I’m old and boring now, so I don’t really do much for St. Patty’s Day anymore.
Back when we lived in South Boston we were right on the parade route and every St. Patty’s was a complete weekend-long party. The second we moved to Cambridge, we started forgetting when St. Patrick’s Day was and we were cool with it.
Most of the time, I don’t really miss Southie or any of the chaos that went with St. Patrick’s Day.
Heck, I rarely even think about Southie anymore.
Today, however, I stumbled upon this video:
Now this doesn’t really make me miss living in Southie as much as it makes me miss hanging out in Southie.
More specifically, hanging out in this particular sketchy Southie bar.
Tom English’s Cottage—the site of this impressive dance display—is pretty much the finest place in Southie to see legit locals on display every day of the year. Most of the other Southie bars are where college kids go to “slum it” nowadays, but not the Cottage.
I would bet you even money that you could wander into Tom English’s on a random Tuesday in August and this same guy would be showing you how he gets down just like he does on St. Patty’s Day.
The place is so authentic and such a piece of Southie that you can’t help but love it.
…and be a little scared for your life the entire time you’re there.
Here are a few of the other reasons that the Cottage holds such a special place in my heart:
• Tom English’s Cottage is one of the first places I had a beer in Boston.
• It was one of our “go to” haunts for the first six months or so we lived here.
• It was where we went to celebrate when I got hired at MIT.
• You could get a pitcher of Coors Light for $6!
• They had a dirt cheap jukebox and Big Buck Hunter.
• It is pretty much the only place I have ever been good at playing pool.
• It is the first bar that I ever stuck around in after closing and was allowed to pour my own beer (note: this was strictly a result of the budding “relationship” between one of the gals in our crew and the bartender).
• It was the first bar I stole a pint glass from (in Boston).
• It is the first—and if I recall correctly—only place I was ever invited back to a coked-out drug dealer’s house for some cocaine, sexy times with some local ladies, and likely getting my throat slit by the aforementioned drug dealer who went by the name “Gator.”
(Blogger’s Note: I politely declined Gator’s invitation and hauled ass in the other direction…come to think of it, that may have been my final visit to Tom English’s Cottage.)
Anyway, I guess this video—odd and moderately disturbing as it may be—got me a little nostalgic for my early days in Boston.
Now here’s hoping the dude in the video doesn’t hunt me down and slice my throat open for further promoting this video to the world.
I mean, seriously, look at this dude. There’s no way he isn’t like a friend of a friend of Whitey Bulger, right?!
Here’s hoping Gator still has my back.