Kilkenny Ireland, 2006 or so — Mick asked "lads, where's the golf club?"

It was a wedge, I think, or a nine, and it was a birthday gift from one of our mutual friends to another. We'd just left Ryan's pub.

Somebody said "Kacea's got it down his pants."

Mick acted skeptical, as if the piss were after being taken. But I could see that Kacea walked with a decidedly stiff leg.

I learned that we were going to Morrison's, a late club. It was about midnight on a weeknight. Pubs close at 11:30 during the week, by law.

In no way is a golf club allowable in a late bar. It doesn't bear thinking about. So Kacea brought it in tucked into his pants, down the stairs and all, and stashed it at the table where we were going to sit.

When we had gotten drinks, he brought it to the table where we eventually did sit.

Unfortunately the golf club didn't make it back out with us. We all forgot about it.

The next day we were trying to think of ways to retrieve it. It's a touchy issue, asking for the return of an item that might have been a weapon. Nobody could figure out a way to get it back.