Boston’s St. Patrick’s Day Parade: Yay or Nay?

There are few things that unite the city of Boston more than supposed “massh*le” driving and an unshakable love for Dunkin’, but the annual St. Patrick’s Day Parade in Southie comes very close to clinching that title. As a self-proclaimed “Irish-ish” person (I’m only 25 percent Irish, hence the “-ish”), I knew I had to attend the parade to see if it could truly live up to the expectations I had formed in my head. So sit back, relax, and follow along as I give you a 100 percent honest review of the parade shenanigans I witnessed and explain exactly how I managed to survive a case of the Irish Sunday Scaries.

Morning Prep

I’m not going to lie – waking up at 9:30 a.m. the Sunday after my six-hour flight back to campus was not easy. In fact, I snoozed my alarm three times before I not-so-gently reminded myself that St. Patrick’s Day only happens once a year, so it was my duty to rally. By not-so-gently, I mean I pictured my dead Irish grammie Beatrice scolding me for not attending one of her and my father’s favorite parades. That did the trick!

After freeing myself from the confines of my blanket burrito, I quickly changed into the greenest outfit I could find: a clover shirt with “Good luck” written on the bottom, green sweatpants, and clover glasses fellow Flyby writer Wyatt G. Croog ’27 had given me (just another example of lovely Irish hospitality <3). As I shoved a granola bar into my mouth and grabbed my wallet and phone, I ran out the door to meet my friends and their acquaintances (weird folks named Borgy Keoghan, Saoirse Borgan, and more…).

Spirits were high as “Galway Girl” and more ‘authentic’ Irish music blared from my iPhone’s speakers, serving as the soundtrack for some good (and some very, very bad) Irish jig-dancing performances from my friends as we made our way to the Harvard T station.

The St. Patrick's day fit! By Ava H. Rem

The T Journey To Boston

You might think that a journey that consisted of seven stops on the Red Line does not warrant an entire section in this article, and under different circumstances, you’d be right. But boy, oh boy — taking the MBTA during a holiday, especially St. Patrick’s Day, means you’re in for a ride (no pun intended).

The minute my friends and I stepped foot onto our train, all we saw was green. Green hats, wigs, funky-looking drinks, and green bodies pressed together as the train slowly collected more and more green buddies. As we neared the Broadway station, I couldn’t help but think that we looked exactly like an army of “Toy Story” aliens; an army that was bracing itself for when the doors would open and a sea of green would empty out onto a small platform.

When the doors did indeed open, and everyone exited the train cars with a pep in their step, it was pure chaos but in a surprisingly fun way. As I clung to my friends’ hands to make sure no one got lost in the crowds, I looked around and played the most visually entertaining game of “I Spy” that I had ever played.

I ended up spotting friends I hadn’t spoken to since middle school, already wasted middle-aged men being dragged by their irritated wives, and (my personal favorite) a girl with a purse filled with Lucky Charms, which made the time spent waiting for people to exit the station go by very quickly and painlessly.

Overall, a solid 8/10 ride for the uniqueness and memories that were made.

The MBTA station in question. By Ava H. Rem

The Parade!

After escaping the crowds near the T station only to have to deal with more as my friends and I searched for a spot by the barricades, my spirits dropped a bit. I felt tired and a little irritated at constantly being bumped into by intoxicated strangers, but this was all to be expected. So after finding a good viewing spot right by the barricades, I told myself to stop stressing and simply enjoy my last day of spring break.

Between the moment I decided to focus on living in the moment, and the moment the parade officially started, I played a few more rounds of “I Spy.” Let’s just say that after spotting a man in a green suit with a Burger King crown on his head (see below), there was no way that my spirits could remain as low as they were before.

I spy a man in a green suit with a Burger King crown! By Ava H. Rem

Once cars, motorcycles, ambulances, fire trucks, horses, policemen, politicians, beauty pageant contestants, and professional Irish dancers began filling the streets of Boston in swarms, my spirits were at an all-time high. So much was going on all at once, and as much as I tried to take it all in, I couldn’t.

Drums! By Ava H. Rem

A… sleigh? By Ava H. Rem

Mayor Michelle Wu waved at me. Candy and trinkets were being thrown left and right. Marching bands and dance teams filtered in back-to-back. Police officers, firefighters, Marines, Navy sailors, airmen, and Coast Guardsmen marched in unison. My friend shouted, “Is that Paul Revere?” as a group of men in colonial garb (see below) fired their muskets and made most onlookers jump in fear. Harvard, Northeastern, Tufts, BU, and BC students were either successfully networking with other college kids or miserably failing at flirting — there was no in-between. Some photographer who was taking pictures within the barricades told the guy next to me to take his Yankees hat off or “go back home!” Desperate strangers banged nonstop on the porta-potties nearby.

Is that Paul Revere? By Ava H. Rem

Around an hour and a half later, though, the parade seemed to repeat itself. I felt like I was experiencing dèjá vu because every parade act looked like the ones who had just walked past me. The same dance crews, marching bands, and colonial-looking men were in the streets, perhaps in a slightly different font. Or maybe after standing for more than three consecutive hours, I was finally worn out. Whatever the case may have been, my friends were also all tired, so we decided to call it a day and walk back to the Broadway station that we had gotten off at earlier in the day.

Or so we thought…

The T Journey To Cambridge

As my friends and I walked back to Broadway, all the green strangers we passed confirmed the news that the Broadway station had been closed due to too much foot traffic. Amazing news, right?

Since we couldn’t find an MBTA worker to ask for alternative ways to get back to Cambridge, we decided that the best plan of action would be to walk to the nearest Red Line station and pray that it was open. That is how we ended up on a one mile walk to South Station with what seemed like 25% of our fellow parade-goers.

Although this rerouting ordeal initially put a damper on our moods, as I walked back in a familiar herd of green buddies, I felt oddly at ease. I internally chuckled at the absurdity and wholesomeness of this moment that I knew I would somehow always remember.

At some point, we made it to South Station, piled into train cars with green strangers once more, and found ourselves back in Cambridge. At some point, I made it to my dorm, showered, and took a nap. At some point, I reflected on my overwhelmingly positive experience at the parade and wrote this article. And at some point, I decided that I couldn’t wait to do it all again next March.

So, there you have it. My raw, unfiltered review of the Boston St. Patrick’s Day Parade. I hope that this article has, at the very least, entertained you or encouraged you to check out next year’s parade so you can make some wacky memories of your own. If it’s the latter, I’ll see you in Southie!