The screenwriter and novelist Frank Cottrell-Boyce texted me this week with an idea: “You need to write a piece about the dilemma of trying to create a bubble of prayer around the days of the Triduum while having tickets for the semi-final in London with no direct trains, so no chance of getting back for the Easter vigil.” And when a writer of Frank’s calibre suggests I write something, write that something I will.
As Frank knows, he’s pushing at an open door here. Like him, I’m both a devotee of a football club and an enthusiastic Roman Catholic. Where we differ is that his team, Liverpool, are wildly successful; my team, West Brom, aren’t. Also, his learning in matters of the church surpasses mine by a distance. I had to look up Triduum, for a start. My dictionary says it is: “A period of prayer or religious celebration lasting three days.” It’s also defined, secularly, as merely “a space of three days”. And here lies the problem: in this particular space of three – OK, four – days, many critical football matches will be played. Over the Easter weekend, the secular and the devotional clash like clanging bells.
