THE INTERIM POPE

The Catholic Church will elect a new pope soon.

For a few days at least, the void created by Pope Benedict’s surprise retirement means that an interim pope should step in to handle papal duties.

In the spirit of Bob Rae, the pro tem Liberal Party leader for what seems like a decade, I propose that I be considered pope for hire.

Some of my card playing buddies were a bit skeptical about my papal intentions until I pointed out that I’ve stopped drinking alcohol with the exception of watered down wine, a prerequisite for Rome’s top job. Playing bridge with two Italians like Ermes and Mario every week has broadened my knowledge of both the Italian language and culture. I wonder if the retired pope enjoys paninis after his porketta.

Friend Francoise reminded me that it’s unlikely a non European would be considered for St. Peter’s chair. However, she seemed much more supportive when I reminded her that a French Canadian like interim Mike 2.0 would pave the way for the ultimate election of Canadian Cardinal Marc Ouellet as our next pontiff.

Although I don’t have the command of multiple languages like many previous popes, my French is passable and I did study Latin and Greek in high school. In fact, I can still conjugate Latin verbs with the likes of Paul Whalen and Don Clattenburg and my knowledge of Xenophon’s Anabasis, the fruit of two years of Greek classes, would prove invaluable should I travel to Athens.

Deacon Michael seemed to think that my Jesuit high training would somehow interfere with my lofty plans. Lighten up Michael, I’m just going to be pope for at most a week or two. And, heck, if you can be quiet about my past, I might even elevate you to archdeacon.

At 63, I’m the perfect age to head up the Vatican. Think about it. I’d be able to drive the Popemobile myself, handle my own Twitter account and do all the papal banking. And I’m not too old for intercontinental travel or staying up late for midnight mass.

Terry says I have the perfect noggin for a pontiff’s white mitre. The blue and white tuque that I use to cover my dome could certainly use an upgrade at this point in the winter.

The Vatican should also be delighted that there would be no need to craft a papal ring for me. I’m aware that the Ring of the Fisherman has been worn by popes since 1265 but I’ve got a gold wedding band that heralds my trolling days have been over for almost as long.

If I do reach Rome, I plan to make running up and down the stairs outside of St. Peter’s Basilica à la Rocky Balboa my 6 am ritual. Just maybe that morning example will inspire the fitness generation to take notice of the latest Catholic Church bulletin, Pope Mike 2.0 is at the helm.

I’m left wondering if all I have to do now is click my ruby red Nikes three times as I keep repeating the phrase…There’s no place like Rome, There’s no place like Rome.