This is the absolute best holiday of the year, with July 4th a close second. Sure, you get gifts on Christmas, and pretty good food on Easter and Thanksgiving, but that comes with the price of having to spend time with your family. St. Patricks Day, thats a holiday of a whole ‘nother beast. And it’s basically the holiday equivalent to white girls in their 20’s birthdays. They like to celebrate that one day all week? Well we Irish like to celebrate for the whole fuckin’ month. First weekend- drunken Irish parades and debauchery. Second weekend-rinse and repeat. Third weekend-Well here we fuckin go again, fire up the Dropkick Murphy’s and put on your finest Green, we’re getting hammered once more.
This year St. Pats falls on a Sunday. For those who don’t celebrate as hard as us Irish alcoholics, it can be somewhat disappointing, as that Monday will pretty much rival the Monday after the Super Bowl for worst day of the year to be at work. Those of us who plan ahead though have already taken it off. Even better, the parade in NY is on Saturday, giving us a 2 day Irish bender of Guinness, bad Irish accents and pretending we like cabbage. It honestly might be the best wall-to-wall weekend of the year.
It needs to be started off right, specifically Friday night should be reserved for relaxing and watching The Departed, Boondock Saints, and the hidden gem Blown Away with the absolute worst Irish accent on film all time by Tommy Lee Jones.
Early to bed, early to rise, and the real fun begins Saturday morning. It’s one of the few times breakfast beer is acceptable, and I’ll be cracking a Sam Adams open before the sun rises that day. Follow it up with a shower beer and getting ready, the obvious over abundance of Kelly green clothing, and then even more breakfast beer. The day really begins for any NY Irish loving degenerate on the train ride into the city. Open container laws and the rules of society don’t apply on trains on St. Patricks day any more than they do any day in airports. Crying baby? Little shot of Jameson to shut it up. Uptight asshole trying to quietly read the paper? Nope, you’re getting loud renditions of Danny Boy by drunken degenerates screamed within inches of your face.
The city itself is nuts on St. Pats, with midtown bars and every bar with even a hint of being an Irish pub packed to the gills with a plethora of drunks. You’ll see a few typical types on this day-
–Firemen-decked out in full uniform. If any career were to symbolize the Irish working man, its FDNY firefighters. Though they’ve been slowly phasing out their love for white Irish men over the years in order to be more inclusive.
–Drunk college girls– They’ll be the ones wearing either white or green shirts, shamrocks painted on their faces, and too belligerent to speak by noon. The chances of them even being any amount of Irish is slim-to-none, but it doesn’t matter on this day. Any excuse to get shitfaced and make out with some rando who has nothing more in common with you than the smell of whiskey and puke on his breath and green on his shirt will do.
–The rando douchebag– Not even Irish at all, but has seen The Departed and been to Boston once, so he’s pretty fuckin Irish, bro. Also low key has a drinking problem that often leads to sexual assault. The guy will be wearing either a St. Pats shirt he bought at Old Navy the night before or a white A/X shirt because he figures white is Irish enough to fit in. He’ll also slowly be getting shitfaced in the corner while he waits for girls to get too drunk to realize how big a creepy tool he is.
The somewhat Irishmen– Late 20’s/early 30’s, wearing green, and drinking bud-light all day with some random shots of Jameson thrown in to feel like they’re not just using the day as an excuse to binge drink. Definitely part Irish, not sure how much, but enough that they can freely say this is their peoples day. Will also definitely try to fight someone at least once during the day. Also- will be passed out by sunset. Probably from all the Irish carbombs he ordered. Will wear way too much Irish attire, plus whatever rinky-dink shit with a shamrock on it they can find.
The regulars– Older men at the bar, sitting where they normally do, watching the young drunks make fools of themselves. Probably won’t be wearing green, but will be about 100% more Irish than most of the fools in the bar.
Gingers taking advantage– We know they’re pure evil every other day of the year, but on this day, red headed gingers will have their beards grown and and be dressed to the nines as adult size Leprechauns. They’re still fuckin evil though.
Leprechauns-Same as the gingers, just smaller people using their height to their advantage.
brewpound– 50% Irish 100% drunk. Screaming U2 and Dropkick Murphys lyrics while talking in an awful Irish accent and quoting The Departed all day.
Some of the parade will be seen, usually only while walking outside from one bar to the next within close proximity of the route. Around 4-5 we’ll be eating corned beef and cabbage at whatever Irish bar we’re in to refuel, and then the rest of the night will be a blur of green beer, Guinness and shots of whiskey. Drinking should be contained to a few things on a marathon drinking day like this, I’d recommend
The St. Pats drinking guide
Sam Adams- Was the actual Sam Adams Irish? No, but it’s brewed in Boston and as much as I can’t stand the place, it’s pretty much the most Irish city in America.
Guinness- These will fill you up, but you’ll want to have at least one or two during the day to really get in the spirit.
Jameson- Easy fella, don’t go too hard or too quick on this. A few shots will do the trick and it’s an absolute necessity for the day. You’ll know who the pretenders are when they have 5 of these within an hour and won’t be seen again until the hobo tells them they’re laying in his bed in an alley later that night.
Bud Light- This is a marathon, so though all Irish pride goes out the window while ordering this, it’s really your best bet to keep the buzz going into all hours of the night. Bud makers know this, which is why you’ll probably find a green aluminum bottle at whatever bar you’re holed up in for the day.
Your phone will inevitably die, your friends will probably get lost, and you’re going to have to cling to hope that you make it home on Saturday. Some asshole will try to fight you, even though they’re not Irish, they just can’t handle their booze. You’ll see women puking by 5pm, dudes passed out at a table, and enough green to never need to step outside again to see the grass. It’s a rite of passage every year for those of us who enjoy the day. And Sunday, you get to celebrate the actual holiday. I’d say corn beef and cabbage and few Guinness pints should cure that hangover. I’ll be at the Knicks game, so I’ll be doing a round 2 St. Pats celebration, so if I can remember it, I’ll have a review of that next week. If not, Feck off.