Monday, April 17, 2006

Patriot's Day

Throughout the year there are times I really miss Boston -- today is one of them. The third Monday in April is a local holiday called Patriot’s Day. The Red Sox play early, the Marathon runs right by BC and most importantly school is closed. While he is often maligned in blogger circles, Bill Simmons captured the Race perfectly in his piece three years ago.

While at BC I took full advantage of all the different Patriot’s Day experiences.

Freshman Year -- Patriot’s Day fell on the Monday after Easter. Easter caps Holy Week at BC, meaning you get a mini-vacation right at the end of the semester. So I was home and didn’t fly back to campus until late Monday.

Sophomore Year -- the archetypical BC student Patriot’s Day. Slept in, grilled with my roommates and they cheered and goofed on runners. My roommate Ralph was king of pointing out look-alikes among the runner. “Look, look, that guy in the short-shorts looks exactly like Steve Martin. GO STEVE!!” (You had to be there.)

Junior Year -- I was interning for WEEI at the time. I handed out bumper stickers all morning than got to sit in prime seats for the Red Sox game.

Senior Year -- Mrs. ATL_Eagle ran the race, so I waited for her downtown. Then fought to find us a cab, got her back to campus and helped her as she limped up the stairs.

Patriot’s Day is a great time to be in Boston. Reminiscing did get me thinking: why aren’t there more regional holidays that are just good excuses to host sporting events? Would anyone in the South object to some long weekend in October focused on college football and Patriotism? Maybe I’ll pick up the mantle if only for a chance to get off work and watch BC play.

1 comment:

Jaime Lannister said...

I defy any of those as "typical Patriot's Days" for a BC student as you are not a drunkard (as were most of us).

The Alchemist's favorite Patriot's Day memory was managing to get some guy running the marathon to accept a Solo cup full of beer (he thought it was water). He dumped it on his head and one drunken young asshole (me) had a great laugh at his expense. For his sake I hope the spring yellow jackets were not plentiful that year.