Shillelagh Law

It’s a shame my father never experienced karaoke.

My dad really liked to sing, and he would burst into song at any time without warning or provocation.

It seems a shame that we, his family, was his only audience. I’m sure he would’ve enjoyed getting on stage a local watering hole and belting his favorite hits.

I think the only problem would crop up when it was time to get off the stage and hand over the microphone. Then we might have had a donnybrook on our hands.

My dad did a lot of his singing behind the wheel of the car and yesterday evening I recalled one of his greatest internal combustion concerts when he launched into a spirited rendition of “It’s the Same Old Shillelagh”, an Irish novelty written by Pat While, who recorded the song in 1927.

Bing Crosby record the song in 1945 for his St. Patrick’s Day album, but I did not know of its existence until my father starting singing.

“Sure, with the same old shillelagh me father could lick a dozen men,” the song goes, “As fast as they'd get up begorrah, he'd knock 'em down again, and many's the time he used it on me to make me understand, the same old shillelagh, me father brought from Ireland.”

He sang with all his heart, and my mom and I had a grand old time listening to him.

My fatherly flashback came to me after attended a class in bataireacht, or “Irish stick fighting,” at the Irish Arts Center way the hell over on 11th Avenue in Manhattan.

A Row and a Ruction

Yeah, it sounds kind of nutty, but that’s whole idea. I’m trying to get out of the comfort zone, meet people and do the kind of weird-ass things that New York is known for.

I should mention that our instructor, Cuán McCann, trains out of Baltimore and teaches online, but I’m glad I had a chance to work with him in the real world without chugging down to Charm City.

To make the 10 AM class, I had to haul my keester out of bed at obscenely early hour—at least for a Saturday.

Being me—in other words, neurotic—I naturally took a much earlier bus than was necessary and ending up wandering around the Columbus Circle area like a vagabond.

Now, to be honest, I never thought there was an art to shillelagh fighting. I figured people just clubbed each other senseless and went about their business.

However, Cuán gave us a quick but thorough rundown of the history behind the martial art, and, like so many oppressed people, the Irish developed their combat style after being stripped of traditional weapons such as spears or swords.

A BBC story from 2022 said that bataireacht had all but disappeared in the late 1800’s due to changing attitudes towards fighting and the impact of the Great Irish Famine. But it’s making a comeback.

I must say, Cuán swings a mean shillelagh. He gave us a few samples of attacks and that stick was whizzing blur in his hands.

As first-timers we were given foam shillelaghs, which was fortunate for me since I managed to bash myself upside the head at point during the class. Maybe I should take a class in Irish obscenities.

Cuán had us work in pairs and I teamed up with this delightful young fellow named Cal, a student of Cuán’s, who was most supportive and helpful.

We moved up and down the classroom to work on attacks and defenses and I got appreciate the skill and training required to wield the shillelagh.

The class went on for about three hours and I made sure to thank Cuán for his time before crashing on the grass in Central Park for a little while.

I’m not sure if I’ll be doing much more in this area of study—we live in a country awash with guns, after all--but having briefly practiced Filipino stick fighting many, many years ago, I’ve learned that weapons training can serve as a kind of moving meditation.

To recap: I got out of the dreaded comfort zone, tried something new, interacted with human beings instead of Netflix and got a taste of Irish culture.

I’m sure my dad would happily sing my praises.