Fuckin’ Irish, always looking forward to our next defeat. We can’t get out of our own way. That old saying, “If it was raining soup, the Irish would run outside with forks.” Pretty much what happens now. Danny would think about it in years to come. The “what if” of it. What if Tony had his own car with him. What if Danny could have persuaded Pat to sit down with Sal. But none of that happened. God’s way of fucking with you.
