One of the greatest difficulties in modern life is creating spaces. Authentic conversational spaces. Places where small groups of people can wax lyrical openly, and free from the eternal damnation of social media flunkies or the state imposed virtue-signalling of our public squares. Crucially, though, these spaces require a critical feature. A safe environment, with elbow room enough, to be completely and utterly wrong. So, perhaps, it might be more accurate to say we need spaces to mis-speak as much as to speak. The Irish pub environment historically provided this safe-space but it no longer serves that function. Or if it does, a distinctly more watered down version of it in 2024. Irish pub culture is dying and most nights out, especially in the cities, require access to a small credit union loan.
Modernity, has brought gastro-pubs and eateries which is all fine and dandy but the traditional pub with a pool-table, dart-board, and a food menu consisting of a carton of Mars Bars and a box of cheese & onion Tayto, is a dying breed. Village pub culture served a societal function it no longer really provides in Ireland. A place where different generations mixed, talked, drank, learned about each other, and occasionally sang, laughed and cried together. A community space for talking and mis-talking. As I embark on new ways of tackling myself, and looking at the problems in the world around me, half a dozen ideas spin around in my head. One of my dafter notions, by which I mean, a day-dream which I spend a great deal of time fantasizing about, in forensic detail while driving my car, relates to touring around the country having conversations with people in a certain kind of pub. One that meets all of the following criteria:
a) A pub that opens before 5pm
b) A pub that doesn’t serve food
c) A pub that has a pool-table
A functioning Juke-box or a lost-soul sitting on a barstool nursing a pint from Belmullet would be nice to haves, but sure, beggars can’t be choosers in these times, I suppose. Now, this train of thought on pool tables and dart-boards moves me towards a more serious type of idea. It involves another great pub activity now seemingly lost to the annals of time. The card game called 25 ( or 45 if you’re some looper from County Clare). The historical importance of this card game cannot be overstated as it dates back a couple of centuries in this nation. In fact, it was a centre piece in most of the ancient Irish visiting houses way back when. I reckon it should be part of the educational curriculum but we'll leave that for another day.
Indeed, if I cast my mind back to when I was a youngster and working in pubs, funerals were one of the big, if unfortunate, social events marked in every pub calendar on a regular enough basis. Back then, when one of the older clientele would sadly pass on to the next world one of the highest compliments you could pass on to their loved ones, in condolence, was to remark that the deceased was a great card-player. And by card-player there was only one game in town eulogised from the altar.
25.
Of course, this card game is almost dead in the water in modern Ireland and yet it would be very easy to restore it in a non-pub environment. Most versions of the game involve a table of 6 people or a table of 9 people playing. A table of 6 would have three teams of two. A table of 9 with three teams of three. I’m not going to get specific about the playing rules but, suffice to say, it is a simple enough game for a newbie to pick up; although quite a different matter to become a master of it. Therein lies the fun and conversation.
25 is a card game of both chance and skill. Technically, no communication is supposed to occur between team-mates but over the centuries a series of player hand, eye & head signals has developed. Signals seemingly handed down, generation to generation, that Mossad or MI5 would probably be interested in acquiring the original blueprints of. Arguments often erupt over whether non-psychic telepathy between players is going on. Tempers occasionally fray which, in a way, is quite a good thing. For, I think re-introducing this game into the houses and apartments of Ireland would be a great method of opening up new conversation spaces. Often, players of this game argue like demented demons over the interpretation of a wink, a nod or a reneged trump card. So, in essence, the game encourages devoted debate over the most trivial details and the silliest of behaviours. And if people are comfortable enough to argue around such bonkers-ness then surely they might be relaxed enough to entertain listening to argument about the other alien ideas and ideologies of our times without standing up to leave. In addition, it’s a lot easier to sit six people down in a room to chat if you have the distraction of a card-game to break the ice.
The key to the idea, though, especially in these strange times is to pluck up the courage to knock on the door of a neighbour or acquaintance who thinks and acts differently to the world around us than many of us do.
You might be surprised how much we have in common after an evening playing 25.
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Strange synchronicity here. Only this week I saw an advert for a 25 card drive in the nearest town where adults are encouraged to bring their teenagers along to learn the game. Maybe the organisers read your article Gerry!!
Rules https://www.pagat.com/spoil5/25.html#25