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Category: ireland

Missed It By That Much

Missed It By That Much


I was in this Irish bar this one time, playing darts. Oh, man we were hittin’ em, and hitting the taps a bit harder than usual, too. One of my mates, Pat, got a few too many in him, pulled off his shirt, started beating his chest a bit, and declared, “We could declare war on Mexico right now, and we’d win.”

“That’s kinda silly, Pat,” I said. Mexico has an air force, you know. Nothing much, but they’ve got a couple dozen planes, at least.”

Pat had another drink and said,”Well, we could rent a plane down at the airstrip and bring a couple of fowling pieces and take on those lot. I say bring ’em on.”

“Pat, they’ve got a navy down there, too, you know. Nothing much, but it’s gotta have a few dozen warships, at least.”

“Oh, you know me and the lads could get out the bass boat and lug a few deer rifles with us down to the quay and take care of that lot, too.”

“You know, they’ve even got ballistic missiles of some sort they could lob at us, Pat. Not nuclear or anything, but nothing to sneeze at, I’m sure.”

Pat was warming up to the topic now, and bellowed, “Oh, I’ll be sure to bring an ash can lid and a hurling stick with me when I invade, to fend off the splosions while I’m cracking their noggins.”

I tried one last gambit. “Pat, they’ve got something on the order of 250,000 regular Joes, or regular Joses, at any rate, in their infantry. You don’t really think this group of drunkards in an Irish bar can handle that, do you?”

Pat grew quiet, like he was turning something over in his mind that had gotten stuck in the back, and he wanted to shake it loose. Then he smiled a little, and said, “Maybe you’re right, after all. Maybe we shouldn’t declare war on Mexico. There’s no way we can afford to feed 250,000 prisoners of war.”

The Last Time I Saw Irishmen Beating On Each Other Like That With Sticks, I Was In A Pool Hall

The Last Time I Saw Irishmen Beating On Each Other Like That With Sticks, I Was In A Pool Hall


Hurling! The Irish national game. No protective gear, except a helmet. Then again, the helmet has only been mandatory since 2010. No names on the shirts. Played for pride only; no professional Hurling teams exist. The pitch is huge; about 150 yards by 100.  It’s an ancient game, predating Christianity by as many as 1000 years. You try to strike the ball through the goal posts to score. Over the crossbar is a point; under the bar where the goalie lurks is worth three. You can’t pick the ball off the ground, carry it in your hand for more than four strides, or throw the ball for a score. You can’t pull on a jersey, trip, or push your opponent.

In my experience, games played furiously for pride alone always end up with hurling. You buy your opponents a beer, and they buy you one…

Sometimes There’s An Irishman…

Sometimes There’s An Irishman…


I won’t say a hero, ’cause, what’s a hero? But sometimes, there’s a man. And I’m talkin’ about the Taxi Driver Dude here. Sometimes, there’s a man — well, he’s the man for his time and place. He fits right in there. And that’s the Taxi Driver Dude, in Dublin. And even if he’s a lazy man – and the Dude was most certainly that. Quite possibly the laziest in Leinster, which would place him high in the runnin’ for laziest worldwide. But sometimes there’s a man, sometimes, there’s a man…