Mikal the Ram: "The Champion Of Scotland"
The Champion Of Scotland
Notes from Mikal:
This is a bragging tale, or what we in the present day would call a liar's
tale. The
source of this story was a great uncle of mine who died in 1965. He was well
known for his
lies, and being of Scottish descent, he made locating this story's origin
much easier.
I've heard it told many different ways, using different countries or
place-names. The
countries used here are what I think are the originals, but I'm a little
prejudiced, I
think.
THERE WAS A MAN in Ireland who had little luck in farming, and less luck in
cutting
peat. He had outright failed in making whiskey, and washed out of the
horse-trading at the
Dublin fair. In fact, there were many who would say if he had not been lucky
enough to
marry, he would have had no luck at all. (There were a few who might point
out his wife
and say such luck is no man's joy.) But to get to the heart of the tale, he
was without
any redeeming qualities whatsoever.
There were but two things he did well; fight and brag. This is not to say he
was
shunned by his neighbors. Just the opposite was true. Since fighting and
bragging
constitute the two chief forms of entertainment in that country, he was
quite popular. It
was just that he had no money, nor had he a method of making any.
One year the Dublin fair boasted a huge hulk of a man thought to be the
champion of
Dublin at the fighting bare handed. So sure were they that a purse of silver
was offered
to any who could beat him.
The luckless man thought to himself, "What harm could there be in me trying
him?
I've so little luck that I would be injured far worse in trying to make that
much money
any other way." So he climbed into the circle and quick as a wink he had put
the big
man down for the counting.
Here he was no longer luckless, for now he was the champion of the Dublin
fair. He took
home the silver and his wife was so happy that she told the whole county
that her man was
the champion of Dublin.
Now there were those who thought themselves better men than he, and they
began to offer
him purses to fight them as well. Before too long he was the champion of two
counties,
then four, then seven, then eleven. By the end of two years he had fought
every champion
in Ireland and was considered himself to be The Champion of Ireland itself!
He was so proud that he had his wife sew in large letters on his coat "The
Champion of Ireland." And all the men in all the public houses knew his
name. He had
so much money, he no longer fought for purses, but offered them himself if
he thought
enough of the man.
Then one day a merchant came to town, and when he was introduced to the
Champion he
exclaimed; "Now I have seen a great wonder! Two champions of two separate
countries
in one month! Not twenty days ago I saw the man who was champion of
Scotland!"
The comment began to gnaw at the champion. There was a Champion of Scotland.
If he
could but go there and win against this man, he could be champion of both
Ireland and
Scotland. What a grand thing to be! Perhaps then he could see if there was a
Champion of
England as well!
His wife agreed, it might be grand to be the champion of two countries. So
she packed
him food and clothing and a small hoard of coin and kissed him as he left.
He sailed to
Scotland that night.
After he landed in Scotland, he began to search for the Champion. everyone
he asked
pointed him north, into the highlands. The roads got narrower and narrower,
and steeper
and steeper, until at last it turned into a squirrel's trail and went up the
side of a
tree. But it was well packed every inch of the way!
Beside that tree was a tiny, ramshackle house, and on it's porch was a tiny
dried up
woman who could scarcely weigh as much as a fat hen. When he asked her where
the champion
of Scotland was, she pointed him to the rear of the house. "He's plowing the
field," she said.
There behind the shack was a field almost straight up and down, a half day's
climb in
length. Going up this sheer cliff was a giant of a man, seven foot tall and
three foot
wide at the shoulder! He was driving a plow, that was pulled by two wild
bulls that he
kept in line with cursing and kicks and blows. Over his shoulder was a
mattress tic,
filled with thirty bushels of seed that he scattered with his other hand.
When he reached
the far end of the field, he reached out and knocked out both bulls with one
punch, lifted
the plow and bulls together,turned them all around, and then slapped the
bulls awake and
started back.
The champion of Ireland watched him come closer, and set his jaw. He drew
himself up
and shouted; "You, man! I've come seeking the Champion of Scotland! Are you
he?"
"Aye," the big man growled. "I am he. What is your business?"
The Irishman said, "I've just come to tell you you're the Champion of
Ireland,
too!"
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