I’ll never understand the phrase “the luck of the Irish”. It always sounded more like a curse.
The Irish. Before the English arrived to make them miserable they fought with the Vikings who made them miserable before which they fought among themselves making themselves miserable. In the meantime, they turned self-medicating the misery into a high art form.
What luck? In the movie “The Commitments” the band manager tells the gang that they oughta sing soul music because they’re the “blacks of Europe”. This is lucky?
The only good luck is living in lovely Ireland in the first place. Even that’s qualified because the beauty is due in good part to lousy weather. Which leads to lots of seasonal affect disorder which leads to more self-medication.
Not that I’m complaining. Easter comes late this year so St. Patrick’s Day offers the only holiday for a long month since President’s Day. And we all know how exciting that is. So the Irish “luck” works for me. Even if it doesn’t work for them at all.
Terry Preston's in-depth views on the pressing issues of the day, from God, sex and national politics to the high price of a good beer at the ballgame. Any and all comments to these comments are encouraged.
Friday, March 17, 2006
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3 comments:
You forgot the incredible good luck they had to have such, tolerant, friendly, and polite neighbors in the English.
And are they grateful? Who else would have taken time out from their busy imperialist schedule to drop in and civilize them?
They could at least send the English a nice card or something.
>They could at least send the English a nice card or something.
Or perhaps a potato.
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