Red-carded
I confess it ... I was an altar boy. Never got fiddled and never got fucked. Not a hint of it in fact. I was once carrying the crucifix in a procession, two acolytes behind me and had my hair set alight but that's another story. Same church, same foul-tempered chain-smoking whisky-priest and there were six or eight of us on the altar one Saturday morning for 'altar-boy practice'. Amongst the altar-boy cohort was a nephew of a famously bolshie priest with a strongly anti-Vatican stance on contraception. (He later left the priesthood, get married, had some kids and went on to become a famous author who wrote a well-received TV series too.)
Five minutes into the service (bound to get the back up of Fr. Grumpycunt) in walks the gangling frame of the Republic of Ireland and Spurs goalkeeper Pat Jennings... one of our childhood heroes - a regular on Sundays in a crowded church but almost the only member of the congregation. Maybe saying a few "Hail Maries" before a trip to Highbury? Consternation amongst the gaggle of altar-boys. Most of us settled down fairly quickly but not the die-hard Spurs fan nephew in question who continued to chatter to his neighbour excitedly. At this point the priest stopped the service and boomed: "D_________! Get off this altar NOW and NEVER come back!"
It wasn't until many years later that I worked out that the (perceived) sins of the uncle were being visited on the hapless nephew.
I'm better now. No longer believe and do useful things with my Sundays off.
Peace & love boys 'n' girls!
(Roger Darce sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, Fri 2 Sep 2011, 19:16, 1 reply)

Northern Ireland, not Republic of Ireland
Don't worry though - absolutely nobody minds if you get them muddled up.
(salvadorevincent, Sun 4 Sep 2011, 21:55, closed)