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Jason Alan Tecchio Chaunce Hayden Tez Angela Pompelli-Butler
Based on the cover of this month’s issue it’s pretty obvious
what time of year is approaching… you guessed it!
St. Patrick’s Day is around the corner and that means so is
spring, baseball, warmer temperatures and another brutal
winter behind us. If you didn’t suffer with the flu these past
few weeks (or as I call it the Black Plague of 2018) consider
yourself lucky. In short: This winter sucked ass!
But back to St. Pats or Paddy’s Day depending on how
Irish you are or aren’t. I will admit that my pasty white, (formerly)
ginger self gets especially jazzed up on March 17,
more than any other holiday. When you look like me and
lets pray to God you don’t, it’s the only day out of the year
when I feel somewhat normal. Girls actually seemed to
want to talk to me on this rowdy day. For a few hours out
of the entire year when it came to the ladies I became one
lucky leprechaun. Of course the years have taken even that
from me, but oh the memories.
This year I’ll be celebrating my heritage from the other
side of the oceanic rainbow where the real pot of gold
shines bright and the Guinness is poured slow and steady.
I’ve been living in Ireland for 9 months and I’m curious how
March 17 goes down in the wee Irish village where I now
call home. I’m told it gets bat shit crazy by the locals, but
than again, the locals here have never survived a MacMurphy’s
Pub (Ridgewood) night of Irish debauchery. You’re
reading the words of a man who has partied on Hoboken’s
notorious parade day and lived to tell the tale.
Indeed, I consider myself a hardened veteran of the
wearing of the green. While I don’t remember much about
long days that spilled into even longer St. Paddy nights, I
can testify that what I do recall are some of the best moments
of my life. Still, never would I have believed that one
day I’d be living in the belly of the Irish beast… yet hear I
am. I’m foaming at the mouth with Jamison flavored anticipation
as the only American in Monaghan (that I know of)
to be representing America on this day of all hard drinking
days. While I’m half the man I used to be thanks to the cruel
nature of the years gone by, I promise to represent with all
the fireball furry I can muster.
Hope every “Irish for the day” one of you has as much
fun as I undoubtedly will.
sásta Lá Fhéile Pádraig