Well now, it’s a long way from the Arctic to Tipperary, but scientists have discovered polar bears can trace their family tree to Ireland, isn’t it amazing what Polar Bears can do these days with the help of Mr Google..
Genetic evidence shows they are descended from Irish brown bears that lived during the last ice age. The full article is here (if you are a subscriber) but I find this discovery interesting for a few reasons.
First of all, why does everyone want to claim to be Irish? We had Barack O’bama in Ireland the other month checking out his Roots (groan!) and it seems that on Paddys Day just about everyone in the world seems to be at least part Irish but now even the polar bear is claiming to be Irish. Previously, scientists say that we all are descended from one particular woman, ‘Mitochondrial Eve’, from West Africa but I’m starting to suspect that actually we all come from Mrs Doyle, c/o Craggy Island. (The Irish amongst you will now be ROFL at that!)
So lets see;
All polar bears have ancestors from Ireland
Barack O’bama has ancestors from Ireland
Barack O’bama is a polar bear!
So THAT’S what Kennedy meant when he uttered those famous words when visiting the Berlin Wall in 1963;
“Ich bin ein Berliner… feck! I mean PolarBearliner”
I know, un-bear-able to think about..
However, I do wonder, does that mean are polar bears Catholic (and the Pope does indeed shit in the woods, I mean snow), personally I’m not convinced, I think it’s a cynical and shrewd move by the polar bears to win votes at the next election..
And isn’t it typical of the Irish and a pattern that’s been repeated endlessly; we fall upon hard times and what do we do, we emigrate to pastures new (or in this case frozen tundra new) even our bears do and they adapt to climate change, dye their fur blonde and have a whale of a time – sorry, I mean have a seal pup of a time..
Which reminds me of this old joke;
There was a little itty bitty baby Polar Bear, who said to his mother one day, “Mom, am I really a Polar Bear?”
His mother laughed and playfully nudged him along with her head.
“Of course you’re a Polar Bear, sweetie.”
“Oh, ok,” said the little bear; but he wasn’t quite convinced. So after a while he asked again,
“Mommy? Am I really a Polar Bear? Really, really?”
“Why, don’t be silly, sweetheart. You’re a bear.”
“How do you know, Mommy? How do you know I’m really, really a Polar Bear?”
“Well, sweetie, it’s like this: I’m a Polar Bear, your father is a Polar Bear — so naturally, you’re a Polar Bear, too. Ok?”
“Yes! Really! Now run along and play!”
“I was just wondering. . .you would tell me, wouldn’t you?
“Tell you what?”
“If I wasn’t — I mean, if there was something — ”
“Am I really really — really and truly a Polar Bear?”
His mother had had enough.
“Yes! You’re a Polar Bear! For cryin’ out loud, what is the matter with you? Why do you keep asking such a silly question?”
And the little itty bitty Polar Bear looked up at his mom with his big, sad eyes, and said,
“Because. . .
. . . I’m FUCKING FREEZING, OK?”
OK, I think I have milked this story long enough, but PLEASE tell me you get the joke of the title..