The story of 'Cranky'

    
Long ago, before the new millenium was even being whispered about as 'buggy,' there came to Eire a happy, friendly lad. From far over the sea he came, rowing his tiny craft furiously--the rain slapping his fair face with an intensity heretofore known only by various flying fish and aquatic mammals, who when queried would have, if they could have, replied, "it's only water."
    
Arriving on a deserted stretch of beach near Sandymount in the deadest, darkest night, our hero set up his dwelling in the quaint town of Ballsbridge.  Finding amusement at all the references to male genitalia in his adopted homeland (Stillorgan, Greystones, Ballsbridge), this bastion of human warmth proceeded to spread his virtual seed....   Firstly, he disseminated copies of Tribes to various random buscars.   Through them, copies of this Holy Grail of all games made their way into governmental offices, most notably Social Welfare.  The entire infrastructure of Ireland began to grind to a halt.  Traffic increased exponentially, in direct proportion to the number of copies of Tribes that were propagating themselves into the hearts and hearths of the local populace.
    
Lawmakers, themselves caught up in the excitement of mortar-jumping, ceased legislating.  Retail salespeople became stand-offish and glassy-eyed during the day.  These selfsame people, with analogues in every profession on the island, would come alive at night, hoping to just hit ANYBODY with a laser rifle discharge.  Though collectively the Irish players came to be regarded as 'muppets,' still did this lovely, cheerful foreigner remain calm.
    
Finally, after many months of frustration, this young man heard a tremendous snapping noise deep within his Medulla Oblongata.   Amazed at the sound, he ran diagnostics, and discovered that, miraculously, he had become hostile.  The inability of his neighbors and wards, the Irish, had finally proven themselves too incompetent to mount even the most basic of team efforts in a game whose entire being was rooted in the simple requirement of teamwork, and overall strategy. 
    
Those players who most wanted to experience the game as it was designed became the most hostile and intolerant, and the stranger, with his overwhelming desire to experience Tribes properly, embodied this metamorphic process more than any other.  Adopting the nickname of 'Cranky'  was the first step in the dark tide of ichor and bile that this fellow proceeded to unleash on the hapless, helpless muppets, and their infantile way of life.
    
As time went on, Cranky came to realize that their simply was no hope.  Ireland was forever doomed to be the country that, while extremely tribal, parochial, and ethnocentric in actuality, could not form even one solitary virtual tribe of note.  With this in mind, Cranky turned ever more to the dark nature of the universe.  Ever willing to point out the foibles and foolishness he perceived around him, he proceeded to become the most  singularly despised individual on the island.  More despicable than even Cornwallis was he.  If Ireland had not been so fond of Hitler, Cranky would have been a close second in infamy.  Thanks to the enlightened attitudes in Ireland regarding dictators in general, Cranky soared to the top of every Irish hate list.
    
Now, having seen that there simply is no hope for Tribes in Ireland, Cranky returns to his home.  As the mollusk finds it niche exactly every eve, so too does Cranky seek the solace of the familiar:  Teamwork, wit, and that most mandatory Tribe quality--competence.