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A parting gift. Some memorable papers that made us smile. Astrology is not our strongest suit and, as scientists, our first response was that perhaps the postman had got it wrong (page 465). Strange, unusual, intuitively, and intellectually challenging. But fascinating. In the scientific world of sport, dominated by physiologists, biochemists, pharmacists, and even geneticists, the idea that performance could be related in some way to the path of the moon and the stars sounds daft at first. Can you imagine the implications? Pregnancies planned to coincide with astrological events. Multi million pound transfer deals determined by heavenly bodies. Never mind your goal scoring record, tell us your star sign.

Fishing injuries. It's sport, it's injury—yes, it's the right journal. Looking for a reviewer, no one came to mind immediately. Nothing in the medical literature was even close. The paper that nearly got away (page 459). We finally found two reviewers; a kilted colleague on a Scottish island, and a Gaelic speaking part time GP in the west of Ireland. So you don't think it is relevant to our journal? Wait until you try removing a fishhook.

You adjourn to a local hostelry after a day of fishing. Revived by a day on the lake, the power of nature and the rise of the trout and, strengthened by strong liquor, you challenge your barstool neighbour to a bout of arm wrestling. Sporting injuries are everywhere (page 461); you have been warned.

Non-sporting folk often wonder what makes us tick. They say you never see a happy jogger; that sport is all brawn and no brain. They see no sense in chasing a little white ball across a field or a little black ball around an empty room. We know better. Quite an artistic bunch, really. Closet poets. For, in the safe company of friends we wax eloquent about the magical quality of a morning run on a crisp winter dawn, the effortless flow of a racing eight on a mirrored lake, leather on willow, the beautiful game. And so we invited our resident bard to review the contribution of poetry to sport; to see if poets can capture that special quality that makes sport so addictive (page 472). Iambic pentameter and sporting eloquence. Slán agus beannacht.

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