Billy Boy

The Irish have a special place in my heart.   Most of my best friends have at least some Irish in them. My best ex and best wrestling nemesis ever was Irish-American.  The deft diction of Irish writers (Wilde, Yeats, Joyce, Beckett, Behan, Toibin) is still an object of my envy.  The Irish whip is one of my very favorite showy wrestling moves.  And green has been my favorite color since childhood.

I haven't, alas, any Irish in my family tree.  My ancestry is German, on both my mother's and father's sides, with a soupcon of French, thanks to my maternal grandmother.  Perhaps not the most likable mix, come to think of it.  But I find the Irish very sympathetic.  They share pessimism and a dark sense of humor with us Germans.  But whereas we Germans are unmatched for our morbidity and blunt sadism, only the Irish can be monumental dicks and charmers at the same time.   Maybe it's their soulful eyes that do the trick.   

More than anything, I like the fight of the Irish.

You'll never beat the Irish 

No matter what you do

You can put us down and keep us out

But we'll come back again.

(The Wolfe Tones, 2001)

This afternoon, Josh, a reader of this blog, sent me some links to fights, here and here, along with pictures of "Supermodel" Billy Boy Meehan, 6'1", 222#, a wrestler with Irish Whip Wrestling.  You gotta love the Irish fans' enthusiasm, fans whose median age, to judge from these clips, is ten and a half.  I've always loved the way they give the heels pure bloody hell.  Meehan gets off relatively easy here.