I will try and describe it, but – keep in mind that I had seven Irish-style micro-brewed beers in succession upon getting there… so all of this may or may not have happened. I should just channel my inner Tim O’Brien and describe this blog post as a work of fiction.
- We tried out the sport of hurling. This is played with a baseball-like ball, and a wooden bat that looked like a baseball bat plus a fake shark fin on the end. We aimed to hit the ball through a tire- anyone who could do it got 5 bucks from each of us. Av got extremely close, Harold and I couldn’t do it, and Butch and Abe couldn’t hit the ball.
- We went to the genealogy tent to trace our Irish roots. Alas there were no Bednarshes, Oppenheimers, Sinenskys, Rosengartens, or Suttons to be found in old Ireland. Harold summed it up best: “I’m not Irish.” Lesson learned.
- We missed the tug of war competition from earlier in the day. To repeat- at a festival where beer distribution points were never more than 20 feet away, they also had tug of war. I can’t explain how good Irish Fest was.
- The Irish band playing on the main stage (yes, there were plenty of side stages) explained that one song “was off of their new album.” It made me feel better for not knowing it
- Abe, Hal, and I participated in six figures of Irish set dancing. I know what you’re thinking, but-no- set dancing is different from Irish kailey dancing. Abe got a teacher for his partner, Hal got 7 knowledgeable circle participants, and I got a drunk girl who I needed to drag around to the different positions. She had to call it after 4 figures due to dizziness. Ah, alcohol…
- Av and I were not allowed to take our beers out of the fest, and the woman at the door made us throw ours out. “I just wasted beer,” cried Av. “I hope your happy.” I know we weren’t.
I would follow that section with lowlights, but there were none. I want to live in Irish Fest. Not Ireland, though. Seems too weird. See “Highlights” for explanation.