DUBLIN, Ireland – Returning to my summer home from a meet in London last Thursday, I was struck again by how the latest technological craze here has integrated with tradition, transformed the way a culture of great gabbers communicates, and delighted pranksters in the new kinds of fun that can be had.

Riding the bus from Dublin Airport back to the city, I watched as a teen-ager in front of me answered his mobile phone and proceeded to talk in Gaelic. At first, I thought this scence was not much different than one you would see in any big city. My parents live just outside New York, so I’m well aware of the mobile-phone culture there.

But in Dublin, as in most of Ireland, “mobiles” have taken over in a manic, massive wave. Watching the young man speak, it was clear to me this modern device has quickly become as much a part of society here as the native language of his land.

When I arrived at Dublin Airport for the summer a month ago, it was a cab I took, but the scene was the same. The cabbie’s phone sang an amusing song, he pulled out a miniscule object and casually talked on at great length. No emergency, no business call, just passing time. Then I was stunned.

Afterward, the cab driver explained to me that his “mobile,” the colorful device the size of child’s palm, was what every other Dubliner had today.

“Ah, well they’re very cheap, you see. Everyone can afford them,” he said.

In the weeks to come, everyone I talked to echoed that phrase. Stopping in some of the many mobile phone stores in Dublin I found this to be true. You can purchase one for 100 pounds – about $130 – and then “pay as you go,” as most do. Buy a $25 calling card and use it up. When it’s gone, you need to get another – but friends can still call you.

And everyone does.

Martina McCarthy, a 17-year-old from Gallway, said she has spent 82 hours on her phone in the last three months, but almost 70 hours were spent answering calls she had received.

I’ve watched with amusement at track practice as injured teammates would call or “ring” our coach, Jim Kilty, to distract him from his role as taskmaster. Of some 12 teammates I see each evening, not one is without a mobile.

Coming from the United States, where convenience is coveted, I feel strange, and, frankly, a little stupid without a mobile.

Today, there are more than 120 million mobile phones in use in Western Eurpoe, up by more than two-thirds from this time last year. Experts believe the mobile market here shows no signs of slowing down. Statistics and facts that make me feel more out of place.

Soon, I may be forced to adapt. Next month, Vodafone, the United Kingdom market leader, will merge with AirTouch of the United States, creating the UK’s third largest company and the biggest mobile phone company in the world.

So the craze may hit Maine.

When it does, beware of the fad. These new toys are for fun and they’re for everyone. Simply put, they’re a fashion must.

“My 12-year-old sister has one,” sprinter Dave Devine from Killarney told me.

This helped my feelings of alienation not at all.

Riding the city transit systems each day for the past month, I’ve seen phones ring regularly and teen-agers of all ages answer them with, “‘Ello. I’m on the boos…” and proceed into conversations about nothing.

Mobiles are small and light, so they’re easy to cart. Most keep them in their pocket. They come with calendars, reminders, alarms, even games. But their power is in their potential.

The frivolous fun these small companions provide was made clear to me during a trip back from a meet in Limerick last week. When I took over the driving from Dave Keogan at 11 p.m., that allowed the king of call-in shows to mastermind some late-night hijinks.

Keogan jumped into the back and proceeded to coach Trevor McGlynn into putting on his best country accent to convince a Dublin radio talk-show host that he was a wealthy Dublin tycoon who had risen from the fields of poverty and now owned five cars and a number of estates.

Trevor, who is from Strabane, Northern Ireland, has a wonderfully thick Irish accent, but was unsure of his abilities. Not to worry. Keogan had faked these kinds of calls before. He fed Trevor lines at a ridiculous speed and as Trevor repeated them to the radio show’s receptionist, his confidence doubled.

Keogan then called Dave Power, another teammate, at home and told him to turn to the radio station to hear Trevor’s upcoming diatribe on giving poor children a chance.

Suddenly, five runners, worn out from a day’s journey and a track meet, were alert and awaiting the musical sound of the mighty moblile. Trevor called the radio show again to reassert his stance on the rags-to-riches phenomenon and his mobile transformed into more than a mere tool or a toy. That night it was the powerful link to great adventure.

“Ring, ring,” Keogan called to it.

But as we pulled into a Dublin parking lot, our journey had ended, it was time to unload Keogan, and the show’s host still had not called. The spirit of the evening had sadly vanished – along with Trevor’s confidence.

“Here. You take the call if it comes,” he said, throwing the mobile to me.

I looked at him and laughed.

Forget that I couldn’t fake a Strabane accent. I didn’t know how to answer the damn thing.

NEWS sportswriter Deirdre Fleming is spending the summer competing in track meets in Europe.