Saturday, as in day after tomorrow Saturday, all the current and former members of the board of directors of the Kansas City will gather at an undisclosed location for the annual meeting that we euphemistically call "The Board Retreat."
I think I've been to all of the previous ones and I'll be there Saturday, God willing and the creek don't rise. Since odds are you won't be there, I'm going to give you a behind-the-scenes peek at what goes on. I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but I'm a journalist sort of and damn it, the people must know.
Saturday's meeting will begin as they all do with the attendees entering the torch-lit chamber in silence. The current board enters first, followed by the former board members (known collectively as the "Advisory Board") and lastly the founding board members, carried on an ornate litter by the newest members of the current board. Since I fall into both categories this year I'm not sure how we'll work this out. I might just walk. All of us are clad in hooded, ceremonial black velvet robes elaborately embroidered in gold thread with scenes from past Irish Fests. The room is quiet save for the flames crackling on the wall mounted torches and the low chanting of our eunuch
acolytes. Trust me, when you sign up to volunteer for Irish Fest, you do
not want to check the "eunuch acolyte"
box. At this point the current board
secretary hits the massive bronze gong at the far end of the room
signaling the beginning of the day's business, the first order of which
usually being the sacrifice of a goat to the Druid gods whom we beseech
for good weather and strong beer sales over the upcoming Irish Fest weekend. Sometimes if we can't find a goat we just offer up a bagel or some Pop
Tarts, since this is a meeting that starts in the morning. For new board members attending their first retreat, the ritual branding and initiation oath is next. I'd tell you
what the oath is but to be honest with you it's in Latin or Aramaic or
something and I've never been exactly sure what it means.
Next we talk for a couple hours about port-a-potties, how many we should
get, where they should go, what scent the hand sanitizer should be. Then sometimes another goat is whacked,
and then there's more toilet discussions. A lunch is served after that, made up of various roasted endangered species and served with a special Boulevard beer with a recipe so secret that not only is it created only for this meeting but the brew master is killed after the batch is finished. After lunch, more miscellaneous business...sponsorship, entertainment, vendors,
volunteers, where we can a better deal on sacrificial goats. Here near the end of
the meeting we will usually vote ourselves a healthy pay increase before
the closing ceremonies. Again, the gong is rung and through a haze of
incense and the rhythmic chanting of the eunuchs, we silently exit the
room, led by the current president of the board who carries the bleached
skull of the immediate past president on a green velvet pillow, the mouth
stuffed with shamrocks and used Boulevard bottle caps. Just before the gathering concludes with the burning of the ceremonial robes (fun
fact: upwards of 20% of our annual operating budget is spent on
ceremonial robes), the final, most secret, most incredible part of the whole thing takes place. Again, I could get in a LOT of trouble for telling you this, but the truth must come out.
Here's what happens: The entire group is seated at a huge round t
Note from KCIF President Craig Duke: Danny has taken a sudden,
much needed and mandatory vacation at the private Irish Fest reeducation camp. The meeting he spoke of
does not exist. You are asked to kindly disregard his report of it.