A lawyer was enjoying a fishing holiday on a Kerry river when he landed a beautiful trout. Just as he pulled it in, the farmer who owned that stretch of river walked by.
“A grand catch,” said the farmer. “I’ll be obliged if you pass it up to me now and I’ll take it home for my dinner.”
“What are you talking about,” said the lawyer. “It’s my fish. I caught it.”
“Ah yes, but this stretch of river belongs to me. I let you fish it for sport, but anything you catch belongs to me.”
“That’s outrageous. I’m a lawyer and I know my rights.”
“Ah well now, we’re not too worried about your fancy city laws down here in the Kingdom of Kerry.”
“Well, how do you settle disputes then?”
“The old traditional way – with a ball kicking contest. I kick you in the balls and then you kick me. The winner is the last man standing.”
The lawyer was appalled at such archaic nonsense but didn’t want to be beaten by this culchie.
“Very well. I’m not afraid of you. Let’s do it.”
The farmer strides up and gives the lawyer a mighty kick to the balls with his hobnail boots. The poor man crumbles to the ground, gasping for breath and screaming in pain. After a few minutes, he recovers and staggers to his feet.
“See I’m still standing. Now it’s my turn to kick you.”
The farmer smiles and says: “Nah, you can keep the fish.”