Brian takes mission to the Lisbon-ites

BRIAN the Baptist had appeared amongst his people to evangelise them for the second coming of the EU constitution.

From the crowds a hand reached forward to touch the hem of his garment (a rather natty, expensive looking black suit) and joined with him in saying it was right to give the Treaty of Lisbon thanks and praise.

“We haven’t read every word in the Bible, but we believe in that!” the disciple exclaimed, cleary thrown into a state of rapture by the very thought of the document’s sub clauses amending sub clauses of compound articles of other treaties.

As the fallen archangel of the boom, Charlie McCreevy, had already pronounced: “Lisbon is a matter of faith, leave it to your betters to worry about what it means, just say yes and trust in the paradise of everlasting qualified majority voting that awaits you on the other side.”

The lone believer of Nass proved to be a singular miracle for the Taoiseach’s powers of persuasion.

Mr Cowen was soon seen moving in a mysterious way around Super Quinn, but try as he might he could not turn the loaves and fishes on display into love for Lisbon.

“Will you be voting yes?” he asked one harassed looking shopper. “I might...,” she said, but it was obvious the woman was just being polite even before she added the damning final word: “... maybe.”

Brian swept on, he would not be down hearted by the doubters, he had been tested in the wilderness of too many council of ministers meetings to turn back now.

What more did his people want?

Yes, he had sinned and confessed to saying a bad word and having hateful thoughts about the blueshirts, but had he not also just thrown out the money lenders from that temple of greed and temptation known as the Galway Races tent?

Thankfully, Fianna Fáil’s fallen archangel McCreevy was also on hand to put this too into Biblical perspective.

“It was a pain in the arse,” he pontificated, summing up the canvas alter to Mammon erected at Ballybrit every summer — and clearly aware this is speak-like-Father-Jack- week among top FF-ers.

How blessed were we to be in the presence of McCreevy as he emerged, not on the road to Damascus, but rather on the road to Nass GAA club, where he was picked up with Europe Minister Dick Roche by Brian’s big battle bus. We had spotted Dick, but we were still hungry for more.

Then, suddenly, Biffo- mania was loose on the streets of Maynooth as teenage girls screamed: “Oh! My! God! It’s Brian Cowaaan!” before swarming around him in a giddy swirl.

It was a rare moment of engagement on this tour which had barely dented the apathy shrouding his cause.

The pro and anti Lisbon posters that splatter Dublin as if it were general election time were nowhere to be seen on the streets Mr Cowen pounded from Navan to Kildare.

He had gone among his people, they had met the focher, but the indivisible trinity with the word “yes” had not been formed.

Brian has just 19 days to make us believe.

Pray for him.