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I was walking down Front St. two days ago and saw something that almost made me drop to my knees and vomit in horror. It was gone! Clancy’s Golden Shamrock Taco Shack was gone. It had been bulldozed into kindling, leaving nothing more than the smell of greasy nachos and stale Guinness in its place.

I’m man enough to admit that what was left of my heart broke just little bit more. Clancy’s was an institution within the SBPD. If you were on the job, then it was a sure bet you had almost gotten food poisoning at least five, maybe six times from “The Shack.” It was cop hallowed ground.

Sure, as far as restaurant names go, maybe it was a bit off-putting. I mean, who in their right mind would ever eat at a place with the words “Shamrock” and “Taco” on the front of the menu? (And by “menu,” I mean “hand-lettered piece of driftwood nailed to the wall.”) Cops, that’s who. Especially rookie cops.

It was more than just a cop bar that also served food…horrible, horrible food. It was our unofficial private social club. Kind of like the mafia clubs in Little Italy, but without the picture of Mussolini.

It’s not that the general public wasn’t allowed in the place. It’s just that it wasn’t the most inviting of spots. And like I said, it did have the words “Shamrock” and “Taco” in the name. There was, however, one group that was strictly forbidden entry: SBPD Police Academy Cadets. So long as you were in the light blues, you were unwelcome. But come graduation day, that all changed.

Long held SBPD tradition was, as soon as the Chief finishes his speech and you toss your cover in the air, you hightail it down to The Shack where you are welcomed into the fold with free drinks and free food.

However, there is a catch. For every free drink the newly minted police officer is given, he or she must consume a gastro-assaulting gut bomb innocently called “The Shillelagh Burrito”…in 90 seconds.

As you can imagine, it doesn’t take long for the puking to start. That’s why the balcony that hangs over the ocean is so popular. God knows Dobbson, Schwarz and I spent plenty of our graduation day (and night) hanging onto that well-worn railing. In fact, somewhere around his 12th drink and burrito combo, Dobbson actually fell in. There is a distinct possibility that he was helped over the rail, but honestly, I was in no shape to tell.

Clancy had been watching cops toss their cookies for decades by the time I first stumbled out of his place. Academy Graduation Day and the subsequent “unwellness” that inevitably accompanied it, made him happy as hell. Said it was his favorite day of the year. But he didn’t provide the boys in blue a free party out of his love of the department, just the opposite. Clancy, it turned out, was a retired fireman. He would sit there at the end of the bar and laugh his ass off at us. The man just loved watching cops puke.

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