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Irish vs. Italian BY RICCARDO TARABELSI
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remember getting picked on in second grade by Joe Flaherty, Jimmy Fitzpatrick, and Breen Mahoney, no lie. Luckily, I had kids like Frankie Valentino and Tony Scarfo on my side. It was all about pride: you see there’s always been this feud, this rivalry between the Irish and the Italians in Boston that dates back to ever since I can remember. If you’ve never been to Boston, here’s a quick geographic tip: If you want good wine, go north; if you want good beer, head south. The North End of Boston is lined with cobblestone streets, narrow alleys, and Italian family-owned businesses like restaurants, cafés, barbershops, and bakeries. South Boston, or “Southie” (refer to the movie Good Will
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Hunting for a better picture of this neighborhood) is heaven for pub-seekers and bar-hoppers. Again, most are owned by Irish families because these families in Boston have been around forever, and the rivalry is pervasive. So, what do you do when you’re an Italian on St. Patrick’s Day? St. Patrick’s Day always reminds me of this old guy I used to work with in Boston — his name was Gino Porzio, no lie. Gino was rough around the edges and grew up in the old neighborhood: tough as nails, proud to be an Italian, and very outspoken. Without fail, every year on St. Patrick’s Day, he would never wear anything that even remotely resembled the color green. And again, without fail, an unsuspecting victim wearing a “Kiss me, I’m Irish” button on her
