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The Dark Side of Saint Patrick’s Day is the Real American Holiday
The last thing any of us needs, especially in the age of the boring twenties, is a reason to drink.
On the 17th, many will wake up to guarantees. Twenty-somethings across the nation will be hugging porcelain, cops will be brawling, and not one snake(or druid) will be forced out of anywhere but a bar. The average American can’t tell you who won the Civil War, much less what Saint Patrick’s Day is actually about. History isn’t exactly our strong suit, but if there is one thing Americans do right, it’s partying.
Holidays are sacred to the Yankees, and like the band Sublime, we seem to do every cover better than the original. The United States of Diasporas houses more micks than the motherland herself. From the Dead Rabbits to the last President to leave office in a coffin, the presence of the Irish in America is as undeniable as it is remarkable. In the time it took to add the 50th star to the flag, more names seemingly end with an O’ or Mc than there are Smiths or Jones. Along with their cheap labor, saturation of institutions, and music that even they can only listen to hammered, the Irish brought a 17th-century martyr for everyone to call out of work tomorrow.
Saint Patrick’s Day is the most universally celebrated national holiday, and in the States, the pagans have fully reclaimed the hallowed ground. What began as a tambourine bang for the deliverance of God’s only zombie son to Ireland has mutated into alcohol poisoning and cultural appropriation. The color green has many masters, money and envy play a lopsided game of tug-o-war with the bastard of blue & yellow 364 days a year, but March’s bellybutton turns the color of nausea into a uniform for debauchery.
In the narrative that’s spoon-fed to us through corporate news, it’s all shamrocks and handshakes between presidents and taoiseachs. On the streets between Boston and LA, however, fistfights and blackouts will roll like severed heads. For twenty-four hours we’ll all be plastic Paddies, and six-foot leprechauns will defy gravity on the roof of a keg. The luck of the Irish is comparable to playing with a Ouija board in Salem circa.1692, and expecting a religious holiday to stay true in the land of opportunity is the real black magic.
