Knowing their whiskies and drinking habits in Ireland I actually do believe he would thank you later.
Oddly enough, while we have millions of jackasses in America who identify as "Irish," it wasn't until I lived in Japan that I met anyone genuinely from Ireland and based on that experience I don't know if visiting would be a great idea. During my early years in Japan, a young Irish couple--girl was from Dublin, I believe, while the boyfriend was from Northern Ireland--moved into my apartment complex and became part of our usual drinking club. The girl was absolutely lovely, and I thought her accent was quite attractive. What wasn't as attractive, however, was the amount of alcohol she could consume and still appear to be stone cold sober. I suppose it was a bit emasculating. The northern boyfriend, on the other hand, was a walking disaster. First off, at the best of times I could understand perhaps 75% of what he was saying; feed him a few drinks and that number went down to around 10%. By the end of the night I'd just be nodding at whatever he said, which to me just sounded like jumbled, angry mumbling peppered with "fook" or "fookin" in-between syllables. And by that point he'd usually have found a British male--any British male--nearby and tried to start a brawl with him.
Communications issues aside, it quickly became clear that the Irish couple and myself shared the exact same favorite pastimes--getting shitfaced and then raising hell. After three or four hours at Za-Watami, when all the other eikaiwa teachers were staggering back to the train platform to go home and sleep it off, the three of us would be raiding Family Mart and leaving with bags full of beer, fireworks, lighters and anything even remotely conducive toward violence. Then we'd end up at the neighborhood park starting fires, blowing shit up, shooting roman candles at passing cars, smashing beer bottles and kicking trash cans. I guess some things transcend language.
I don't know if this is true, but a friend of mine visited Ireland and told me that every night when the pubs finally close, all the drunks take to the streets and start smashing their glasses and mugs. Then, they all go home. Then, a street-sweeper rolls through to clean up the mess. Then repeat the next night.
I might be older and boring now, but I don't think Ireland should be on my list of places to visit. Ever.