AMATEUR NIGHT

First of all, this in NO way, shape or form is intended as a slam against the Irish. Happy Saint Partrick's Day to all of you -- and may there be many, many more.

What I am slamming is the hordes of amateurs that will flock to the bars and taverns tonight, to carry out a misguided celebration of the occasion.

At another time in my life I joined some of these people, unintentionally, when I walked into my favorite watering hole on St. Paddy's and likewise, New Year's Eve or Cinco de Mayo (which by the way is my birthday but that's another story).

It's plain annoying to have my evening ruined when someone throws up next to me or sloshes a glass of green beer on my clothes. Never mind getting iced by a Margarita (my middle name but then again that's another story).

The highlight -- or the lowlight depending on your perspective -- was the evening when the owner of a pub swaggered up to me, swaying and with a precarious hold on a half-empty pitcher of beer.  To be fair, he was just in the spirit of things.

In truth, he grabbed me with his free arm and proceeded to plant one on -- my nose. And there he stayed for several seconds, long enough for me to look over at a friend of mine who was laughing himself silly. 

I still recall the experience, and I sincerely hope he does not.

For this evening, I've every intention of staying home. I like a good time as much as the next person, but I'm at a stage of my life when standing around a crowded, smelly roomful of belching, farting hordes is not my concept of a good time.

Tonight I may light a springtime fire in his honor.  Those of you going out, be careful, and sing a chorus of Wild Rover for me.