Tuesday, May 6th – Day 1 (our time):
It starts…get a call about hour and a half before Dave and Leo are supposed to pick me up. Dave’s van, stuffed with his and Leo’s shit, has managed to find an errant meteor which has cracked his windshield. Immediately initiate emergency contingency plan to uncover possible winning scenarios and come up with transferring contents of crippled van into my Jeep. My son Chris will drop me off at the meet point and drive the crippled Ryan ride back to the Stark residence for repairs. Simple? This is Stark/Ryan. Fully anticipate arriving at my local Wawa, the designated LZ, and finding contents won’t fit in rescue Jeep.
Fear unfounded, shit fits and we’re off.
Leo drives (which turns out to be his primary lot this trip) to Newark International, drops us off and we hook up at the gate. A couple hours in and we’re doing fine.
Board plane and find Dave got us a couple of aisle seats, which is good, sitting on my side in the interior seats are two people with weak bladders, which is not. Don’t like flights over a couple of hours and although this one’s only about six due to a favorable jet stream, it’s going to be a test.
Lift off at 7 p.m. and Dave, who says he can’t sleep in the air, goes lights out before we go wheels up. Mister “I can’t sleep on a plane” sleeps so well the people in his row stop nudging him and just climb over his comatose body.
I’m not as lucky. Every time I come close to nodding out, one or the other of my seatmates decides it’s a good time to evacuate their kidneys. Arrive Dublin 2 p.m. their time exhausted and cranky. Breeze though baggage claim and can’t believe I’m here…Ireland!
Day 2 (Still day 1 their time):
Although my body-clock is a mess and my drug schedule in tatters, I’m here and feeling great! Leo gets the rental, we load up and it’s off to Baltray and County Louth Golf Club where we’ll get a nap, hook up with Kevin and play 18…
During the ride over, Leo entertains us with tales of his youth growing up in Ireland and stories about the courses we’re going to play. By the time we get there, Dave and I are praying he gets laryngitis feel like we know all there is to know to have a great trip.
Pull up to the course and I’m in love, what? Right! Place is ancient, but beautiful in an old but proud way. Not over-imposing, in fact it’s like an old farmhouse with a few rooms to rent. I’d describe it as being in the middle of nowhere, but it’s Ireland and it’s perfect what, huh?
Go check out pro-shop and it seems as though I’m back in time. Find the cock manger (men’s locker room) and swear I see old Tom Morrison taking a leak but it turns out to be Kevin. Man hugs and well wishes ensue then back to the pro shop where I pick out a shirt for my wife and a sweater vest for me. Apparently I should have brought my glasses in. I can’t see the prices on the clothing much less the receipt I sign but figure hey, he’s Irish I won’t get boned.
I do, however, begin to feel an uncomfortable pre-insertion when the nice Irish gentleman behind the counter requests a co-signee and a copy of my 401(k) holdings prior to completing the transaction. My fear of getting piped is well founded for as he’s folding up my purchases he offers up a “free” divot tool and brim clip ball marker…because he “likes me”.
Bang on huh? What?
At tee time I’m still without sleep but adrenalin is a big “go.” Get a couple of balls from my new buddy in the pro-shop whose mortgage payment I just made and head out to the range to shake off the cobwebs. On the way I notice a couple of old gentlemen stopping to put their rain goods on…it’s currently sunny…ask Leo and he tells me these guys read the weather and that “something’s coming.” That something is a light 40 mph breeze and sideways rain that sandblasts the first three layers of skin off your face…just like I imagined it would be.
Add an extra layer and its game on. Step onto the first tee and just look out and stare…either because I’m late with my meds or because it’s Ireland and I’m about to play golf here, on a course over 100 years old, where probably hundreds of thousands of rounds have been played before me. I set up as best I can while looking for the F-18 whose jet wash is blowing me out of the box and swing…the “golf” part of the trip is officially underway.
The layout is spectacular, but the rain is wet and I am tired. Say hello to Doctor Obvious. Play well through the front nine, all things considered, get to 15 and I’m done…just can’t hang any longer. Dave, who’s my partner in the match, is heartbroken. I can tell when he says what I think is, “You OK buddy? I hope you feel better” but learn later from Leo it actually, “Thank God he’s gone”…no worries he plays great and we end up all square…not a bad start.
Rally for dinner…Guinness, soup, more Guinness, food, Guinness…
Day two is over and already it’s going too quick.
Day 3:
Sleep little but escape the dreaded hangover (bad news that) after drinking five stouts and a couple of Bailey’s. Grab breakfast, which includes some great sausages. As I’m eating them, Leo and Kevin exchange a disturbing look of amusement. Never even consider asking…go for seconds then head off to throw up.
Jam the gear in our rental van and Dave says he’s riding shotgun with Leo…good by me since I’m looking forward to getting to know Kevin better. As they pull out, Kev notices Leo has gotten into the wrong lane, apparently thinking he is back on the beltway and the trip almost ends calamitously as they barely miss an intimate encounter with some local. Undeterred and now in the proper lane, we’re off.
Although the drive is actually a couple of hours I’m sure Kevin doesn’t notice. This due to my regaling him with hilarious anecdotal stories pulled from my childhood, my time as a NJ Bell installer then, once those topics are exhausted, seguing flawlessly to describing my grandson Liam’s adventures in T-Ball. Jolly good fun eh, what? Right!
Funny, I didn’t realize Kevin had a twitch…
We make it to the Ballyliffin Hotel where we dump off the luggage and layer up for our second round. Once properly ensconced in the de rigueur rain goods on top of two sweaters, insulated rain jacket, wet gloves…and shorts…I dig out the rain pants to cover my milky white German legs and we pile in for the five minute ride to the course…
It’s raining again (shocking) with gentle winds blowing a pleasant 50 mph and I’m beginning to think I need my parka.
It is about then I began to notice a slight similarity with Kevin and Leo’s speech…after every sentence you get “right, heh, no?” or something vaguely close to that. It’s lovely really; sounds like you have a bucket of marbles in your mouth but lovely nonetheless.
Play the newer Glashedy Links and it’s me and Kev against the big gunners…not a problem. Course is fantastic…except Dave says he doesn’t like the fairways, we kind of figured that because he avoids them the entire match. Kev and I play well and Leo I find is really, really good. Shocking only because he looks bored 90% of the time and the other 10% he’s got a Guinness in his hand…maybe it’s the other way around? That and he fancies wearing shorts only Pete Biava could love, the color of which are difficult to describe, due in large part to the fact it is not indigenous to this planet. Doesn’t matter though eh, what?
Kev and I, aided by Dave’s aversion to good play, hang on for another tie and (again) nobody gets hurt.
Limp into clubhouse for, shockingly, more Guinness then back to hotel where I grab a shower. Interesting set up for that, full tub and half an enclosure…I go first and when Dave follows asks why there is three inches of water on the floor. I calmly explain it’s a hand-held shower fixture and I have Parkinson’s. He nods and we’re out of the room in five…
Eat at hotel and drink even more Guinness…that shite is good, no? Huh? Right!
Day three is in the books and we’re cruising
Day 4:
Get up early and find Dave’s already awake. Engage in early AM ball busting then head downstairs where Dave commandeers some coffee from a truly emblematic Irish gentleman. Can’t understand a word he says but could listen to him all day. We finish our first cup and decide to walk outside where we discover something odd. No rain and there’s a big yellow ball in the sky. We decide it must be a UFO and call the authorities.
Go back in, meet the lads for a breakfast of more delicious sausages, the origin of which I don’t want to know, and we’re off for round three. Arrive at the club five minutes later and it’s raining. The world is right again.
Today it’s me and Leo and we’re playing the “Old Course.” It’s spectacular…no other words necessary. Beautiful fairways (one could only speculate by Dave’s refusal to play within them he doesn’t like these either), incredible vistas and tough playing conditions…tough only if you find tornadic winds and wrath of God downpours a wee challenging.
Leo’s long, I’m short but we ham and egg them for a two-way win and happiness overflows. I actually par 16, 17 and 18; the last of which is especially great, since I walk it with Dave as the other guys take pictures…it’s a special feeling walking with my buddy of almost 30 years.
Finish up, have a few more (what else?) Guinness pints and a quick lunch then it’s off for a three-hour tour of Ireland as we make our way to Kev’s house. I’m riding shotgun with Leo this time since Kevin is quick to grab Dave saying something about his fragile mental health…
Take a scenic tour along the coast, then inland among the bucolic countryside and it’s easy to see why they call this the Emerald Isle…lush and green, just beautiful. During the ride I try my best to entertain Leo, recanting stories of my life as a child prodigy, drummer in a near do well rock band and, since I was running out of material, my recent colonoscopy. I’m so glad we have this chance to be together; I think we really connect.
Since we are getting close and need to pick up a couple of bottles of wine, we pull into a local shopping center. I go in search of good plumbing leaving Leo to make the selection. By the time I return we have two excellent varietals…and about 50lbs of chocolate for Leo’s family. These Irish and their sweet tooth’s, what? Huh, right!
Cruise into Kevin’s and find him and Dave already a couple of pints in. Meet his lovely daughter wife Noeleen and find she’s even sweeter then we imagined. Pretty, funny and a Yoga instructor…the proverbial “jack pot”.
Walk into the media room, a very cool place with lots of windows looking out onto a beautiful scene of fields and a golf course, and find a montage of the pictures Kevin took throughout our trip running on his PC. Just awesome…unfortunately, his camera adds about 20lbs to your frame. Convene quick sidebar conversation requesting he initiate immediate remediation effort before the pictures go state-side. After much begging he relents and edit’s in what appears to be Governor Chris Christie’s body and sticks my head on it…Irish humor isn’t funny. Sulk into kitchen to grab a glass of wine and see everyone’s helping with dinner and I realize just how good I have it. Figure I’ll lose 30lbs by Member-Guest and forget about the stupid pictures.
Go outside and chat it up with Kevin as he’s grilling the steaks and think, man, it just can’t get any better. Then, of course, it does. After dinner Leo gives me a cigar, we sit out on the back porch with Dave, Kev and Noeleen, talking and laughing and I begin to think that this just might be the highlight of the trip…well, that and par’ing in from the 16th to win our match didn’t suck either. But we still have one more day to play so we hit the rack around midnight and it depresses me to think how soon all this will be over.
Day 5:
Drive is a short one so Kevin relents and lets me ride with him as long as I don’t tell him any more stories…he must be sore from laughing? Roll into Portsalon Golf Club and we’re entering our last full day in Ireland…
This is Kevin’s old home course and we’re partnered up against Dave and Leo. Figure it’s going to be tough match but we quickly go a couple up. Kevin and I are riding together and he’s playing great, I’m playing pretty well and Dave and Leo are walking through the grouse talking about IBM’s corporate tax structure or some other equally as interesting topic and wondering why they’re not in it. Beat them pretty handily but they solve IBM’s off-shoring tax problems so all in it works out well.
Even though it only rains for a couple of holes at the end of the round, it makes up for a lack of duration with a complete soaking. Slosh into clubhouse grill for a couple of pints and a sandwich, head out to parking lot dump stuff in van, hug Kevin goodbye and we’re off on a three hour drive to Dublin and the Westin Hotel. I have to note that Kevin was wearing a Portsalon sweater the other day and mentioned he wanted to give it to me as a remembrance, which he did. I can’t begin to describe how class an act that was by such a great guy.
Drive what seems a long time, I guess because it’s all starting to sink in, we’re done with the golf part of the trip and are leaving tomorrow.
Get to downtown Dublin and discover the Westin is extremely nice but find the reservations are completely f’ed up, which is not. As is Dave’s unselfish way (the perfect Ying to my self-absorbed Yang) he had applied a portion of the approximately 50 million points he has accrued with them so we wouldn’t have to pay. Since I am not right next to him I can’t hear the conversation but do see the infamous and much feared Ryan Death Stare signaling things are not going well for the poor girl behind the desk. In fairness to Dave, when one of your patrons is awarded the highly sought after but rarely attained, Cobalt Black- Senior Executive-Crown-Prince status (earned by his spending three or four nights a week in your hotel) one might expect certain accommodations…say like honoring a reservation made six months in advance. Apparently Dave had requested two suites, one for Leo and one for us. Leo’s was a king bed and ours two queens.
When the girl at check-in informs “Mr. Ryan” she doesn’t have any more two-bedroom suites, I flash back to a trip we had taken once down to my place in Naples, Florida. Dave and I went to pick up a pizza which he had asked not to be sliced. We go in and Dave (who apparently was severely over served at my residence by either Greg or Chris) asks to see the pizza. When the nice little girl opens the box it unfortunately is. To say he was not happy would be a disservice to the word and we escaped only after the owner provided two of his personal pizza stones for us to take home. Suitably accommodated, Dave ( see “Ying” above) proceeds to cash-whip the young lass her first two semesters at a college of her choice…and this is looking eerily familiar.
Although employing his usually effective repertoire of threats, reason and begging (not in any particular order) we get nowhere and end up taking the suite offered. It’s enormous; king size bed and bathroom on the first floor and a spiraling staircase to what appears to be a den where they rolled in a bed. Dave in another gesture of friendship tells me to take the first floor with the big bed and bathroom. Guess he figures if I have the top floor and try to make it down to use the head in the middle of the night he will have to explain to Sally how I was impaled on the lovely stairwell.
It’s already 8:30 and we need to leave the hotel by 6 a.m., so we head down to bar for some much needed Guinness since we haven’t had one in, oh three hours what? Right!
Mingle with classy crowd of très chic men and women and feel perfectly at home with Leo and his alien shorts. Have a couple of pints and head over to a great restaurant Leo picks out, have an excellent meal then cruise over to a bar jammed with a couple of hundred people. Not good for me…lousy balance, half in the bag, probably drooling and incontinent…well, then again, maybe I could have fit in. Slam down last Guinness of the trip and head to the rack for much needed sleep.
I love how the Irish conserve, but can’t get used to having to put your room key in a slot by the door for any electric outlets or lights to work. Get in bed and wake up at about 2 a.m. needing to piss like a racehorse. It’s pitch black, darker even, and I can’t see shit. Forget about finding the damn room card, you can’t find your face it’s so dark, even if I do, I’ll then have to find a slot in the wall the size of a credit card, add-in shaking and…did I mention the racehorse?
It is a total blackout.
I do my best imitation of Ray Charles coupled with a Mime and find what I think is the bathroom door. I have seconds before it doesn’t matter so I grab the handles and rip it open, stumble around, discharge is now imminent, find something porcelain and proceed to pee in what turns out to be a very nice sink…not that I could see it. I only surmise that because I can’t find a flush handle either. Bang my way back to bed and wake up again at 5 a.m. and it’s still black as pitch. Figure I’ll use the bathroom first and get ready early so Dave can have a go when he gets up at 5:30. Forgetting the whole electric grid thing, I find my card, put it in the slot and Dave’s upstairs lights up like Grand Central Station. I hear, “Brian, you turned all my lights on”…hey I’m rooming with Karnac! What? Huh! Right!
I pull the card out and it takes another 30 seconds to shut everything down so I hear, “Brian…all my lights are on.” This time I detect a crankier Dave. I start to walk over to where I think the stairwell is and the lights go out again…total, complete blackness. Using my nicest morning voice, I call softly up to Dave and start to tell him the reason all his lights went on is because when the card got pulled prior to our leaving the room, they were all on then. It isn’t a conversation Dave wants to engage in and I understand why…he never was very technical.
In the end it all works out. I turn on the lights, find the bathroom, shave out of the toilet and am good to go. Dave gets done and we head to the lobby to hook up with Leo and his magic shorts. The rest doesn’t matter…
All in, it was a trip of a lifetime, shared by four friends who grew even closer.
Thank you Kevin for making us welcome in your country and your home, Leo for helping with the itinerary, driving and everything else you did and most of all, thank you Dave for being the best friend anyone could ever have.
Ex-Bell Guy 