Two Kerrymen were sitting in a pub when the Tour de France came onto the television. The two lads watched the cyclists for a while when one asked,
“Why do they do that?”
“Do what?” said the other.
“Go on them bikes for miles and miles, up and down the hills, round the bends. Day after day, week after week. No matter if it’s icy, raining, snowing, hailing . . . why would they torture themselves like that?”
“It’s all for the money,” says the other. “The winner gets half a million pounds.”
“I see.” says the first, “But why do the others do it?”
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