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DESCRIPTION

Bernie O’Brien was born in Boston. Over the years he has developed a love for the Red Sox, gained knowledge of the streets and had many lifelong relationships that give him a unique view of life.

Written with grit and passion and taken from real life experiences, these stories jump off the pages exposing the neighborhood lifestyle of a time gone by.

This book is a real slice of Americana giving you insight into the unique Bostonian neighborhood lifestyle.

“May my life never remain among the timid souls, who never know neither the thrill of victory nor the anguish of defeat.”

Bernie O’Brien (O’B)

A LITTLE ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bernie O’Brien. Inventor, author, poet and storyteller.

EXCERPT PREVIEW

I went outside to see if we could grab a cab. It was 2:00 A.M. in St. Louis and the wild partying was tapering off. Game 3 was in the bag and my Red Sox shirt, on me since I arrived, was stained and wet.

Dalton stayed inside drinking up all the joy and warm spirit of the Red Sox Nation. A cab pulled up and the cabbie yelled for “Peterson party.” I said we were looking to get to our hotel. He said to wait for another cab; he was there for Peterson. I told him I would yell inside for the party, but most of the people were gone. I ducked my head in the door and said in the lightest voice, “Peterson.” Looked around, and no answer. I saw Dalton, yelled to him, “Let’s go. We got a cab.” Went back to the cab, looked in the window, and told the driver, “Peterson went already!” We were his ride.

This cab driver looked like a cross between Stephen King and Lurch from the Adams Family. His hair hadn’t been washed in weeks, clothes well worn, beard unshaven, and general upkeep questionable. I yelled for Dalton again, knowing I was holding the cab and pulling man from drink. Like I was rubber arms in “The Incredibles.” After Game 3, the fans of St. Louis were annoyed, angry and, most of all, shocked! They wanted revenge and they didn’t like people who talked with this funny accent to come to their town and dominate.

The cabbie yelled to me to get my buddy or he was leaving, and not too many cabs were on the street at this hour. I ran back to the door, yelled, “Dalton! Get your ass moving or I’m leaving!” They had just finished singing “For Boston, For Boston.” I had lost my jacket, but Dalton was finally in the street. Opened the back door, slid him in and jumped aboard. Dalton, never known for holding back, says to the driver, “How much is this going to cost? I want a flat rate. We got a flat rate on the way in and that’s what I want.” This cabbie took one look at who was talking and said, “You got the wrong cab-go find the one with the flat rate.” He looked like he wanted to tear Ed’s lungs out.

And diplomat Dalton says: “Yup, we got the wrong cab! Let’s go O’B” “Shut up!” I yelled at Ed, and I tried to make nice with the monster. “How much will this ride be from here to our hotel?” We told him it cost us forty dollars in and we gave him a nice tip. The driver said, “Well you better give me a nice tip too, okay?”

“Yup-let’s go!”

When you’re in a cab in a new city it’s best to keep quiet until you get near enough to your destination so you can walk in case of trouble. You know what I mean. But Ed pops up with, “What did you think of the game?”