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A golf club in his pants

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 else 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, and mentioned it.

I learned that we were going to Morrison's, a late club. It was about midnight, on a weeknight, and even Brennan's pub had shut its doors for the evening. Pubs close at 11:30 during the week, by official decree.

In no way is a golf-club allowable into a late bar. It doesn't bear thinking about.

So Kacea wore 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. Later we were trying to think of ways to go back and retrieve it the next day. It's a touchy issue, asking for the return of an item that might have been brought in as a potential weapon.

Nobody could figure out a way to go back and ask for it.