Nearly 15 years in Pittsburgh, and I think this was my first St. Patrick's Day Parade. Can that be right? If I had gone to one before, would I remember it?

This was definitely my first time marching in the parade, and by "marching" I mean "alternately standing and stepping around horse poo."

Just getting there was an adventure. I knew it would be a mob scene, so I left my car at home and took the T into town. What a disturbing descent into the heart of Guinness.

It was groping-room only through Dormont and Beechview (despite the widespread use of green eyeshadow), and the noise was astounding. I hadn't protected my hearing with the enhanced "pop" bottles carried by my fellow merrymakers, and, worse, I hadn't even had any coffee yet. I'm pretty sure the driver and I were the only sober people on the trolley -- possibly the only sober people in Western Pennsylvania.

It was 10:45 a.m.

How early do you have to start drinking to be luggage before 11 a.m.? Even in my young days of vigorous overindulgence, I don't think I was ever good and hammered before early afternoon. Do you start with mimosas at 7:30? Or do you go right to screwdrivers by 9? Seems like kind of a project. I'd have to set an alarm.

Incidentally, the trip home after the parade was even more exciting. I shared it with Miss Smiling Irish Eyes and a green dog, and deep in the heart of Beechview, somebody pulled an emergency door release and stopped the car. The driver told us sternly, "Put the handle back. I'm not coming back there to do it for you. And I've got all day."

"I don't!" bawled a woman somewhere behind me. "I have to pee!"

Whatever you think of the Port Authority and its pay scale, I wouldn't drive a trolley on St. Patrick's Day even if the cast of "Ocean's Eleven" delivered crates of gold bars to my home and refinished my floors afterward.

When I got Downtown and began bobbing through the tide of green humanity, I found myself wondering what the Man Himself, St. Pat, would think of his tribute.

"She's not wearing much, father -- no, I don't think she feels the cold, to be honest -- but the feather boa is green, for Ireland, and look! Shamrock boingy antennas! To remind us of the Trinity. And that we're seeing double."

I went on the History Channel Web site to learn a little more about the man behind the mess, and I didn't come away very enlightened. St. Pat was born in Britain, and his father was a deacon, quite possibly for tax purposes.

The whole story about driving the snakes out of Ireland is a load of blarney. There never were any snakes in Ireland. It's like driving the kangaroos out of McKees Rocks.

I marched in the parade with a very small but determined contingent from the St. David's Society, which celebrates Welsh heritage. We were put somewhere in the middle, next to the Scots, in a sort of "other non-English British types" ghetto. I didn't realize the Scots were behind us until they fired up their bagpipes near the reviewing stand and almost blew the dragon off our flag.

The Welsh flag was a HUGE hit. People leaped off curbs to take pictures of it. It is seriously sharp: white on top, green on the bottom, and, in the middle, a big spiky bright-red dragon with bat wings and a pointy tongue and tail, clawing the air.

Unfortunately, I don't think most paradegoers had any idea what the flag represented. "Look!" people would holler as we approached. "Dragons!" Perhaps adding, "Whooooooo!"

Not having a St. David's Society banner, we became the mysterious but well-flagged Strolling Dragon People.

"What's that flag?" yelled a boy of about 12 somewhere on the Boulevard.

"Wales!" I bellowed.

He looked mystified.

"Wales?" he yelled from under a furrowed brow. "Is that a country?"

"Yes!" Holy sheep, what are they not teaching them in the schools?

I don't think he believed me. He thought I was some dragon-worshipping loon off her meds, spouting about whales, when I hadn't had so much as a beer or even, still, a drop of coffee.

Technically, I guess I was off my meds.

OK, so St. Patrick has the biggest parade, and the Irish have the best PR. But the Welsh have the most sheep. Also, hands down, the coolest flag.

At next year's parade, we're taking the Scots and making our move. Up in front of the horse.