My first attempt at racing (in an event bigger than my Level 2 instruction course) was in Skerries at the Fireball European Championships in July 2000. The mindset for the week was apparent at the outset: sailing, drinking and drinking. Isn’t it funny that my spellchecker offers "Sherries Series" as options for "Skerries". I was dispatched by Mark to get comments on what the Fireballers thought about the racing but they were awful, so I put this together.

I arrived on a windy Friday evening to a yard full of shiny white boats. I was immediately introduced to the idea of Formula 1 style ‘race teams’, who could de-mast a boat in 90 seconds. I know a few young gentlemen that can do that too, but they’ll nick your car and wallet in the last 10 seconds. Our boat is quite elderly and whilst some of the advanced teams massaged their hulls with soft anti-static cloths, we were seen beating our mast into the gate with a steel mallet, shouting for 6 inch nails and 2x4 – who said Fireballers were fiddlers. The practice race on Saturday was fantastic to watch, all the little Fireballs lining up for a Swan Lake start. After someone telling me where the wind was coming from, where the boats were going and which end has the pointy bit, I was well clued in to the goings on. The two leading boats (Stevie Morrison/Richie Wagstaff and David Wade/Andy Ward) retired from the race after they had successfully tested and landed their flying machines. They swanned in to shore and detached their 200hp outboard motors whilst the Treadwell brothers (Right Said Fred) claimed victory for IRL and took the bottle of champagne.

Sunday’s race was the first of 12; it was blowing hard and I was scared. Victor’s story of ‘Black Saturday’ was making my bowels weak at the thought of even a ‘Dark-grey Sunday’. I got an ominous feeling when Mick (one of the best Irish Fireballers) made a beeline through the crowd to me and said, "just four capsizes and come straight back in, OK Greg?" A few capsizes later and I knew what he meant, but I felt a little better. The "Fireball Sub-Aqua Team" as we are known, started the race upright (a good start for us) and went on to finish in our consistent slot DNF. Well proud. [DNF means Did Not Finish or in our case; Do Not Fear or Did Not F*ing pull up the centreboard when we gybed]

Racing was cancelled on Monday and we all got a chance to go home, to the office or kip for a while. On Tuesday morning we practised out ‘Clubhouse Fireballing’ as we waited for a decision on the heavy weather. Brightly coloured and patterned flags were raised outside which I thought was really nice on such a dismal day. But Martin (who speaks fluent Flag) told me that they meant the race was postponed and further notification was due to be given at 1400 hours. These were two tiny little flags, that looked like someone’s boxers had blown off the washing line and got caught in the flagpole, and he could tell me all that. I remember a kangaroo called Skippy that could hold a conversation with Sonny by tutting at him and a dog named Lassie could chat about politics with Mickey Rooney by barking twice. Fireballers are the only people that can look at a lump of seaweed or glance at a bundle of old shirts hanging from a yacht’s mast and tell you who’s going to win a race. There’re all mad. (I wonder if they have a funny handshake too . . )

We got to race again (well some of us did) on Tuesday afternoon when the winds fell and the sun came out. A lovely "skite" (Fireballish for sailing trip) at least for everyone and most of the fleet finished. Then the party began. The very capable kitchen crew dished up a lovely traditional Irish meal and then we all got locked. I’ll tell ye, it’s a drinking fraternity with a sailing problem and nothing else. There was a karaoke session, which reduced pillars of the sailing community to complete eejits – willingly. These festivities were fuelled by the following ‘day-off’, known as a ‘lay-day’, which was badly needed.

The Championships ended after a few more days racing and the aforementioned English Teams took the trophies. I also won a fiver when Tim and Shergar nearly came to blows at the windward mark. Trendy merchandise was also available (well done Brona) and at a reasonable price.

You see, there really is nothing to it. Get a good dinghy (Laser or 420) and sail it for a while. Then, if you wish, buy a second-hand Fireball and sail it to destruction. No mystery about it and it’s all great fun. One thing is certain, you will learn a lot from Fireballing because there is a rope, lever or cleat for every sailing function you can think of. They are a very supportive and friendly group and as long as you have a little bit of sailing experience (say a year or so in dinghies) you shouldn’t have any problems. There are two fleets suiting the abilities of teams; silver and gold and there are plenty of events to keep you busy. You can see what the Fireballers are up to at http://www.fireball-international.com/ireland

Maybe I’ll see you at the next Championships. We can have sandwiches and tea sitting on our upside-down Fireballs.

Other snippets:

• "Sail number 14378? - but Eddie, this is an old sail belonging to someone else so we peeled off the ‘1’ and the ‘8’ so it’s number 437 but this is confusing so Louis changed our number to 14437 but, and, . . . . . ., never mind, we’re the one upside don at the end of the fleet practising ‘emigration sailing’. We’ll wave to you on the Committee boat before we ram it"
• Spell check options for Fireballing: "Firewalker" and "Freefalling"
• Tim to Shergar: "next time, tie the spinnaker to the boat – it will give us the edge at the hoist"

• Divers at work
• Sailing instructions: "1. Get back in. 2. Blow your nose. 3. ….."
• Help
• Kicker OFF not ON
• Crew stand here
• We’re also crap at snooker