Whimsy On A Wednesday: The St. Paddy’s Day Quiz Debacle

Ah, my dear readers, welcome back to another delightfully lackadaisical rambling of whimsical nonsense, which, quite frankly, is all I can muster today. For you see, last night was the St. Patrick’s Day Quiz at the pub and I am now a shell of my former self.

A Quizmaster’s Betrayal

There I was, utterly prepared for battle, my brain brimming with knowledge of all things Irish. I learnt St. Patrick’s real name – Maewyn Succat. And how did I remember that you ask? Well, I said to myself, I May Win tonight as I don’t Suck At quizzes. Genius, right? I absorbed facts like a sponge in a pint of Guinness. I studied St. Patrick’s Britishness, his fear of snakes, Irish music (I even subjected myself to Boyzone which is utter dedication!), Guinness World Record absurdities, and the thrilling world of Irish jockeys.

And do you know what happened?

The quizmaster… had not included a single Irish question in the quiz.

OUTRAGE! Betrayal of the highest order! A St. Patrick’s Day quiz with no St. Patrick’s Day questions is like an Irish coffee without whisky! Or is that whisky without coffee? Anyway, it was pointless and deeply upsetting. Naturally, we revolted, waving our Guinness pints in protest and threatening to burn the pub down in a very polite, very British way. The quizmaster caved, tweaked a few questions, and balance was restored. Just.

The Downward Spiral of Sanity

With justice served and my knowledge now semi-useful, we dove into the evening. There we sat with our flashing Shamrock necklaces and our lucky mascot: a human-sized shamrock who looked increasingly defeated as the night went on. Still, that might have been the black stuff.  Did you know that 13 million pints of Guinness are consumed globally on St. Paddy’s Day? I know this because I STUDIED.

And then came the Baileys. And the Baby Guinness shots. And somewhere along the way I lost track of reality. I tink (yes, tink) the leprechauns, also known as cobblers, because apparently, they made shoes when they weren’t stealing people’s rational thought, ran away with my sanity.

At one point, I distinctly remember a debate over whether a four-leaf clover grants good luck or whether it’s all a ploy by the Irish to keep us distracted while they drink all the Guinness. Then there was the person who remembered seeing the gold at the end of the rainbow, and that Guinness is spelt with a double f at the end. (That used to be the case back in old British writing, but watching someone try and find evidence of it today on a pump clip is far more interesting)

The Morning After

This morning, I have awoken in a state of sheer bewilderment. My brain is fizzing like a badly poured pint and my head feels like it’s been used as a drum in a Riverdance performance.

I tried to say “Irish Wristwatch” three times without going wrong and failed miserably.  I’m all fshwstttssss.

I have vague recollections of declaring myself an honorary Irish citizen, hugging the human shamrock, trying to burst the human shamrock, and making a solemn vow to never drink a Baby Guinness shot again on a school night (a vow I fully expect to break next week).

But before I go I leave you with this mind-blowing fact I didn’t get to flex at the quiz: the most leaves ever found on a clover was 56! Does that make the person who found it 14 times luckier? I don’t know, but I do know that despite all my dedicated studying, I was not 14 times luckier last night.

And so, dear readers, this is all the whimsy I can summon for this Wednesday. May your luck be better than mine and may you never have to listen to Boyzone for the sake of superiority.

Sláinte!