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His Philosophy

Some of you think St. Patrick's Day is just another excuse to drink and revel and wear green and see parades and go see Mike Gallagher at the River City Inn in Pittsburgh in the day then drive drunk to Ebensburg, PA to see the Castle Pub Riot at the Castle Pub that night. While that's all well and good, there is a true meaning to the holiday which falls on March 17th, and I'm here to explain.

It is commonly known that St. Patrick was not actually from Ireland. He was a French Canadian hockey player named Jacques Guineiux, who played for the Montreal Montrealians in the 16th century. Guineaux was so good at hockey, in fact, it was common for him to score at least three goals in every game. Soon he became known as the Prince of the Hatrick, which was eventually shortened to "Patrick".

In 1555, France challenged Canada to a hockey game (which explains why some Canadians speak French -there were a lot of trades in the league). The hockey game was to be held in January of 1556 on some pond outside of Paris. It would take Canada that long to get there. So Canada's best and brightest were corralled, and Patrick was named captain- of the hockey team and the ship that was taking them…A man had to wear many a hat in those days.

The Canadian all star hockey team set out for France in the summer of 1555. They had to row the whole way, because sails weren't invented yet. The team had to bring many many supplies, since they'd be out so long. Here's what they brought:

Hockey equipment - just skates and sticks and a puck or two - they didn't have pads back then, the goalie often stopped the puck with his teeth
1 ton of Canadian bacon
1000 barrels of Molson Golden
The Team Mascot: Monty Moose
100 gallons of Black Velvet whiskey
the band Rush - they needed someone to rip on and play Dungeons & Dragons with, and uh, oh yeah, for musical entertainment (snickersnicker)

After a few weeks the ship hit a storm. The ship hit some huge swells, rocked this way and that. The men aboard tried to keep balance, but many fell and nearly rolled overboard. There were about ten barrels of beer on deck that the men were drinking from at the time of the storm, which were tapped, and sliding from port to starboard, dangerously close to toppling overboard. Patrick took notice to the impending fiasco, and as the ship hit a gigantic swell Patrick knew he had to act fast. He leapt at the barrels but could not save them from going overboard. Something had to be done. Someone had to go overboard to recover the brew.

The crew congregated and voted unanimously to send Rush overboard to recover the barrels. So Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson and Neal Peart were thrown overboard in a violent storm and told not to come up until they recovered all ten barrels of Molson.

It was a difficult task, especially for a prog rock band, but they managed to recover nine. The storm lifted and the waters calmed. "Time to drink again!" shouted Patrick. The men grabbed their goblets and began to fill them. What came out was a green liquid. The men proceeded to attack Rush until Patrick broke it up. The fact that they still had 375 barrels of beer below didn't seem to matter. Patrick calmed them down, and took a sip of the green liquid, and proclaimed "It's still beer - it's just, green beer!!" The men cheered.

Apparently, some seaweed had gotten sucked up through the taps and had dyed the beer.

The journey was nearing the end when the 1555 Canadian All Star hockey team rowing to France with St. Patrick at the helm hit another, more violent storm. It was a perfect storm. Unfortunately, George Clooney wasn't there to make like Capt. Ahab and give a grand old speech filled with hope, and everything went overboard, and the ship sank: all the Canadian bacon, the beer, the whiskey, Monty Moose, Rush and the 1555 Canadian All Star team, gone. All that was left was a bag of hockey sticks and a barrel of beer, and Jacques "Patrick" Guineaux floating on them.

For months Patrick floated in the cold Atlantic waters, surviving on the green beer in his barrel. Day after day he paddled, doglike, eastward. He knew he couldn't have been far off shore. He had managed to fashion a raft from the barrel, hockey sticks and canvas bag they were in. Soon Patrick began to become desperate. The beer was running out and he was so drunk most of the time he forgot which way was east and he couldn't move his legs to paddle.

Finally, he spotted land. It was a very green island. You could almost say it was an emerald isle. In fact, you could all the way say it: It was Ireland. Patrick swam shoreward, and, clothes ragged, face scruffy and sunburnt, he reached land, kissed the ground, and passed the hell out.

Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule and a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work were staggering along the beach the day Patrick arrived. He was still out like a light when they found him, his makeshift raft lying next to him. They stared for a minute or so. Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule spoke first:

"Ah, 'tis a pity. Some poor lad decoided ta play swim with the ale again. Tell me, McGurk, have ye spake ta any mothers missin' sons this morn?"

"I've not, O'Toole," answered a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work. "A foine wake it shall be, though. All the foiner if th' mother's a rich one."

"You'll drink from charity wake or no, you workless beggar!"

All the shouting made Patrick stir. "By God he's alive! There'll be no wake tonight!" said a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work.

Patrick mumbled something in French. "This man's no Irishman! He's a foreigner!" exclaimed Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule.

"I'm Canadian," said Patrick. "I also speak English. Please, do you have something to eat?"

Ever lazy, a chap called McGurk who was scared stiff of work saw this as a golden opportunity. "Well, We're on our way to a job now. The king's courtyard is infested with snakes, and if you do the job fer us, you'll have supper tonight."

So the two Irish drunks took Patrick and his hockey sticks to King Brian Boru's castle to drive out the snakes. Patrick never did any yard work before, so he wasn't quite sure how to go about it. The two Irish drunks left poor Patrick outside, and went into the castle to drink with the queen before the mister came home from his job fighting Vikings. Patrick scratched his head. Then a snake bit his ankle. So he did the only thing he knew how: he slapped that slimy belly crawler with his hockey stick, which sent the serpent flying 100 yards into the ocean. He did this with all the other snakes until there were no more. The queen was so impressed she gave him a hearty supper and sent word out to the mister to pick up some potatoes after work so she could spend a little quality time with this interesting foreigner.

Soon Patrick was hired all over Ireland to slap shoot snakes into the ocean. As the snake population faded, Patrick's celebrity grew. And more and more nights King Brian Boru got word to pick up this or that before he came home to the scheming missus. People began to talk.

The King got wise and decided not to come home late one night, and sure enough, he caught his spouse doing it Irish Setter style with St. Patrick. A fight ensued. It turned into a huge brawl that ended at the top of the highest mountain in Ireland with everyone in the country looking on. King Boru was going to throw Patrick off the mountain when a mysterious priest stepped in.

"Stop your highness!" shouted the priest with a voice like thunder. "Patrick is a good man, and should get a chance to redeem himself." The people of Ireland, looking on, shouted "No! Kill him now!" They didn't like nasty foreigners moving in on their queens.

"I speak for the church!" yelled the mysterious priest. "And I say give him a chance."

"He better perform a miracle after what he did!" yelled the king. "Okay father, since you speak for the church, I'll give him three days to redeem himself."

So Patrick pondered and pondered, and walked all over the country, up and down wondering what to do. On the final day, March 17th, he was still at a loss. He was to meet his fate at the top of the very same mountain.

Once again, all the people in the country gathered, as people do, waiting to see some blood. They came in their national colors, all wearing green (and to HELL with the orange), because any time a foreigner is executed it's an automatic national holiday. Patrick said, "I'm sorry, but I'm just a man. I'm afraid I can't perform any miracles."

"Then you die!" yelled the king, holding up a broadsword.

As the king raised his weapon, Patrick got a flash of inspiration. "Wait! That's IT!" he screamed. "Everyone, to the ocean, and bring your finest lager!"

So everyone in the entire country went to the ocean. Patrick collected as many barrels of beer he could. He went into the ocean and got some seaweed and began to plug it up into the taps. Just as everyone was about to kill him for this sacrilege, he poured an imperial pint glass of glowing, green beer and held it up.

"Look!" exclaimed Slugger O'Toole who was drunk as a rule. "It's beer in Ireland's own native colour! This man is a SAINT!" The people cheered and lifted St. Patrick over their heads, and from then on he was known forever as Ireland's Greatest National Hero, and that day, March 17th, forever celebrated as St. Patrick's Day. He was made a bishop immediately afterward in a small informal ceremony (the celebacy vow insured he wouldn't get a hankerin' to put his poison Candian blood into the pure Irish gene pool), and even King Brian Boru could not deny this man's greatness.

And that, my friends, is the ABSOLUTE TRUTH about St. Patrick: the French Canadian hockey player who lived in Ireland and invented green beer in the 16th century.