St. Pats in Southie

We crossed another item off our "things you have to do to be considered a true Bostonian" list* when we finally attended the annual St. Patrick's day parade in Southie earlier today. It was an experience to say the least. Just getting there was an adventure; the trains were packed. Like, India packed. Like European football game stampede packed. Like one toxic fart away from killing an entire subway car full of people packed. But we finally made it onto a train and soon joined the wasted throngs to watch the parade. Luckily Liz's friend Erin from school and her opera singing boyfriend David were there to protect the fetus from any Irish jostling.


Well, we saw things. Bad things. Five year old boys fist fighting while their parents watched? Check ("You need to stop fighting and cussing," said one of the moms as they walked away. At least she was trying). Extreme intoxication? Oh yes. Thirteen year olds smoking? Yup. Public drama? Oh you better believe there was public drama. Hoochies? As far as the eye could see. Sunburned gingers? Yes. Weeping? Also yes. We saw a belligerently civic minded girl spot a discarded paper bag (among a sea of litter), pick it up, and yell "Who! FU#KIN!' litters!?" "YOU'RE littering the streets...with your profanity!" yelled a clever guy. Liz and I were discussing whether this event or the St. Louis Mardi Gras bacchanal was trashier. We deemed it a draw.

The parade itself was, in a word, shitty, even by parade standards. The first thing in the parade, a recycling truck, really set the tone. This was followed by several SWAT trucks and paddy wagons, many of which were likely occupied. A show of force right off the bat was probably a good reminder to all the Southie hoodlums and their kids.

OK, the bagpipers and world war II reenacters were cool, but that was it.

There were all these weird gaps in the parade flow, as if it was planned by hungover Irishmen or something. They didn't even have port-a-potties or food for sale. We did see Scott Brown, so there's that.

"The Emperor says if I lose fifteen more pounds a Speederbike will be able to hover with me on it. Then I'll get deployed to Endor for sure. Finally kill me a coupla' them Ewoks."

We were glad we went but it might be our last time. Since we were all dead sober, I told Liz we owed it to ourselves to try it one more time hammered. You know, after the kid is old enough to drive us but too young to drink. I reckon that would give us a narrow window between age 14 and 14.5 by Southie standards. After an arduous bus trip, we retired to the relative calm of Roslindale for corned beef, cabbage, and a Murphy's. Real dignified like.

*Other list items include: finishing the Boston marathon, bayoneting a Redcoat, sexual intercourse with an Affleck and/or Wahlberg, beating up a MIT geek, Truck Day (yes, this is an actual thing), getting tossed out of Cheers before noon on a Sunday, having a verbal altercation with someone in Yankee garb on the Green Line, murdering somone on Craigslist, and summering on Nantucket.