If I Should Fall From Grace With Shamrock Shakes

Pinch me, I'm not wearing green.

Patrick, patron Saint of Ireland, supposedly rid the island of snakes. Never mind that there were no snakes in Ireland.

He supposedly introduced people to the concept of the Trinity by showing them a three-leafed clover. Never mind that he had to resort to magic to explain four-leafed clovers.


He carried a walking stick that he thrust in the ground whenever he would preach. Never mind that Christian dogma took so long to sink in that the walking stick supposedly took root before anyone understood what he was talking about.

He was accompanied by warriors who traveled through time to help him preach. Never mind that time travel goes against strict Biblical teachings.

And he was captured by the British and returned to Ireland as a slave (and may have lost his mind during that time). He regularly heard voices and did what they told him to do. Never mind that the Druids thought he was insane -- or that they may have been right.

So celebrate your own eccentricities, preach loudly, and don't worry if modern-day Druids call you insane. Just belly up to the bar (or head over to McDonald's -- also not Irish -- for a sickly-green seasonal confection), gather up a fiddle, and sing along with several dozen like-minded people you'll never see again.

Because today we celebrate St. Patrick as the universal symbol of Ireland, recognized all around the world. Never mind the fact that he was not Irish.

And neither were the Waterboys.