Ye Olde Large Lad packed sandwiches the size of small boats. Funji Squallshy packed… good vibes. W...

  Chapter 5: The Ring of Kerry BBQ & Bullseye Competition After their legendary pub antics in Maynooth, Sgt. Salty and his misfit squad needed fresh air, open space, and a setting grand enough for their next adventure. So naturally, the convoy (one Leopard 2 and three cars stuffed with snacks, prosecco, and camping gear) thundered its way to the Ring of Kerry. Locals peered out of cottage windows as the tank rumbled by. Sheep scattered into the hills. And by the time the squad rolled into a grassy clearing overlooking the ocean, Salty clapped his hands and announced: “Troops! Tonight we camp, we feast, and we compete! Welcome to the first annual Ring of Kerry Misfit Games. ” Setting the Scene The campsite looked like a cross between a NATO base and a music festival. Sarah and Susan pitched a tent with military precision, Yasmine decorated it with fairy lights and prosecco coolers, and Ye Olde Large Lad built a BBQ pit big enough to roast a cow. McFinleyyy, true to form, ...

  Chapter 3: Winky, Squallshy, and the Big Bang The morning after Dutch’s Finest had been thoroughly “field-tested,” Castle Lodge Maynooth looked like the aftermath of a music festival. Garlic chip cartons were scattered like confetti, Susan’s traffic cone crown sat lopsided on the jukebox, and WhizzAir Winky was still snoring under a table with a menu draped across his face like a blanket. But Sgt. Salty had no time for hangovers. Today wasn’t just about pints and prosecco — today was about firepower. Reinforcements Arrive By noon, two more misfits had rolled into Maynooth to join the chaos. Winky (not to be confused with WhizzAir Winky, though the resemblance in chaos was uncanny) had brought with him a backpack full of mystery “training gadgets” that looked suspiciously like they’d been stolen from a toy shop. Funji Squallshy , the wildcard of the crew, drifted in looking like he’d wandered out of a storm cloud. With hair that defied gravity and a hoodie that seemed ...

  Chapter 2: McFinleyyy, WhizzAir, and Dutch’s Finest If Chapter 1 was all about Sgt. Salty’s tank-tastic arrival at the Castle Lodge Maynooth, then Chapter 2 brings us reinforcements — and not the kind NATO had in mind. No, this time the cavalry came in the form of McFinleyyy and WhizzAir Winky , carrying a six-pack of what they proudly declared as “Dutch’s Finest” beers. Because if there’s one golden rule of Salty’s training sessions, it’s this: never arrive empty-handed. The Arrival It was late afternoon at the Castle Lodge, and the pub was buzzing like a beehive that had just discovered someone spiked the honey. Salty, Sarah, Susan, and Ye Olde Large Lad were midway through the Beef Burger Gauntlet , when suddenly the pub door creaked open. Enter McFinleyyy, the man with a voice louder than a Ryanair safety announcement and the swagger of someone who once won a pub quiz purely by shouting “Galway!” at every answer. Behind him waddled WhizzAir Winky , a pint-sized dynamo w...