Two old chaps were sitting in a bar on a Saint Patrick’s evening. After a while, one looks at the other and says, “Excuse me, but I can’t help but think from your charming accent that it’s from Eire you are?”

“To be sure, that I am!” the other one says. “And where in the Fair Isle are you from?”

“Oh, ‘tis a lovely old place, Ballymena in Antrim, and that fond of it I was.”

The first man exclaims, “Well, what a small world, I’m from Ballymena! And what was your street?” 

“Just up Church Street in the old part of town.”

“Why, that was my street! Ah, but we left in ’64. After the Holy Heart of Mary school closin’, Da brought us to Boston.”

“Why, Saints preserve us! That was my school – I was in the last class there!”

Mike had been listening to the exchange with growing wonder, and said so to the bartender, Brian.

“No coincidence there,” chuckled Brian. “It’s going to be a long night, though.”

“And why is that?”

“The sad duet singin’ is next; happens every St. Pat’s when the Murphy twins get a bit snockered.”