Get Gene's punchline?

Imagine for a moment what it must be like to be Eugene L. O'Flaherty.

You've been deprived in life of any truly marketable skills, so what do you do? You start by getting a degree from the Massachusetts School of Law.

Hale and Dorr is not exactly knocking down your door, so you scratch together a living with hard-luck clients, until one day you have your first legitimately brilliant idea.

You run for the state House of Representatives. If you win, it comes with an honest-to-goodness salary and a real title.

And win you do, by 129 votes in that first election. Once in office, representing Chelsea and Charlestown, you master the four most important words needed to get ahead on Beacon Hill: Yes, sir, Mr. Speaker. You say these words morning, noon, and night. You say them as you hold Tom Finneran's coat, as you vote lockstep with him on the floor, as you compliment his consistently excellent selection of neckwear.

You say it until one day you earn yourself a big fat promotion.

You see, Eugene L. O'Flaherty would be a running joke in state politics but for one thing. Somewhere along the line, he weaseled his way to becoming House chairman of the Judiciary Committee, and now the joke seems to be on everyone else.

I bring this up as Beacon Hill is abuzz over his extraordinary performance on Wednesday night, as the House debated a measure known as Melanie's Bill, which calls for stricter drunken driving provisions targeted at multiple offenders.

O'Flaherty and a little band of colleagues, who also happen to be active defense lawyers, effectively watered the bill down, dominated the debate, and successfully blocked legislators from presenting the original legislation for an up or down vote.

After he lost one key amendment, O'Flaherty was seen near the rostrum harshly cussing and warning legislative opponents in no uncertain terms that he would exact revenge.

When I asked him about it yesterday, he laughed and said, ''That's ridiculous." When I pointed out that there were witnesses, he said: ''I'm not disputing that I'm a passionate individual. I take my role seriously. I get frustrated at times. Last night was frustrating to me."

Frustrating?

It must have been frustrating last year when O'Flaherty, a vehement opponent of gay marriage, was watching his lunch get eaten by a bunch of gays and gay-sympathizing colleagues at the Constitutional Convention. So he strode up and down the aisles, yelling, glaring at anyone in his path, slamming his fist into his hand as if he were ready to get into a brawl.

And it must have been frustrating when his mentor, Tom Finneran, was indicted by a federal grand jury in June for perjury. At the time, yours truly wrote a column commending the US attorney for drawing a line on Beacon Hill lies. In my inbox that morning was one especially blistering e-mail that concluded: ''I rarely write responses to low-level journalists but you really tick me off to the point where I wish I had been in high school with you so we could have playfully wrestled after school and you could have gone home to Mommy with tears in your eyes along with a black eye and a sore arse like I'm sure you did on more than one occasion." That was the nice part of the note. It was signed, ''Representative Eugene L. O'Flaherty."

I'd never heard of the guy. When I looked him up and saw he was cochairman of the Judiciary Committee, I dismissed the note as a fraud and forgot all about it.

Until yesterday, when he was on the phone and I asked if it was really him. He hesitated and said, ''Yeah, that was a joke." Suddenly he's Jerry Seinfeld.

Later yesterday, he sent another note saying, ''I went to Malden Catholic and we always wrestled after school. Sorry you didn't share in similar experiences @ your high school." It was signed, ''Gene."

Poor ''Gene," still stuck in his teens. Sadly, he's right at home on Beacon Hill.

Brian McGrory is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at mcgrory@globe.com.