I grew up at the Clam Bar. I found Hacks and The Ratt while studying as an undergraduate at Binghamton University. It wasn't until I matured that I found the Irish Rover in Louisville, Kentucky. Here, I spent more money than I can justify on dinners, good beer, and atmosphere....and I regret that the only night I didn't go with Alice and Charlie, they were given a free meal (the joke was always because I WASN'T there). Either way, the Irish Rover in Louisville, Kentucky was my once, perhaps twice, ritual every week with my best friends. There, I can't even describe it, we talked non stop about life: humor, politics, ideas and growth. It was pure happiness. There was never a bad time.
Tonight, Alice and Charlie called me from the Rover and we caught up. I wish I could describe in words how much that atmosphere and the two of them mean to me. Not only the fish and chips, Smithwicks, Guinness, New Castle, and Harps, but the conversations that we could share out of ten years of building trust. Irish Rover nights justify a ritual that can not be captured in words. When they called tonight, and with knowledge they were at the Rover, I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and toasted the two them. We tried to talk as if I was there.
In heaven, there will be an Irish Rover. Alice, Charlie and I will be there, acting stupid, talking about issues that no one else will understand, and solving all the problems of the world. In my idea of Nirvana, good Irish ale and food will be omnipresent and the individuals I have to talk to will stimulate my thinking like these two do. What else can a living guy hope for?
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