As is customary on a warm summer's evening, St. Paul's McMurray Park was awash in athletic activity, with balls of varying shapes and sizes flying about in every direction. In the northwest corner, though, on what one player called a "preternaturally green" field, the sights were almost as odd as the sounds:

"Instead of playing the touch, let it go, straightaway!"

Thwack!

"All the way, Tommy, good lad!"

Clack!

"That's the hurling, young fellow!"

Yes, this is hurling, and no, all you smarty-pantses out there, it has nothing to do with regurgitation. It's actually an ancient Gaelic sport -- sort of a cross between field hockey and lacrosse -- that is vying to gain a foothold in America's ever-more-crowded recreational landscape.

The Twin Cities Robert Emmets Hurling Club, named after an Irish martyr, will have two squads at the sport's national tournament in Chicago over Labor Day weekend. Last year, in its first trip to the nationals, an Emmets team reached the Junior B finals, losing by just four points.

"They expected to win the championship the first year they played," said the club's coach, Barry (pronounced BAHR-ee) O'Hara. "And this year, they expect to win, both teams. That's the sort of people that are attracted to hurling. They're competitive, and they're confident. It makes my job a lot easier."

That also makes it easier for O'Hara, an Ulster native with a salt-and-pepper-flecked flattop haircut and a burly build that stands in marked contrast to his players' wiry physiques, to get his lads to help promote the sport locally. The Emmets Club conducted lessons and demonstrations at this month's Irish Fest in St. Paul, and after the nationals, O'Hara and his hurlers will run free camps for kids and adults of both genders.

Yes, women play this rough-and-tumble sport, in which there's a lot of stick-on-stick (and stick-on-shin) action, and a game or practice in which a few players don't hobble off the pitch is almost unheard of. In their version of the sport, called comagie, "The girls can be wicked when they need to be," said O'Hara, whose club has female members and coed scrimmages.

Not tainted by money

Hurling has a rich history in Gaelic circles, going back at least 2,000 years and encompassing the legend of Cuchulainn, a 1st-century A.D. military hero and hurler renowned among Irish schoolkids in Achilles-like fashion. It is played in every county, at every college and by kids in every parish of the Emerald Isle. The sizes of the teams vary, but the scoring and rules are uniform for all ages, and pretty much the same as they were centuries ago. Not only that, but the 6-year-olds and the very top Irish players get the same compensation: not a red pence.

"You take that piece of ash [the stick] in your hand and suddenly you feel connected to the old sod," said Jim Leinfelder, a Robert Emmets player from St. Paul. "There's something about the sport that's almost viral. Maybe it was a genetic tug. I have a German name, but mostly Irish ancestors.

"There's also a kind of a purity to the game. It's untainted by all the excess and grotesque egos of our sports. Nobody gets paid, but when they hold the championships, everybody watches, every television in Ireland has it on. Then Monday, they all go back to work."

Leinfelder is referring to the sport's "World Series" next Sunday, when Dublin's 82,500-seat Croke Park Stadium will be packed for two championship matches: Cork vs. Tipperary (minor division) and Kilkenny vs. Limerick (senior division). The games will be shown at the Local gastropub in downtown Minneapolis, but O'Hara -- whose day job involves doing promotions for the Local -- will be 440 miles to the southeast, with his St. Paul teams.

Their chances of winning will be enhanced greatly by the presence of Killian Condon, a Cork County native, recent South Dakota transplant and, in the words of teammate Leinfelder, "a good soul and a hellaciously talented hurler."

Bucking national trend