On many occasions during the current financial debacle I have wondered – 
    why not get a good Cavan man, or woman, to sort the whole bloody thing out?

    What, says you, would a person from Breffni do that Hank Paulson could
    not achieve with his eyes closed?

    Now I am quite cognizant of the fact that Cavan people have a reputation
    for a certain canniness concerning the dollar; in fact one boasted to me that they
    are the only county in Ireland to have a US state named in their honor – Maine.
    But perhaps such flintiness is called for in these trying times.
    

    One Cavan man I have no trouble recommending for Secretary of the
    Treasury is that redoubtable Hayestown native, Steve Duggan of Paddy Reilly’s Music
    Bar.

    Now I know I could be accused of a conflict of interest in suggesting
    Steve for he was Black 47’s booking agent throughout the carefree swinging 90’s.
    Still, I would beg you to hear me out as I measure Monsignor Duggan against Secretary
    Paulson.

    On sheer conviviality and optimism, the Cavan man wins hands down
    for Hank Paulson reminds me of an undertaker who already has you measured for a
    shroud.
    

    On the other hand, I have yet to meet Steve Duggan where he has not assured
    me – while rubbing his hands in glee – that “things were never better.” This may
    seem like a small thing, but rest assured that in the murky world of Irish rock
    when death, destruction and a visit to the courts are often imminent, a smiling
    face can be a joy to behold.

    You might wonder what Steve Duggan knows about credit derivatives
    and the like. Sweet damn all! But it would take him less than a half-pint to get
    to the root of the current fiasco – a lot of money has been bet on many gimpy horses
    that are still galloping. This is where Steve, a former turf accountant, totally
    trumps Hank; for the Cavan man learned much about long shots that are still out
    munching grass far from the finishing line on various muddy racecourses the length
    and breath of Ireland.

    Not only that, but Steve would have no trouble empathizing with the
    most rock-ribbed Republican conservative for he is an absolute believer in the free
    market system. Let me give you an example.

    In the winter of 1990, he dispatched Black 47 to a gig in a borough that, shall
    we say for discretion’s sake, was not Manhattan. It was a snowy night and as we
    set up to play on the floor of the saloon between the ladies and gents toilets,
    only a half-dozen or so were present. Contracted for four sets, quite early on we
    became aware that our audience was not only ossified but paying little heed to our
    attempts at enlightening them.

    Towards the end of the second set, one of their number stumbled
    blindly past us on his way to the Gents. Soon thereafter water was seen to be seeping
    from under the door and causing havoc to our instrument cables. Such things happen,
    as they say. However, during the third set, the same gentleman now staggered past
    us into the Ladies and soon thereafter a gush of water poured forth.
    

    Upon inspection, the barman discovered that the ladies toilet had
    been ripped from the floor. However, he suggested that the show continue and we
    – in order to get paid - let her rip. At this point, the gentleman – now legless
    at the bar - raised the stool above his head and roared out, “this fu!*!n’ music
    is driving me mad;” whereupon, he smashed the stool into the jukebox.

    To cut to the chase, the fat lady had sung in our estimation and we
    departed the joint without payment for our labors. Steve was aghast at our meekness.
    He proclaimed that a deal once cut had to be honored, otherwise bands could demand
    more on a good night, causing the whole system to collapse. He personally collected
    the full sum owed. I have heard no reports of Hank Paulson trolling Wall Street
    demanding accountability from his former associates.

    All very well, you might say, but how would Steve Duggan look after
    the 700 billion needed to bailout Wall Street? No bother! Just give him a booking
    agent’s fee of 10% and he’d be back down to Congress with 630 bil in his arse pocket
    well before the due date. For, once entrusted with a task, a Cavan man is ready
    at the drop of a hat to protect his honor and deliver the bacon. Let me give you
    an example.

    Once, while Black 47 was on the far side of this fair country, a dispute
    arose with a promoter over the amount of money we were to be paid. Negotiations
    had all but broken down; I had only one recourse. "Get Steve Duggan on the phone!"
    

    The promoter agreed and sputtered down the line at our Stevie busy pulling pints
    3000 miles away in Paddy Reilly’s. After about 20 minutes of verbal jousting the
    promoter grew progressively more distressed and silent; eventually, he put his hand
    over the receiver and whispered plaintively that he would pay the full amount and
    more if I “could only get this bloody terrier off the phone.”
    

    I can assure you the taxpayers’ money would be safe – less a paltry 70 billion which
    would be instantly pumped back into New York nightspots and various racetracks around
    the country.
    

    So what do you say, Hank Paulson, how about you pulling pints in Paddy
    Reilly’s for a couple of years while we let a Cavan man sort out this bloody mess
    you and your posse got us into the in first place?