Denis Lehane: We Irish farmers are world-renowned experts on rain
We see it every day. We have rain in the blood. So, before I left the Hungarian farmer, his baler was churning out bales faster than you could pike dung.
I was in Hungary last week at a Karate event.
I didn't compete myself, for there would be fear amongst experts in the field, that I might kill someone. I can kick like a donkey when backed into a corner.
I'm like the Bull McCabe entirely when I get going.
And to be fair, I've been to enough cattle marts and horse fairs over the years to know the different between a pat on the back and a kick up the arse.
Anyhow, I had two youngsters competing for Ireland and that was enough for me. And, besides, before I go any further, I have to say the Irish did themselves proud. We drank very little and left all the fighting to the competitors.
At the SKIF World Karate Championships, Ireland took home a haul of gold medals that would make King Solomon blush.
And if RTÉ had any clue at all, they'd stop talking about money and give thrilling sports like Karate an airing.
Anyhow, the weather in Hungary was very warm when we arrived.
"Great weather for making hay," I said to a local farmer one day when I had the pleasure of taking in the sights.
And he laughed at me, for you could fry an egg on the stones there all summer long.
He told me he was in no hurry to bale his hay, for in Hungary it rarely rains now, thanks to global warming.
"Well, you're a fool so," says I, for I sensed rain in my water.
"What do you know about rain? says he, "you big overfed yank?"
He laughed then, for he was a fool.
He thought I was an American. He probably thought I was a movie star, given my dashing Robert Redford good looks.
Well, when I told him I was not an American, only an Irishman, and a farmer to boot, the laughing stopped.
He knew, you see, that Irish farmers are world-renowned experts on rain. We see it every day. We have rain in the blood.
He had to heed my advice. For as usual, I was talking sense.
"Come on lads!" he then ordered his staff which numbered several dozen.
"The Irishman has spoken," and with that, a hay-bob which had lain idle was put into frenzied action in a field the size of Munster.
And before I left the Hungarian farmer, his baler was churning out bales faster than you could pike dung.
I left them there and went on with my travels. Like the fellow from  I stuck out my thumb for the long road ahead. My work there in the hay fields of Hungary was complete.
I never found out how many bales were made on that fateful day in Hungary.
All I do know is that by evening the rain had begun and that night thunder and flash floods were the order of the day.
My expertise in rain had probably saved that farmer and perhaps the country from utter ruination.
Some day I will probably be rewarded for my efforts in farming with a sainthood or perhaps the Nobel Prize for Farming but for now, I will just go on performing these kind acts and keep all my good work to myself.
