At the time of writing I have invested $20 in my Powerball Lottery dream, currently valued at $1.5 billion. If I win, which is very likely according to my fortune teller Shazam Shazoo from Sudan, I shall do the following ten things.
1. Buy a lifetime supply of Irish Roses chocolates. I’ll probably eat myself to death, but it's the Cadbury confections or nothing. I’ll stop at 350 pounds.
2. Buy a lifetime supply of Irish breakfasts and watch as my cholesterol climbs past the 200 mark as I gulp down those sausages, eggs, bacon, black pudding – wait black pudding is now good for you – and fried tomatoes. Goodbye healthy heart. Hello happiness!
3. Permanent first-class round trip ticket on Aer Lingus to Ireland. No more squashed knees, no fools snoring and burping on my shoulder. No more babies bawling and shouting. Friendly flight attendants at the ready to serve a VIP also sound good.
4. Buy a seat at midfield for every Notre Dame home game between now and 2050 when I expire. Spend a glorious few days before the game wandering the gorgeous campus I never get to see and wear my leprechaun hat and britches no matter who is looking.
5. Hire myself the old Wolfe Tones with an offer they can't refuse and have them play for me on St. Patrick's Day and Easter Monday when the anniversary of the 1916 Rising begins. They will drop dead from exhaustion singing “James Connolly” over and over. Sorry, lads.
6. Learn that most beautiful of languages, Irish, in order to converse in the tongue of my forbears who spoke it for centuries. Learn the poetry, too.
7. Buy a luxurious estate in Ireland and have some wonderful Irish wolfhounds running about. Watch the setting sun over Galway Bay and sing the old songs until I bore everyone's pants off.
8. As a divorced 50-year-old, find a lovely Irish colleen I can call my own and treasure for life: long walks, long talks, cool head, and warm heart.
9. Hire a professional bodhrán player so I can learn how to beat the bejaysus out of it when I need to let off steam.
10. Buy a little island, à la John Lennon, off the Irish coast, and get to write the great Irish novel on it – move over Jimmy Joyce. I'll call it “Finnegan’s Fake.”
Shazam just called. Only a matter of time now, he says.