Being primarily of Irish heritage, tomorrow will offer me the opportunity to celebrate my roots and make fun of all things British, and as I am working all day and into the might, make fun of all of the drunken revelers who pass through the Beer Mine.
What a great story St. Patrick's Day offers.
Centuries ago, Irish raiders kidnapped a young fellow (the soon to be St. Patrick) who resided in Roman Britain.
He escaped backed to Britain six years later and went on to become a bishop.
In order to exact his revenge, Patrick returned to Ireland and converted the drunken, filthy pagans into drunken, filthy Christians and most became Catholic.
Oh sure, St. P-Dawg could have retaliated by killing his kidnappers, but he knew that converting people to Catholicism was a much more painful form of punishment.
The thing I find most fascinating about St. Patrick is that he was born in Roman occupied Britain.
That means there’s a possibility that he was Roman, which means he may have been Italian.
That’s what’s so damn funny.
Can you believe that an entire country of shit-faced, pugilistic Micks was converted by a Dago and some kind of fight didn’t break out?
Fortunately, there was no violence, and Ireland has, of course, been violence free ever since.
That indeed is a story worth celebrating every year…and how do we celebrate the saintly feats of St. Patrick?
By getting sloshed out of our gourds and mangling the lyrics to “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”, that’s how.
But do not fret; everyone else is mangling them too, so it all blends together.
We also wear green.
Green shirts…Green garters…Green hats. We even wear green faces after consuming our sixth pitcher of Green beer, as the ladies all start to look like the lead singer of The Cranberries.
Of course what would the big day be without enjoying that delicious Irish cuisine!? Boiled potatoes, soda bread, and corned beef…as sexy as food gets.
Some bars and taverns may go that extra step and dish out bowls of beef broth and pink slime and pass it off as Irish Stew. You can bet that it will be made by Dinty O’Moore preparing it with his dirty hands as the ashes fall from his O’Marlboro.
But…That’s all part of the fun of St. Patrick’s Day. Happy people in forty shades of green, getting drunk, mis-mangling song lyrics, eating bad food and getting in to fights prior to having sex with a stranger that would never have sex with on any other day of the year.
Of course when all is said and done and the next morning rolls around, your head will feel as though you were beaten by a dozen members of the Ulster Defence Association.
But hey, that’s all part of being Irish.
Erin Go Braugh and Slainte!!
Matt-Man
Email: neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter: @mattmaniws
What a great story St. Patrick's Day offers.
Centuries ago, Irish raiders kidnapped a young fellow (the soon to be St. Patrick) who resided in Roman Britain.
He escaped backed to Britain six years later and went on to become a bishop.
In order to exact his revenge, Patrick returned to Ireland and converted the drunken, filthy pagans into drunken, filthy Christians and most became Catholic.
Oh sure, St. P-Dawg could have retaliated by killing his kidnappers, but he knew that converting people to Catholicism was a much more painful form of punishment.
The thing I find most fascinating about St. Patrick is that he was born in Roman occupied Britain.
That means there’s a possibility that he was Roman, which means he may have been Italian.
That’s what’s so damn funny.
Can you believe that an entire country of shit-faced, pugilistic Micks was converted by a Dago and some kind of fight didn’t break out?
Fortunately, there was no violence, and Ireland has, of course, been violence free ever since.
That indeed is a story worth celebrating every year…and how do we celebrate the saintly feats of St. Patrick?
By getting sloshed out of our gourds and mangling the lyrics to “When Irish Eyes are Smiling”, that’s how.
But do not fret; everyone else is mangling them too, so it all blends together.
We also wear green.
Green shirts…Green garters…Green hats. We even wear green faces after consuming our sixth pitcher of Green beer, as the ladies all start to look like the lead singer of The Cranberries.
Of course what would the big day be without enjoying that delicious Irish cuisine!? Boiled potatoes, soda bread, and corned beef…as sexy as food gets.
Some bars and taverns may go that extra step and dish out bowls of beef broth and pink slime and pass it off as Irish Stew. You can bet that it will be made by Dinty O’Moore preparing it with his dirty hands as the ashes fall from his O’Marlboro.
But…That’s all part of the fun of St. Patrick’s Day. Happy people in forty shades of green, getting drunk, mis-mangling song lyrics, eating bad food and getting in to fights prior to having sex with a stranger that would never have sex with on any other day of the year.
Of course when all is said and done and the next morning rolls around, your head will feel as though you were beaten by a dozen members of the Ulster Defence Association.
But hey, that’s all part of being Irish.
Erin Go Braugh and Slainte!!
Matt-Man
Email: neshobadude@yahoo.com
Twitter: @mattmaniws
4 comments:
Of course, I don't celebrate St. Patrick's Day. That's because I'm an American! I only celebrate American stuff.
And I sure as hell don't eat corned beef. ... EVER.
Jay
Jayman: Oh c'mon man. Just for one day... Replace the stars in your Stars and Bars flag with shamrocks and enjoy some corned beef in the form of a delicious Reuben sandwich. Cheers O'Jayman!!
Matt-Man
I heard if you hang around the bar long enough Erin may go braughless.
Mike: Bada Bing!! Cheers O'Mike!!
Matt-Man
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