On Monday afternoon, the world lost a fine Irishman. At ninety, William O'Connell (Bill Sr. to me), decided he'd had enough of this world and left to join his three fine ladies in the sky. Here's to betting they had a snug reserved and a Bushmill's waiting.
May you have warm words on a cold evening, a full moon on a dark night, and the road downhill all the way to your door.
