A Lovely Day for a Guinness

Many of you are familiar with Roald Dahl's children's book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and undoubtedly most of you have probably watched the Gene Wilder classic film in which the lucky finders of five Golden Tickets are able to tour Wonka's mysterious and previously inaccessible chocolate factory, accompanied by one of their family members, including the ultimate freeloader, Grandpa Joe.

You may also remember the wonder, enthusiasm and general mania that surrounded the children when the doors of the factory were swung wide, exposing the group to all the magical mysteries that lie within.

Rekindled those memories?  Good.  Now perhaps you'll understand how this foursome felt on the morning when we got to tour the fabled Guinness Storehouse in Dublin.

You can practically see us all channeling our inner Augustus Gloop outside the doors, just waiting for our chance to fall into the chocolate river.

Guinness is a stout that originated in the brewery of Arthur Guinness at St. James's Gate, Dublin, in the 18th century. It's become synonymous with Irish pubs, and indeed, Irish drinkers in general.

Nearly a century ago, in addition to touting its health benefits, an advertising campaign was launched pronouncing that every day was a "Lovely Day for a Guinness."

So, not surprisingly, all of the floors of the factory tour are papered with various iterations of the ad campaign, with the slogan front and center on tee-shirts, bar signs, kitchen accessories and socks, among a plethora of souvenirs.

Just as the self-guided tour began, we were able to pose before the fabled gates of Wonka's factory.

Was it a coincidence to discover a Spence of Dublin commemorative marker on the tour?  I think not.

Raw Power or The Roar of Raw Noise.  You make the call.

On to the samples segment of the tour- served up in tiny shot glasses.

 My fellow U2 fans will recognize the Tryin' to Throw Your Arms Around the World lyrics that accompany this particular piece of abstract art, also part of Guinness' advertising legacy.

Finally, it was on to one of the most critical events of our Ireland sojourn.  The art of learning how to correctly pour a Guinness.  At the end of our class, diplomas/certificates await!
Our pourmeister was Philip who painstakingly and passionately explained the art of pouring to his rapt students.

One of the necessary steps is inspecting your glass before pouring.  My eagle-eyed wife found stains upon her glass, so she got extra brownie points for her sharp inspection.

For those of you who don't have a bonafide Guinness pouring diploma in your curriculum vitae, here's what you need to know:

To begin the pour, hold the glass at a 45° angle below the tap and fills the glass 3/4 full.  On the way out of the tap, the beer is forced at high speed through the end of the tap, creating friction and forcing the creation of small nitrogen bubbles which form a creamy head. (Use the harp logo on the glass to help measure the amount of your pour.) The server brings the glass from 45° angle to a vertical position.  After allowing the initial pour to settle, the server pushes the tap handle back and fills the remainder of the glass until the head forms a slight dome over the top of the glass (or "just proud of the rim").

And yes, we all graduated.  And then got to enjoy the spoils of our accelerated education.  Slainte!

A view of Dublin from atop the Guinness Storehouse.

And unlike Augustus Gloop, Violet Beauregard, Veruca Salt and Mike Teevee, this foursome all made it out of the factory intact.  We didn't score our own glass elevator or chocolate factory like Charlie Bucket, but in the end, we felt like we did alright for ourselves.

We weren't able to pay equal time to the Jameson whiskey factory, though we did manage to pass through to pick up a bottle of the highly-coveted and labelled Ryan Fandl whiskey!

Many of you may be familiar with the ballad of fishwife Molly Malone, who wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow crying cockles and mussels, alive, alive, oh! (Fun fact, the song was first published in Boston, somewhere around 1876.)

What you might not be as familiar with is the slightly perverse tradition that has developed in recent years, wherein tourists rest their hands upon the statue of Molly, or specifically certain pieces of her body, allegedly with hope for good fortune.

About a decade ago, tourists began rubbing the statue's breasts, making them appear golden, when actually it's just a result of bronze erosion caused by excessive handling or rubbing.

There's tons of other things you can do to garner some good luck, folks.

In the meantime, keep your hands off Molly Malone.

No trip to Dublin would be considered complete with a visit to the Book of Kells, located in the Trinity College Library.  The Book of Kells is a manuscript containing the four Gospels of the New Testament, crafted in a monastery somewhere around 800 AD.  The book takes its name from the Abbey of Kells, which was its home for centuries before making its way to Trinity.

Photographs of the actual Book of Kells itself aren't allowed, to preserve the sanctity and colors of the book, kept inside a protective glass case under guard in a darkened room.

Next door, however, is the Ultra-Cool library itself, which many of my fellow bibliophiles will immediately recognize, as the famed Jedi library from the Star Wars universe is based on the Trinity library.  Once a geek, always a geek, even in one of the most impressive library settings you'll ever set your eyes upon.

And finally, a visit to St. Patrick's Cathedral, along with a pass by St. Patrick's Well, because, well, you know.  Legend has it that the saint who bears my name used a well on the location 1,500 years ago to baptize converts.  This slab below was discovered in 1901 covering the remains of an ancient well, which might be the same location.  The stone was found near the entrance to Saint Patrick's Park, which is alongside the cathedral (through which Scott and I ran).  The slab is believed to be more than a millennium old.

All in all, I know how I would describe the Ireland experience thus far:

Dublin Down

For most of my adult life, there's been a few places in the world outside the United States that have roosted high atop the short list of locales I passionately wanted to visit - England, Ireland and Scotland forming the trinity atop said list.

With a couple of UK visits already under my belt, it was time to target the Emerald Isle and make a quasi-pilgrimage to the country from where both my and Jackie's ancestors hailed.

Side note - a few years back my family bought me a subscription to Ancestry, and it's a rabbit hole beneath the family tree that I can't stop burrowing into as I trace our lineage over the last 200+ years.    It's become a side passion/obsession, and gleaning any small nugget of information about a descendant triggers a victory dance.

In the days to come I'm going to post some blogs about the recent trip I was able to make to Ireland after years of aiming to do so.  Early warning - if travel blogs or history pieces aren't your thing, don't bother checking in on these pages for a bit.  While it won't be all-encompassing as far as the experience goes, I'm hoping to capture some of the highlights and let loyal readers in on the joy that is Ireland.

By my side, as always, for this unforgettable sojourn was my lovely wife, Jackie, and there's nobody I'd rather see the world side-by-side.  Pro tip: my beautiful bride is one of the easiest people on the face of the Earth to travel alongside.  She doesn't ask a lot, just loves being in the moment, and soaks in all of wonder of the the new images, locales, and locals that she encounters along the way.

We were also joined by longtime friends Scott and Sue Spence, who had also intended to tackle Ireland this year.  We had initially aimed for a larger group, of as many as ten E Streeters, but not surprisingly, the timing of when the trip could actually occur wasn't in alignment with the large numbers and everybody's respective schedules, and with a whopper of a summer work schedule on the horizon for me, Jack and I had to opt for a June trip when the window of opportunity was going to the most manageable.  Here's to the future trips to other locales we're able to make with any of our fellow travelers, whether they be family or friends proper.  There's a whole lot of world out there to explore - let's get to it!

Ireland Day One, after a six hour flight that didn't include a moment of sleep, and we were off to explore Dublin's Fair City.

Our first hotel of the trip, and we stayed about a block away from St. Stephens Green, in the heart of Dublin.

St Stephen's Green is a 22 acre garden square and public park located in the center of Dublin, officially opened to the public in 1880.  The square is adjacent to one of Dublin's main shopping streets, Grafton Street.

Speaking of which, we ventured onto Grafton Street and immediately, one of the first places we stumbled upon was a bar named Captain Americas.  Clearly, this was an immediate sign for this comic book lover.  (Fun fact: it was also a hangout for Dublin's wonder band, U2 in their fledgling days.)

And directly across the street from Captain Americas was Dublin's Disney store!  Again, a sign to these Disney-philes, and one that would bear further investigation.

Because yeah, no trip to Ireland would be complete without slinging webs with New York City's most famous wall-crawler.

Or, of course, some random strormtroopers

And perhaps Iron Man himself

Okay, enough fanboying - time to take a sample of what Dublin is renown for - its unparalleled pubs.

Most of you have probably heard of the Temple Bar.

Not just one location, Temple Bar is an area on the south bank of the River Liffe in the center of Dublin.  It's considered the center of Dublin's nightlife.

This particular pub was built somewhere around 1840.

Truth is, it doesn't matter which pub you decide to stop in for a Guinness or a cider.  You're welcomed equally in any of them, Just make sure you know what sports team the locals are rooting for if the game is playing on one of the public televisions overhead.

In what would prove to be the first in a series of daily imbibements, we lucked upon one of the local football games this first afternoon and sidled up to a corner booth to engage in a distinct function of the trip, one of many to come.

Slainte!

No Sleep Till Brooklyn, or Albany Either!

Roundabout last fall, a fearsome foursome united for a road trip to Brooklyn to catch one of the many live performances last season of Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.

The trip included, among other notable events, a Bed, Bath and Beyond pilgrimage, another field test for acrophobia, a United Nations moment with Barcelona, some relocated parking garages, and of course, a healthy dose of inappropriate references to concerts of days gone by.

Flash forward to April, 2024, and it was time for the same foursome to return to the Empire State, this time making a stop it its capital, Albany.

So it was that John Piekos, Barry Scanlon and I recruited the original Boss boss, my brother Jimmy, to return with us for another outing of New York Style Springsteen.

After some robust discussions en route about apostolic blessings, chivalry and oversized pocketbooks, and of course, the obligatory deadly pocket knife, we embarked on a sojourn through the streets of Albany looking for someplace to dine.

Despite getting shut out at Stop One by the wait times of the advertised gathering of Spring-nuts, the Bruce enthusiasts who gather pre-show for all of his concerts, we would not be thwarted.

We made the rounds at several of the local watering homes before settling in at Wizard Burgers, home of the impossible to eat without making inappropriate comments impossible burgers.

Case in point: commenting on another patron's burrito size is not considered a universally-embraced ice breaker, no matter how many miles they swim in a triathlon.

After not properly digesting a healthy meal, we were off to check out the local architecture.

When in Albany, you have to visit the Egg, an approximately 50-year-old performing arts center.

As luck would have it, the gentleman we asked to take this album cover pic professed to be especially familiar with some of the political figures who've made their mark in Lowell's political circle.

Photog pro tip: know your audience before you name drop your rolodex and offer your thoughts on said individuals.

From there, it was showtime in the MVP Arena for an unforgettable night that added several tracks that diverted from the previous setlist at Mohegan Sun (see previous blog post.)

For this writer, undoubtedly, the highlight of the night was a haunting version of Racing in the Streets, one of my fave Springsteen cuts, taken from his fourth album, Darkness on the Edge of Town.

As always, the night provided a more than ample amount of opportunities to sing along with the soundtrack of our shared experiences.

As I said - an AMPLE amount of opportunities.

If there's something you need

That you just don't have

Well just don't sit there

Feeling Bad

C'mon now get up, try and understand,

Just raise your hand!

Once more unto the breach, or in this case, center arena for Bruce's 10th Avenue Freezeout.

Super shoutout to Susan Strauss, standing at Springsteen shin-level, smackdab in the center of that throng, basking in the Bruce-ness of it all

Heading into the homestretch, it was time for the two bros who took in their first Bruce show together 44 years ago do some Twisting and Shouting.  Or a variation thereof.

And that's a wrap in Albany!

Take a bow, band, and thanks for another packet of great U.S. shows.

The band's off for its European tour now, and this particular four-pack will have to wait until the other end of 2024 to take in another celebration with the E Street Band!

Montreal, anyone?

 

Going Down to Lucky Town

 

For nigh unto 20 years, Bruce Springsteen shows have taken on a new temperature and significance, ever since I introduced my son Andrew to the Jersey Devil.  On almost two dozen occasions in five different states, we've enjoyed a father/son tandem to take in the concerts and they've provided me with indelible parenting memories - amplified, I might add, when my daughter Heather took in her FIRST Bruce show last August, making it a full family affair.

Springsteen shows have always been a gathering of family,  both real and assumed.  My brother took me to my first Springsteen concert 44 years ago, and I have tried to help indoctrinate others to the E Street magic in the ensuing decades.  Us E Streeters proper have taken in hundreds of shows between us, forming our own Band of Brothers in the process.  And in Andrew's case, a music aficionado in his own right (including an acolyte of the current Beatlemania-level frenzy that is Taylor Swift), he's come to appreciate the deep catalogue of Springsteen music and the indefatigable energy that permeates the 3-4 hour concert extravaganzas.

Which brings us to our latest father-son pilgrimage, this time to Mohegan Sun in Uncasville, Connecticut ( a place where, by the way, Bruce proudly exclaimed he had no idea where the #$%& it was).

Surrounded by all the trappings of a casino, we had a feeling we were going to be treated to some of Bruce's gambling related songs (we weren't wrong), so Andrew thought it would be appropriate to contribute to the local economy.

Alas, no Golden Ticket awaited Charlie at the end of this factory tour.

Connected with fellow Springsteen aficionado Ken and Breena Gordon.  Ken's been following the Boss around the country - and world - for round about the same amount of years as me.

Ahead of the show, we were able to make a pitstop in the vaunted E Street Lounge. 

And just like Vegas, what happens in the E Street Lounge stays in the E Street Lounge.

Finally, we made it to our seats, and since the venue was quite warm, it was time to break out official E Streeters Running Club Swag.

And with that, we were off, and sure enough, Bruce opened the set with Roll of the Dice off his 1992 Human Touch Album

Well I've been a losin' gambler

Just throwin' snake eyes

Oh love ain't got me downhearted

I know up around the corner lies

My fool's paradise

In just another roll of the dice

Followed immediately by Lucky Town, from the self-named album of the same stretch of time in 1992 - which also happened to be the year I married the love of my life (and saw Bruce perform in Worcester the night before our wedding to boot!)

I'm going down to Lucky Town, down to Lucky Town

I'm gonna lose these blues I've found down in Lucky Town

Baby down in Lucky Town

Show a little faith, there's magic in the night.  You ain't a beauty, but hey, you're alright.

Oh, and that's alright with me.  Thunder Road, indeed.

The lights came on for the raucous encores, headlined by Bruce's anthemic and unforgettable trademark song, which just happened to be emblazoned on the back of my shirt as well.

No, I'm not yelling at my son, we're just joined our voices with thousands of others to belt out one of the greatest rock and roll songs of all time.

It wasn't a pretty little place in Southern California, but Ken and I were still celebrating Rosie Coming Out Tonight - you can hear them in the back room strumming

There's something to be said about the zenith of every show when the house lights shatter the darkness and explosively reveal arena contents during Born to Run, and you can absorb the frenzied euphoria of the crowd in its entirety.

It works on so many levels, and feels like the train's come roaring round the bend.

Out in the middle of the crowd, Bruce is getting hit with a 10th Avenue Freezeout courtesy of the 9,000 in attendance.

The change was made uptown, and the Big Man joined the band, as well as the show, during a photo feature spotlighting Clarence Clemons and Danny Federici, the two deceased veterans of the E Street Band.

Good night to the E Street Band's consigliore Little Steven, Professor Roy Bittan, and Mister Gary W. Tallent.

The Boss himself was the last to make an exit

And finally, you know it had to happen.

Bruce has been ending every show on this tour with the song I'll See You In My Dreams.

Not sure he was referring to dreams about donuts, but t's safe to say it can also serve as an appropriate final note for Andrew as well, as waiting outside the venue for us was a certain donut shop not found in our region.  A dozen sinkers may or may not have come home with the lad.

Not sure when the next father-son Springsteen outing will take place, as Bruce is jetting off now to Europe and doesn't have any East Coast tour dates schedule for the near future.  But you can be sure that when the opportunity does present itself, this tandem will be taking full advantage of any opportunity we get to share the experience!

30 + 30 - the Walk of Fame

Walk on by (Don't stop)
Walk on by (Don't stop)
Walk on by (Don't stop)

- Dionne Warwick

Throughout the annals of time, certain sporting events rank among the most famous, unforgettable and epic battles that have ever unfolded on the playing fields, ice, or rings of history.

The 1980 Miracle on Ice.

The 2004 Red Sox comeback.

Frazier vs. Ali.

Billie Jean King vs. Bobby Riggs.

The 28-3 Falcons Super Bowl premature drubbing of the New England Patriots.

The Strawberry Hill little league baseball championship.

What’s that?  You say you don’t know about Strawberry Hill?

Then man, are you in for a treat.

If you’ve ever had the unique experience of running, walking, or just hanging out with our crazy band of runners, known collectively as the E Streeters, it’s something that tends to stay with you.  An assorted band of brothers and sisters, we first came together as basketball and volleyball teams fresh out of high school in the 1980s, and we’ve stuck together, and then started running together in groups on weekends for more than three decades, give or take a year.

Walk on, walk on
What you got they can't steal it
No, they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on

Walk On

- U2

The runs are usually loaded with inappropriate jokes to help pass the time.  Over the years, we’ve seen our numbers include dozens of different participants, from all walks, genders, ages, and talent levels.

And sometimes, during those runs, the stories that unfold in the midst of the mileage reach epic proportions.

Such is the case of the 1976 Strawberry Hill baseball championship, when a 12-year-old Chelmsford lad named John Piekos carried the weight of the collective Chelmsford baseball world on his shoulders as his team the Mets played the Bears for the title.

His mother Anne, says she has a hard time remembering the specifics of that day.  Likely because the ensuing years provided so many more athletic exploits among her offspring.

His sister, Anne Marie, believes she was the bat girl for the team.  But she too, seems to have blotted out the event.

Barry Scanlon, the preeminent sports writer in the Greater Lowell region, considers the legend one of the greatest he’s covered in his long and storied journalistic career.

And John himself?  Well, he’s too modest to discuss it, but might grudgingly recount some of the details with you if you’re fortunate enough to pass the North Chelmsford field during one of the morning runs that wind through that neck of the woods.  Heck, he'll even share his Glory Days version of the event if you just want to talk baseball anywhere!

It's a scenario every baseball player dreams about being in - getting up to bat in the bottom of the last inning, the score tied, two outs, and the game comes down to you.  All you need is a single and your team wins the championship

It's gonna be a long walk home
Hey pretty darling, don't wait up for me
Gonna be a long walk home
A long walk home

- Long Walk Home, Bruce Springsteen

Today, that Chelmsford baseball legend, John Piekos, enters a new decade of life.

So on behalf of E Streeters near and far, best wishes for a happy birthday today to John, immortalized here with a poetic recounting of the most dramatic four pitches in baseball history, leading to a championship victory, and likely, some form of trophy, also lost to the ravages of time.  Every word of this is true, or so John would lead us to believe.

Presented, for your enjoyment, Piekos at the Bat.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Chelmsford Mets that day:
The game was the last this collective team would play.
The score was tied at four, the game was ending fast,
Two outs already recorded, who would make the last?
The all-star second baseman, John Piekos was his name,
He meandered to the plate and silence fell upon the game.

A straggling few got up to leave in deep despair, hands clutched against their chests.
John’s father, coaching third, clung to hope inside his breast;
John’s sister Anne Marie, a gymnastic pro on the mat,
She and her mom Anne gasped “oh God, it’s Johnny’s turn to bat.”

The bases, they were loaded, 'twas nowhere for John to go;
He sauntered to the plate, his tiny bat in tow.
The fans got to their feet, there was nobody could sit.
His team would win the championship if John could just manage a hit.

From all the gathered throats there was heard a nervous mix,
It rumbled through the valley, in that 1976.
It pounded Strawberry Hill ballfield and recoiled upon the flat,
They could only stand in dread, for it was young John Piekos, advancing with his bat.

There was ease in young John’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Johnny’s bearing but no smile upon his face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
Many watching from the crowd asked can John even hold the bat?

Ten thousand Bears eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
The Mets fans, they applauded when he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance flashed in Johnny’s eye, a sneer curled on his lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Johnny stood a-watching it, he seemed to barely care. 
Close by the sturdy batsman’s head the ball unheeded sped—
"That ain't my pitch," said John.  "BALL ONE!" the brave umpire said.

From the benches, filled with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone from the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had John not raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity little Johnny’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the round sphere flew;
And Johnny, he ignored it and the umpire screamed, "BALL TWO!"

"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echoes answered "Fraud!"
One determined look from Johnny and the audience said “Dear God.”
They saw his face grow tense and cold, they saw his trembling knee,
He stood there like a statue as the umpire yelled “BALL THREE!”

The sneer was gone from Johnny’s lips, his teeth were clenched in hate,
He pounded with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And then the pitcher palmed the ball, and quickly let it go,
The Chelmsford air was placid with the lack of Johnny’s blow.

Oh, somewhere in that Chelmsford town the sun was shining bright,
A band was playing somewhere, it really was a sight; 
Bears parents they weren’t laughing, in fact they couldn’t talk;
Four straight balls were thrown in Chelmsford — John Piekos drew a walk.