With Apologies to Finley Peter Dunne

The other night in a dream I was visited by the ghost of my ancient Irish mythological grandfather, Ferocious Frank O’Hooligan.
Frank was a Chicago cop, born in Kilrush, County Clare, Ireland back in 1939. Ferocious Frank O’Hooligan, was the seventh son of Finbar and Mary O’Hooligan. The family emigrated to Chicago in 1946 where Finbar opened a tavern on 79th Street, not far from Sheehy’s Funeral Home and Riley’s Trick Shop.
As a seventh son of a seventh son, Frank O’Hooligan was also blessed with the ancient Druid powers bestowed on the few favored of our race. Those powers came in handy at critical moments in his life.

Ferocious Frank was always a good man for a pint.

Once in 1963 while waiting in line to cash out his Christmas club account at the bank at 71st and Jeffrey, a pair of masked bandits entered with shotguns and demanded everyone empty their pockets and screamed for the tellers to hand over all the cash.
Frank used his Druid powers to magically turn the bad guys into braying donkeys and the guns dropped from their scrambling hooves as the alarm was sounded.
Stunned witnesses couldn’t remember exactly what happened that day but all were thankful that the off-duty Irish rookie cop had saved the day.
In my dream, Ferocious Frank appeared to me on the next stool at the Cork & Kerry Irish Pub in Bridgeport as we quaffed pints. He called me by my nickname as we discussed our beloved city of Chicago.
“Mr. Hooley! What’s this Lightfoot fella up to with the police?” he barked.
I told him, she’s not a fella, but just a diminutive lady with a little man’s complex.
Frank was upset, “Word is that this Mayor Lightfoot called the cops of Chicago, “cowards”
Well, many of the coppers have no faith in her Superintendent of Police, David Brown, and have voiced their feelings about him, and she said they are “cowards” according to the Sun-Times.
O’Hooligan scoffed, “Is she daft?”
Well, yeah kinda.
“How in the hell did she get elected?”
It’s a long story grandpa.
“And what’s all this blather about ‘defunding the police’”?
Yeah, it’s happening across the country, progressives want to replace the police with social workers to solve crime.
Ferocious Frank laughed, “Social workers? Do youse call a social worker when somebody is raping your daughter? Or stickin’ a gun in your face to hijack your car? And who the hell are these ‘progressives’ yer talkin’ about?”
Good government types who are hellbent on destroying the status quo, up is down, black is white, women are men, and men are eunuchs, and we’re all racists. We call them ‘goo-goos’!
“Goo-Goos is it? Dirty stinkin’ blagguards is more like it!”
Yeah, things are outta control, they’ve issued no days off for the cops, making them work round the clock, and when they do make a pinch, the scumbag walks out of the station five minutes later, on his own recognizance.
Murders and shootings are at an all-time high in the city, the violence is so bad in The Loop, and folks are so scared, it’s like a ghost town. Roving gangs of whacked out marauders have been descending on the stores and cleaning ‘em out of fur coats, clothes, tv sets, looting is practically legal.
“Bejazus! What does Mayor Napoleon say about ‘dat?”
She says the stores should have hired their own private security guards.
“It’s a nightmare! My Chicago has given way to the tossers and blagguards! This would never be happening if Mayor Richard J.Daley was still running things!”
Yeah, a couple ‘shoot to kill’ orders might straighten the whole mess out. But he’s dead and we are stuck with this little tyrant who thinks everything is just jake. The Loop is a cesspool, almost empty because of all the violence.
“But why Mr. Hooley? Why piss off the police? Those are the LAST guys any mayor should want to fight with, they’re the only line that stands against the evil feens of this world!”
Things are different now grandpa, we’re living in a world gone mad.
“Ah bejazus Mr. Hooley, yer startin’ to depress me with all this talk of ‘defund the police’, goo-goos, and your murderin’ midget mayor!”
Say I meant to ask you grandpa, do you ever see Mayor Daley up there in heaven?
“Uh ho, did I say I went to heaven, me boyo?”
I just assumed.
“Assume your sister!”
Well grandpa, there is one ray of sunshine in Chicago lately.

“Ah that’s better me bucko, tell me something good is happenin’ now in my windy city, what is it?”

Chicago’s 2022 St. Patrick’s Day Parade Queen Kelley Leyden CPD.

The Queen of this year’s St. Patrick’s Day parade is a young Irish American cop, a darlin’ young female police officer named Kelley Leyden.
“Now that’s worth comin’ up here to hear. Good to see the Plumbers Local 130 is still doing good things for our city. God bless her, long may she reign!

July 2013 Hooliganism-The Irish American News

Mr. & Mrs. Paddy Houlihan

Mr. & Mrs. Paddy Houlihan



Mike Houlihan

 The wedding announcement below did not appear in any Sunday editions of The New York Times.

Haleigh Cecily Johnson, 26, the daughter of Patti Johnson and Cliff Johnson of River Forest and Lake Geneva, was married on Thursday March 14th to Padraic “Paddy” Michael Houlihan, 33, son of Mary and Mike Houlihan of Berwyn, Illinois.

The bride, who will be taking her husband’s name, is an executive with O’Connor Title Guaranty in the Loop. She is also an in-demand stylist and designed supernumerary costumes for the PBS Series “Downton Abbey”. Before retiring from dance she was prima ballerina with the NYC Ballet for several years and most notably performed the lead in Swan Lake at Lincoln Center, where her performance was so lauded for its attention to the detail and fluidity of Balanchine’s choreography that the Kirov Ballet requested her as guest artist for their winter season in Moscow.

She is the founder of, “Say When”, a charity devoted to rebuilding the lives of the victims of Hurricane Wilbur with its devastating floods that wreaked havoc in Blue Island, IL last summer. She is also a volunteer teacher of English as a second language to blind refugees of the International Rescue and Good Doers Committee of Oak Park.

The bride attended The Willard School in River Forest, IL and graduated summa cum laude from Swarthmore with a degree in Ethical Culture and received a master’s degree in Women’s Studies at Vassar.

Her mother, Patti Johnson, is a long-time executive with Draft FCB in Chicago and her father is the rock star Cliff Johnson.

The groom, Mr. Houlihan, is a film producer, screenwriter, and actor working in the family business developing and financing independent feature films and most recently co-produced and starred in “Punching” for FND Films, which premiered at the Gene Siskel Film Center last month. He played quarterback at Mt. Carmel High School and led the Caravan football team to a state championship in 1996.  He graduated magna cum laude from Columbia after a false start to his academic career at Marquette University. He holds a master’s degree in Romance Languages from Old Dominion University and in 2012 he was awarded a doctorate in Gaelic Studies from Trinity College in Dublin. It’s been said he has more degrees than a thermometer. He is a master fiddler and bodhran aficionado and played on two All-Ireland Hurling teams with the GAA.  He is also a globally renowned mixologist; brew master, and regular barman at Kevil’s in Forest Park.

His mother, Mary Houlihan, nee Carney, is the retired star of stage and screen who is regarded by multitudes as a “saint”.

The groom’s father, Mike Houlihan, also known as The Baron of Berwyn, is the inventor of the suppository. He refined several other health care products over the last half century that have made life easier and more bearable for millions of afflicted folks suffering from a host of biomedical maladies. Preparation H is named for him.

Mr. and Mrs. Houlihan were married in Berwyn at St. Odilo’s, the national shrine of the poor souls in Purgatory, during a Roman Catholic Orthodox mass officiated by Pastor Rev. Tony Brankin. Mrs. Houlihan’s sister, Tess Johnson, was maid of honor and Mr. Houlihan’s brother, William Houlihan, was best man. The very private ceremony was followed by an intimate supper at Gene & Georgetti’s. Not a drop was spilled.

Mr. and Mrs. Paddy Houlihan reside at home in Forest Park, IL with their daughter Charlotte, a future Nobel Peace Prize winner.




June 2013 Hooliganism–The Irish American News

Unfortunately he's having a good year.

Unfortunately he’s having a good year.



Mike Houlihan

On special assignment for the Irish American News I recently visited the devil.

It was hard to nail him down for an interview, the guy is as slippery as an eel, an electric feckin’ eel!

I was ushered to his suite by a short German guy with a Hitler moustache. Hey wait a minute! That was Hitler!

As I followed Adolph down the hall, I mused to myself, “Wow, Hitler is the butler in hell. He deserves something worse than that. How bad could it be, being the butler in hell?”

Just then a large naked Jewish lady stepped out of the shadows and slapped Hitler in the face with a very wet used diaper she had been wearing.

Old Adolph just took it in stride, pushed back by the force of the gooey diaper, but then just wiped some mocha slime from above his moustache and said, “Thank you Mrs. Finkelstein!”

He smiled at me as he softly vomited into his mouth and put his hand on the knob to the devil’s door. “His Excellency will see you now.”

I sneered at Der Fuehrer, “I hope Mrs. Finkelstein does that to you a lot.”

He clicked his heels, “She does, every one hundred and ninety-six seconds…or so.”

As the door closed behind me, a double batch of Depends slammed into his kisser.

I looked about the sumptuous room with a spotless onyx desk with little beams of light occasionally blinking thru the cracks.  You could hear the soft murmur of sinners trapped inside that desk. The huge panoramic window looked out on the floor of the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. I wondered why Beelzebub had chosen this view and then I heard a dark voice behind me.

“Futures clients.”

Old Scratch picked up the remote and started clicking around the world via the window to Vegas, Kuala Lumpur, Amsterdam, and Chicago; scenes of avarice, lust, and homicide in all his favorite places.

“Have a drink, Houli. I’ve got some Irish Whiskey or some Guinness, whatever you like.”

I was apprehensive, I’ve been slipped a Mickey before and if anybody was gonna do it, it would be this sick creep.

I think I’ll just stick to this bottle of water I brought with me, if you don’t mind, Lucifer.

“Please, call me Lou.”

Let’s not get too chummy; I’m here for your story, not to go dancing with you.

“We’re very patient down here Houls, we want to make you a future client.”

I whipped out my reporter notebook; glad that I brought the water because it was starting to feel really warm down here.

Okay, I guess most of us already know how you got started in the evil business, and how St. Michael kicked your ass down here for eternity.

“Well, of course that’s exactly the narrative that the haters, racists and bigots want you to believe. I think the truth lies a bit further down the road.”

Yeah sure Lou, right down the ol’ Hershey highway.

“You’re boring me…so what’s this interview all about, what’s your angle? Who do you write for again?”

The Irish American News

He laughed as he drained his drink- Baby’s Blood on the rocks. “Oh we’ve got plenty of your Irish cousins down here, don’t you worry about that.”

He picked up the remote and on the screen was the village of Moneygall when the President visited the town of his Irish roots.

“You know how you love watching ‘The Quiet Man”, Houli? Well this is my Quiet Man.

Whaddya mean?

“Barak, Barry, my man, the best client I’ve got. Evil Inc. is booming, thanks to him. Millions of babies murdered, Benghazi, Dr. Kermit Gosnell, the IRS scandals, and spying on the AP reporters. He’s made evil cool again! This kid is the best thing that’s happened to me since Stalin.”

Yeah, maybe it’s time you slowed down, cuz right now it looks like the world is goin’ to hell.

“Well, duh! It’s only taken me two thousand years.”

Don’t count your chickens, Lou.

“Oh yeah? Watch me dismantle the Catholic Church over the next couple decades. And all it took was Obamacare and a couple dozen pedophile priests. Ireland is ready to legalize abortion, they are toast!”

I stood up, backtracked toward the door, and opened my water bottle; it was really getting hot down there.

“Come on Houls, it’s only your soul. I can have Lindsay Lohan here in five minutes!”

He picked up the remote and suddenly the picture got fuzzy and the sound went blippo screeching so loud the devil put his hands over his pointed ears.

What the hell is that?

“Damn, somebody is jamming my connection with prayers.”

Don’t you get it, devil boy. The tide is turning. The media is turning on your buddy Barry.  Even the mopes at MSNBC are having second thoughts, including moral zombies like Lawrence O’Donnell and Chris “The Tingler” Mathews.

I took a swig from my water bottle, flung open the door, and discovered Hitler over Mrs. Finkelstein’s knee as she spanked him. The devil was pissed now.

“You’re not going anywhere!”

I spit a mouthful of the water in his face.

“Ahhhh that’s holy water!”

That’s right Lou, adios sucker!

I leapt over Hitler and ran down the hallway and made it outta there just in time.  Something tells me it’s gonna be a very hot summer.

October 2012 Hooliganism

Mike Houlihan

Hugh Hoyle returned to his car after leaving the Old St. Pat’s party. He’d had several beers and was worried his wife, Caitlin Corrigan Hoyle, would be bitching about his behavior. She was having a party for her friends from Planned Parenthood that night and told Hugh to be home by nine, “at the latest!”

Hugh was just crossing the 90/94 overpass when he came upon an older black guy leaning on the railing, playing the Flintstones theme on his sax.

Hugh slowed to sing along with the music:
You’ll have a yabba dabba doo-time
A dabba doo time
You’ll have a gay old time!

Hugh was loaded and started laughing and applauding the street guy’s performance.

Black guy eyeballed Hoyle, “Watch you say about being gay, Jack?”

Embarrassed, Hugh took out his wallet, “Oh no no no, those are just the actual lyrics to the song. I’m….well…I’m cool dude. Can you change a twenty?”

What you say, Mr. Notre Dame jacket? Twenty is my minimum, you racist preppie.

“Oh no I’m not racist… I voted for Obama. I’m Hugh Hoyle, what’s your name?”

Dr. Leroy Coleman.

“Hi, Dr. Coleman. You can keep the twenty.”

You voted for Obama? Man, you are one cool white man.

“Thank you.”

Now you gotta give me a lot more than twenty, you racist bastard.

Hugh was getting irritated with this guy and puffed out his chest, “I just told you ‘I’m not a racist, I voted for Obama.’

Gimme more, then you won’t be a racist. Ain’t that what Obama be saying all the time? ‘You gotta spread it around, Jack!’ So cough.’

Hugh started backing up slowly, “It’s okay, I’m cool with that. What’s your beef with Obama?”

I’m a doctor. That Obamacare is bulls—!

“What hospital do you work out of Doctor?”

The hospital of shut the f— up, motherf——.

Hugh plunged his hand into his wallet to offer more.
Dr. Leroy Coleman snatched the dough from Hugh’s hand, picking up the coins in his case and packing up his saxophone.

Hugh was angry now and having buyers remorse over his donation. He stuck out his chin, “Hey man, relax with the racist stuff. I told you, I’m cool, I’m hip to what you’re saying, spread it around, yeah I’m down with that, just like Obama.”

You think votin’ for Obama bought your certificate of racial absolution, dude?

“I’m on your side, it’s okay. I’m going to vote for him again.”

Dr. Coleman’s eyes flashed crazily beneath the brim of his fedora. “You what?”

Hugh staggered back warily. He looked over his shoulder for any other people from the fest while sizing up the doctor. Maybe he should just run. Maybe he has a weapon, he’s not really that big, Hugh had at least fifty pounds on the skinny old black guy with the straw hat on his head, swinging his saxophone case back and forth in his hand until it HIT HUGH IN THE FACE.

Hugh went down, his heart beating like mad, as blood spurted from a cut opened over his eye.

Dr. Leroy Coleman went into a trance, stood over him seething, “You racist piece ‘a crap. You the reason we in this mess. What you know about Obama? A light-skinned Kenyan, socialist, Marxist, Jew hatin’, baby-killing, economic terrorist systematically bankrupting our country to reduce us to a third world power as we continue to shovel our scratch into the Islamic Brotherhood? Obama takin’ your church, your schools, your hospitals. Don’t you see evil? Catholic boy? You stupid honky, whatchoo about to do? Can’t you see what’s goin’ down here? Don’t you know Obama wasn’t even born here? He was born on the planet Uranus and his father was actually Osama Bin Laden. What you know about that, Hugh Hoyle? Obama killed his father just like Luke Skywalker had to bump off Darth Vader. Obama is the anti-Christ, dude, and you are going to vote for him ‘cuz he black? Gimme all your money, you racist!”

Hugh cowered on the bridge and handed over his wallet. Dr. Coleman whipped it open and took the rest, another couple hundred bucks, and then flipped Hugh’s wallet over the side onto the Dan Ryan as he walked into the darkness.

The lights of a van came squealing up the ramp and swiftly knocked Dr. Coleman about twenty feet across the street, where he lay stock-still.

Hugh called 911 on his cell phone as he ran to the motionless body of the Doctor. He looked down at him; a look of peace upon his face, his head just slightly bloodied, the sax case had never left his hand and lay by his side.

Hugh could hear the sirens in the distance and the voices of other bystanders and the driver exclaiming, “He walked right in front of me!”

A young woman turned to Hugh, “Who was he?”

Hugh looked at the face of the old black man and thought about what Dr. Coleman had said. He was crazy, that’s pretty obvious…. or was he… a messenger…an angel… a voice of one, crying in the wilderness, to warn him?

You decide. On November 6th.