A pilgrim’s progress — the salutary tale of a failed penitent on Croagh Patrick
TWO subjects I avoid in Opinion are sport and religion. Not because I know little or nothing about either — if I used those criteria I’d be out of a job — but because even though neither interests me, I recognise and appreciate the way they glue us together, especially now when we need all the glue we can get.
So who am I to mock or sneer? Politicians, lamebrain bigots, bodhrán players and sociologists are all fair game in my book, but religion and sport pay their way and deserve a free pass. As a total non-believer, I take comfort from other people’s beliefs.
So, good on those who took part in the traditional annual trek up “the Reek” last Sunday. I wasn’t with them on the day but that holy mountain once played a formidable role in my own coming of age — it may even have saved me from turning out far worse than I did.
The first time I stayed out all night was while “doing the Reek”. The first time I got drunk was while doing the Reek. The first time I claimed — boastfully but, regrettably, untruthfully — that I’d had my evil way with a girl was while doing the Reek. The Reek and I go back a long way.
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