It's March 5. Twelve days until St. Patrick's Day. Among the myriad dumb things you're likely to hear between now and then is this:

On St. Patrick's Day, everyone's Irish.

People with names like Stanley, Juan, Nikita, LaToya and Gretchen will be hoisting their pint glasses of Harp and Guinness, listening to the Dropkick Murphys and marching in parades with politicians they wouldn't be caught dead with on any other day of the year.

On St.Patrick's Day everyone's Irish. If you believe that I have a vacant lot in Belfast I'd like to offer to you real cheap.

Listen up Seamus Kaminski, Maureen Tollufson and Francis X. Ramirez. You fookin' lads and lassies ain't really Irish...

If you hear the name Pat O'Brien and think immediately of the guy who hosted Access Hollywood instead of the one who played a priest in Going My Way.

If you hear the name Bono and think they're talking about that goofy looking guy who was married to Cher.

If the first answer you give to the question, " Where in hell is Notre Dame? " is: Somewhere near that river in France.

If you think Elvis Costello is the short, fat one in the comedy team that made " Who's on first? " famous.

If you think " Dirty Old Town " by The Pogues is about Cleveland.

If you've seen Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ and haven't said to yourself: " Aramaic is nice, but this coulda been another Ryan's Daughter if Jesus was speaking Gaelic.

If you think Tammany Hall is Arsenio's dumb ass kid sister.

and last but not least...

You're not really Irish if you think The Crying Game is how the Boston sportswriters are going to describe the Sox first contest at Fenway next month.