As you can tell from that title, I am taking the day off today. Call it a mental health day if you must, but whatever you call it there won't be a new column until tomorrow (and I cannot vouch for how coherent tomorrow's column may wind up being, either, I should mention that in advance...).

Here's hoping everyone has as good a Paddy's Day as is possible in this time of COVID. This is the second year in a row my wife and I will be celebrating at home, due to fear of crowds. But the good news is that we've now both had our first vaccine shots and are awaiting the second round, which will come in early April. So that's at least a step towards normality, at least in our household.

The following column really needs no introduction, but I did have to include one particular biting example of Irish wit before we get going. Immediately following the recent Oprah interview with the two minor British royals, the Irish Times ran a rather scathing article in response. This started off with a paragraph that just made me laugh:

Having a monarchy next door is a little like having a neighbour who's really into clowns and has daubed their house with clown murals, displays clown dolls in each window and has an insatiable desire to hear about and discuss clown-related news stories. More specifically, for the Irish, it's like having a neighbour who's really into clowns and, also, your grandfather was murdered by a clown.

Which, really, is the perfect lead-in to the following column.

And, of course, have a happy St. Patrick's Day, everyone!

Originally published March 15, 2012

I realize I'm a wee bit early for a Saint Patrick's Day column, but tomorrow is our regularly-scheduled Friday Talking Points, and Saturday I will be hoisting a pint of Sir Arthur Guinness' fine product, so we'll just have to make do with today.

Being pressed for time, I thought I'd just re-run my explanation of what "Saint Patrick banishing the snakes from Ireland" actually means, as it is an entertaining story to tell down at your local pub this weekend, full of rich Irish history that will amaze your sozzled friends. If you can remember the story, at the time, of course.

But that was before I had read the story of Nike putting "its foot in it" (as the Irish Times summed it up) with a mis-branding faux pas for the ages. We'll get to that in a moment.

Before we do, I have a piece of advice for all American tourists who ever find themselves in Ireland. Be it on Paddy's Day, or be it any other day of the year, the advice I have to give will still be sound. Because you'll arrive in Ireland starry-eyed with the magic of the Emerald Isle, and will immediately want to explore the nearest quaint pub and drink deep of the... ahem... flavor of the local life, not to put to fine a point on it.

At this point, you may be tempted to ask the barman for what you believe will be a well-known local drink, and you may thus make the mistake of asking for a "black and tan." The reception of what you consider a harmless drink order for a pint glass half-filled with Harp and half-filled with Guinness Stout will not, however, be a merry twinkle of approval from the barman's eye for ordering a local delicacy. Instead, you will (hopefully) be forgiven for such a gross error of etiquette, and (once they hear some more of your American accent, again, hopefully) they will instruct you in the long and grim history of the Black and Tans -- with a helpful suggestion that if you ever want the same drink again in an Irish pub, that you ask for it as a "half and half" instead.

That's if you're lucky, mind you. If you're not so lucky, you will be met with a much more... shall we say, "colorful" response... from both the barman and any nearby patrons who happen to overhear such an offensive request. Loudly proclaiming "I'm an American! That's what we call it back home! I didn't realize..." may help, just as a humble suggestion.

This may be confusing, which is why I'm offering this advice beforehand. Back home in Peoria (or Wherevertown, U.S.A.) you may be accustomed to enjoying an evening in your local "Irish" pub, and this may be a favorite drink for you to order. But what you don't realize is that this is an American-Irish term. It's like the difference between Tex-Mex and real Mexican food, on a benign level. On a less benign level, however, it would be like walking into a bar in Harlem and asking the bartender for a drink you were used to calling a "K.K.K." This is about the magnitude of how offensive ordering a "black and tan" in an Irish pub truly is.

Which brings us to our marketing snafu (or, really, a marketing fubar, if truth be told). Nike decided that it would be a good week to release two new shoe styles. The first they called the "Guinness," and the second they called the "Black and Tan." Whoops. The company has since issued an apology and insists that the names were nothing more than "unofficial" anyway. "Good luck with that," was my initial response. Other American companies have made the same mistake in the past, after all.

The reason why the name "Black and Tans" is so monumentally wrong for a corporate promotion (and for you to order in a pub in Ireland) is the history behind the term. In 1920, England decided to send an army of thugs into Ireland to deal with the guerrilla war being waged by the Irish Republican Army (which is not exactly the same thing as what Americans call the "I.R.A." in modern times, but that's a whole 'nother story). This paramilitary group became known as the Black and Tans. From a British newspaper on the Nike story comes an excellent rundown of this history. Here's a short excerpt (I highly recommend reading the whole article):

The recruits, many hardened by trench warfare, were given only a few months' training before being despatched to Ireland, supposedly to act as policemen but in fact to provide military steel. In Ireland, they faced a very different type of war. The IRA waged guerrilla warfare, with hit-and-run tactics, attacks on isolated police barracks and deadly ambushes in territory which was unfamiliar to the Tans. All the security forces found this an extremely frustrating type of conflict but the Tans in particular quickly abandoned the normal rules and conduct of war.

They were in any case explicitly instructed to step outside the law, one police divisional commander instructing his men in a speech: "If a police barracks is burnt then the best house in the locality is to be commandeered, the occupants thrown into the gutter. Let them die there; the more the merrier."

He instructed them to shout "Hands up" at civilians, and to shoot anyone who did not immediately obey. He added: "Innocent persons may be shot, but that cannot be helped, and you are bound to get the right parties some time. The more you shoot, the better I will like you, and I assure you no policeman will get into trouble for shooting any man."

This is the number one reason you should not use this phrase to order a drink anywhere in Ireland. To say that "it brings up bad memories" doesn't even begin to describe it. Read that whole article, if you don't believe me.

Of course, there is a far better reason not to order such a drink. To be quite blunt, the Irish will not be impressed at your local savvy -- even if you ask for a "half and half." They will, instead, consider you some species of wimp -- for watering down perfectly good Guinness Stout. Especially since they don't even brew Harp in Ireland any more (it's now made in Canada, check the label).

It's best just to ask for a pint of Guinness, if truth be told. If you want to sound like a grizzled old culchie, you could say something like: "I think me physician would recommend a pint of the customary," or maybe: "A pint of Sir Arthur's finest" -- although I have to further warn that, with your American accent, you'll never pull it off. It's safest just to politely go with: "A pint of Guinness, thanks very much."

Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig!
Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

-- Chris Weigant

Follow Chris on Twitter: @ChrisWeigant