Last Saturday I woke to the sound of my phone beeping. It was my old friend John Dalke, a second-generation Irish-American from Chicago's South Side. I met John in college back home in Illinois.
A teeth-breaking cheer roared from my phone the second I flipped it open. Then came a song:
"We're the Windy City Irish where the good times are the best — Where every day is Paddy's Day and everyone's a guest — If you're Irish on the North Side or Irish on the West — Welcome to the South Side come join our Irish Fest!"
John and five of my buddies were three shots of Jameson and five pints of Guinness in before noon.
So began my St. Patrick's Day here in the Rogue Valley.
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But New Year's Eve, the Fourth of July and Memorial Day fill that void. I always feel uncomfortable on St. Patrick's Day. The holiday's unofficial slogan bugs me: Everyone is Irish on St. Paddy's Day!
Um, I'm not. And neither are the thousands who take to the bars — which magically change into "pubs" every March 17 — wearing green fuzzy hats and T-shirts with lame quips printed on the front.
I generally shy away from situations where I have to role play and pretend to be excited about something I know nothing about. I've actually heard people in Chicago, folks with as much Irish blood as Chief Sitting Bull, speak in a slurred brogue and go on about "the Troubles."
But some friends called me after work last Saturday and I agreed to meet them at the Black Sheep Pub & Restaurant in Ashland.
Of all the places in Jackson County, I figured the Black Sheep is the best place to celebrate. At least it keeps up the appearance of a pub all year. Also, the bartenders can pour a good pint of Guinness and there's free darts.
It was standing room only when I got there just after 11 p.m. The wannabes were out in full force, but everyone was in good spirits and, again, it was cool to see unfamiliar faces.
It took about one hour, two pints and this evil concoction known as an Irish car bomb (drink it quickly before it curdles!) before I started to loosen up.
It was my turn to buy a round. I wandered through the throng of green T-shirts and fuzzy hats with gold buckles. I ordered four shots of Bushmills Irish whiskey.
"Why can't you just lighten up, Conrad, and just have some fun with this?" I thought. "Life's too short, eh?"
And that's when the guy next to me leaned in and yelled directly into my ear.
"Oh my God, that's the Protestant whiskey!," he said. "You can't drink that on St. Paddy's Day. You gotta drink Jameson. That's the Catholic whiskey."
I took a step back. The guy looked be about 22 years old. He was drinking something out of a skinny brown bottle.
He probably hadn't stepped foot in a church since he was a kid. And he definitely wasn't Irish.
Ah, sorry, mate," I said. "Better change that to Jameson."
The guy slumped forward and clapped me on the back.
"Don't worry about it, bro," he said. "I don't really care what at you drink. It's St. Paddy's Day."
Reach reporter Chris Conrad at 776-4471, or e-mail cconrad@mailtribune.com.
