Shivering. Mud in between my toes. Shin Guards sitting on the ground, soaking up the rain. I’m wearing a full-body suit that is reminiscent of “gas station” workers in the US. But it’s keeping me at least slightly warm. Can we really go ahead with this match?

Mud in our eyes, socks, shorts, mouth – the weather surely was not conducive to playing a 90-minute football match. But yet! We are in Ireland, where anything goes. Farmers leave their sheep outside in hailstorms, people casually stroll down Shop Street in just a t-shirt, and the “crazy” early morning risers head to swim near Black Rock at the crack of dawn – all on a wet and blustery winter morning.

Looks like I need to leave the dry skies of Philly fully behind, tie my boots – actually, they’re laceless Adidas boy’s boots for €20 so there’s no “ties'' to tie – and learn how to brave the Irish elements once more.

Two of the Women’s National League matches were called off over the weekend, yet somehow the torrential storm in Galway did not qualify us for a postponed match. My tiny room rental is only about 15 minutes from Eamon Deacy, but even I couldn’t bring myself to leave the comfort of my space-heater-heated bedroom to walk outside.

A few desperate texts later (“I’ll get you a cuppa if you give me a lift”) and I was in the crowded backseat of a car heading to the stadium. Compared to the 9-hour bus rides in Austria from my B&B on top of a mountain to our matches in Vienna, the 4-minute run-around to EDP was a breeze (in a breeze!). Instead of careening down the village dirt road past our five neighbours (that’s including a donkey) and hopping the bus in nearby Altach, the quick lift from Woodquay was a breath of fresh air. But it still left enough time to wonder if the pitch really would be playable.

Plus, I didn’t bring studded cleats. You know, the kind where you have to manually insert new studs into the bottom of your shoes – okay, boots – to get any type of grip while running around the pitch like a lunatic.

FLIGHT TO MENORCA

Somehow in my two-page packing list of must-haves for Ireland, arguably the rainiest country in the world, these slipped – *cue drum cymbal hit* – my mind.

I mean, my packing list did include more or less everything I own. Who knows the next time I’ll go back to the homeland?

So I returned to Ireland for another season in the WNL with two suitcases and a massive backpack, big enough to carry a small child. That said, if you see me repeating outfits, here’s why. I might be one to take chances – like accepting a motorbike ride from an old man in the middle of nowhere in Albania – but laundry in Ireland is where I draw the line. I mean, who has time to do a load of washing AND hang it up to dry… in the rain?

Not me, that’s for sure. I’m too busy refreshing the weather forecast every 5 minutes before the match to see if it will indeed go ahead; do I need to wear gloves?; and should I bring two pairs of my 20-euro Sports Direct boots? Sadly, but typically, what had started off as a beautiful day in the West of Ireland turned into a full-on rain-and-wind storm for the 4-hour window surrounding our match. Lovely.

Actually, once we were out there, the wet and the wind didn’t deter us. Both sides gave it their all, sliding around the muddy pitch, taking shots, sprinting full tilt through boggy ground, and ignoring the rain pelting them in their faces. If anyone had been using fake tan, this would be the teller. Surprisingly, none of the players’ white socks turned brown, a shocking indication that some of the girls may really just be escaping every other day on a RyanAir flight to Menorca to soak up the sun’s rays.

Okay, we lost 4-0 to Peamount United. Time to take a scrub brush to our kit (and mind) and to refresh for next weekend.

TORNADO WARNING

So, what happens now? With matches postponed last weekend, it looks like the open dates in April will now have to be used as a fixture filler. I can hear it from the Caffe Nero where I’m sitting right now – the sound of tears at canceled birthday celebrations, hen parties, and weekends away, foiled by a rescheduled WNL match.

That’s the flip-side of playing in Ireland. Yes, the green pastures, happy cows, and adorable farmers are the reason why wide-eyed tourists like myself (cringe) flock here from all over the world. But there’s a reason the grass is so green, and the people are SO smiley on the dry days – they know they only have a short time of reveling in the sunshine before the next monsoon sweeps over the land.

Why else would families quickly find their flip-flops buried under the mounds of rain jackets, grab beach towels out of storage, and buy a €5 plastic chair from the nearest Tesco before sprinting to the local beach on any day that breaks 20 degrees? Businesses close, kids are yanked out of school, and ice cream shops scurry to fix their broken machines.

The apparent inevitability of the wind and the rain is what makes this country so unique. The players in the WNL have to be ready for anything and everything – and it can change in the blink of an eye. Rainstorm? Easy. Gale force winds? That’s every Tuesday. Tornado warning? Go outside and get some fresh air.

So it looks like I’ll need to get a pair of boots with studs from JD (donations welcome – size 5 please, boys…) and maybe another one of those full-body suits to wear on a regular basis. That way, I can stay dry, keep warm – and still avoid doing the laundry. Problem solved.