Unlike the crowd on board for the Giants parade last month, we didn’t see too many green-clad St. Paddy’s revelers on the 8:43 this morning. A pair of Westchester mooks in matched green t-shirts adorned with the word ‘Irish’ and a giant clover (please pardon the double-redundancy), in matching sideways baseball hats, stepped onto the GCT platform, one saying “Geez, it’s good to finally stand up.” (Uh, where were they coming from, Montreal? And were they squeezed into doggie transport cages?)

A couple of about 45 also walked along the platform, both in matching green fleeces, she in a green newsboy cap with a shamrock on the brim.

There was also either a firefighter or cop in his proper-dress attire, down to the white cap. Along with a six-pack of girls of about 20 in the GCT concourse, easily noticeable with their green feather boas and plastic derby hats, that was about it. (For the record, I don’t have a good feeling about what the day holds for those six young ladies. Jail might be a best-case scenario.)

I wonder how many shades of green–green shirts, green faces, green puke composed of green beer–we’ll see on the ride home, or if the revelers will still be packed in McSorley’s, Annie Moore’s, the Thirsty Scholar and Ryan’s Irish by the time the 5:46 rolls out tonight.

I had the divine pleasure of quaffing a $7 pint at Irish watering hole Annie Moore’s recently. (Me: Seven dollars for a pint? What is this, the Campbell Apartment? Bartender: Try three times that at Campbell Apartment. Me: You’re right, that was mean.)

Grand Central commuters know Moore’s well; on 43rd, it’s about the length of a train car from the station.

One thing that struck me about Moore’s were the viewing options: hockey game on this TV, college football on that TV, and, get this, the Metro-North departures board on another TV. Yes, you can sit there and watch your 11:36 to Larchmont inch closer to departure, then make a dash for it with about 60 seconds to go and still make your train.

Brilliant.

The bartender, feelings still bruised after my Campbell Apartment crack, told me the bar pays for the Metro-North feed.

“I’d think they’d be happy to have it in here,” I told the man.

He scoffed and sneered (snoffed? sceered?) at the same time, then said, “You know Metro-North.”

I’ll have to get a picture of the Metro-North TV one of these days.

Then again, you see the same damn thing in Grand Central every day.