On an early summer evening in Rome in the year 1140, whilst in the
company of a band of Irish monks, he had a series of startling visions.
You see, my brothers, I myself have the drink taken in the Holy City of St.Peter, in the very same prayerful company as that good and holy Saint himself, although at a somewhat later date. I also experienced strange, mystic visions until well into the next morning. Pope, or no Pope; my head felt as if it were truly the end of the world.
Alas, my strange glimpses into the future were of the athletic variety, not the cosmically religious. I saw, clear as the day, the Washington Redskins triumph in the Super Bowl. I confess, I took money intended for Peter's Pence and backed them to the hilt, complete with an accurate spread. Riggin's running won me enough to purchase a splendid (used) motor car.
And that's no Malarchy. Amen.