The Birth of an Irish Super Hero

He was sodden. Saturated from days of the Irish weather unleashing its wrath. He had absorbed all of its various precipitation's and survived. Even a low flying jet had emptied it's, well lets just say they weren't fuel tanks, and he had survived.

After hours of painstakingly crawling through the wild Mayo undergrowth he was, at last, home.

His pilgrimage to Croagh Patrick had not gone well. Days of flailing himself with rushes hadn't relieved him of his guilt and as his anger swelled to rage he cursed his god. That's when the storm came.

For five days, four nights, a brief bit one morning and then again in the afternoon, just after lunch, before reverting to five more days, the weather lashed him like he had never been lashed before. It all came out of the heavens. Rain, more rain, rain again, and then for a change, misty rain, hail, snow and finally that rain that doesn't look to bad when you look out of the window but gives you a thoroughly good soaking once you step out the door. He was in Mayo after all.

Now he lay in his bed preparing to meet the maker he had so rashly cussed and slandered. Fits of fever racked his weakened body. Shaking limbs made it impossible for him to eat or drink. Broken in body and spirit he waited for the final convulsion that would end his agony and start him on his final journey.

The convulsion arrived with a fury akin to a thousand hurricanes. But it was not there to take his life. On the contrary, his maker(please choose one of the following, Protestant/Catholic lord, Jah, Buddha, Mohammed, Shiva or Jabba The Hut) had other more exceptional plans for him.

You see his maker (please see above) had been getting just a little bit peeved with all the cussing and slandering he had been receiving over the last few millennia and had now decided to act. In his infinite wisdom he ordained that Peader McWhacker, our pal from Mayo, would become his instrument on Earth. But first he would receive a bloody good lashing for his impudence in the first place.

Of course all gods act in mysterious ways and naturally enough this one never told poor Peader a thing about what he had in store for him, leaving a man, from Mayo of all places, who had flailed himself on top of a mountain to figure everything out for himself. Charming.

And to a degree Peadar did figure it out. But not anything like his god had intended. No Peadar thought he was something quite different.

When Peadar awoke from his convulsion, which was a bit like what David Banner used to do before he changed into the hulk, he felt he had changed. His sense of smell had increased a thousand-fold, which was a bit unfortunate because Jamie Maguire's pig farm was right next door. His strength was now mighty to say the least and more importantly for someone who hails from a county with minimal or no public transport, he could run very far and very, very fast.

The flying bit would come much later and by total accident.

So he knew he was different all right, but, what was he?

He decided to discuss the matter with Jamie the pig farmer over a bottle or two of Poitin. He showed off his magnificent strength and speed to Jamie, who appropriately "ohh'ed" and "ahh'ed" in appreciation. There was even a "Jaysus" or two thrown in just to make sure Peader got the message.

And then with the Poitin about to run dry, Peader's thirst for alcohol had also improved along with his ability to hold it, an answer arrived to Jamie. It could only be one thing. It had to be it. What else could it be?

He turned to Peader and said, "Jaysus", for the third time, "I've figured it out. You're a feckin super-hero Peader".

Peader just nodded in an all knowing manner, although with the amount of Poitin that had been consumed it was very probable that Peader would have nodded all knowingly at the toilet bowl.

The lord wasn't to impressed though. When informed of developments with Peader, he was heard to simply utter "Doh".

And so it came to pass. Irelands first super-hero had been born through the super natural coincidences of the Irish weather, a god who had a gripe with the world and two lads with too much Poitin.

Peader of course still didn't have a cause, but after awhile, like so many recent events in his life, a name did arrive.

Since he now had the ability to run very far and very, very fast, he never had to want for Poitin. So after a year he decided to go on the wagon for forty days and forty nights. On the fortieth night, when he could stand it no more, he rushed out and got a bottle of the clear stuff, wolfed it down, as you would, when he saw it. A solitary potato, in the shape of the devil fell out of it's sack and rolled over beside his foot.

He picked it up. Looked at it for hours, before saying in a slurred but just about audible way, "from this day forward, I shall be known as Captain Spud".

Authors note: All rights concerning Captain Spud, his nemesis and any side kicks he picks up on the way are reserved. Copyright Piaras Murphy 2000.