- 16 Apr 02
As escape acts go, it ranked up there with the very best of Harry Houdini. Bishop Brendan Comiskey, in theory at least, was back to face the music and undergo a gruelling, exhaustive interrogation at the hands of the assembled press corps. Instead, his press conference turned into a stage-managed anti-climax, and the media watched helplessly as he slipped from their grasp.
The Bishop of Ferns, Dr. Brendan Comiskey, has done nothing wrong. We know this because he has told us so. And, as we are all acutely aware, bishops never tell lies.
Wednesday, February 28th, 1996, is a date that will have to be learnt by heart by future generations of scholars studying religion, public relations or comic drama, subjects which are not always three distinct parts of the curriculum. This was the uniquely auspicious occasion when an Irish bishop sat down with a group of reporters and, in theory at least, answered their questions. Humble pie was the dish of the day, a repast that is not at all agreeable to the cultivated buds of your standard prelate palate.
It was almost enough to make you wish that there is an afterlife, just so you could imagine the expressions on the countenances of Archbishop John Charles McQuaid, Archbishop Kevin McNamara, Fr. Michael Cleary et al, as they watched the spectacle during whatever sort of teabreaks one is allowed on a chaingang stoking the fires of Hell.