The Background of Edsall Road

On the 17th of March:

I went by my favorite pub north of Savannah, Molly's of Warrenton, for a pint or two today. Edsall Road was playing from two o'clock, and I stayed until the crowd got too loud to hear them -- which was about four. I therefore went home well before sunset.

I'm a semi-regular at Molly's; nobody there knows my name, but they all know my two-year-old son's name, and everybody asks me after him when I stop in. The sign they put out front today promised I'd have my ID checked both at the door and at the bar, but in fact nobody asked at all. While other folks were having their credit cards taken up before they'd see a pint, my credit was assumed valid the moment I sat down. It's a nice way to live.

Normally it's a quiet place. In fact, they've quit opening before four on most days, having run into the Southern gentleman's general prohibition against drinking before five (or at least one, if it's a very bad day, or you just really want to). St. Patrick's Day is an exception, though, as all the amateurs come out.

I don't quite know what to do with these folks.

The worst of them consort around Boston, Chicago and Savannah, Georgia. Savannah contains America's greatest Irish pub, and a large contingent of Irish citizens. St. Patrick's Day in these cities -- I've been in Chicago and Savannah on them, and assume it's not different in Boston -- is like Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The city becomes unlivable. One-day Irishmen riot through the place. Sane people stay hell and gone from what are otherwise very nice places.

Well, fun's fun. Good luck to the crazies. Everyone deserves their day, I suppose.

Happy St. Patrick's Day to the rest of you. For those of you who believe in saints, Southern Appeal has a prayer.