The late Irish-language poet Michael Davitt once wrote a wonderful poem entitled An Maistir, were he tells the tale of spotting an old beloved teacher of his in a pub and how he decided not to approach him, lest he break the magic of his school-day memories.
They always say that you should never meet your heroes, the idea generally being that you will inevitably be disappointed. The funny thing is that the sense of wonder that one feels about anyone in the hero category tends to wane as you grow older. It’s rare for people not in their teens to have posters on their walls of people living or dead – probably just as well, as the Blu-Tack tends to ruin the wallpaper! I can recall a large picture of the Irish soccer team – dodgy moustaches included – on my wall as a child, a team that had managed to qualify for the European Championship for the first time in 1988.
I then had the good fortune, on a school tour to Shannon on the jumbo, to bump into the team at the airport. I recall a classmate of mine racing around the departure lounge to find as many people as he could to tell them about our incredible luck. “The Irish soccer team are around the corner and I shook Jack Charlton’s hand!” he screamed, and immediately 12 or more gamely young boys (and girls) ran as fast as their legs could carry them to where the Irish team were reported to be hanging out.
It makes me smile when I recall the faces around me when we came within two feet of the hallowed heroes and stopped dead in our tracks, too afraid to go any further. We did in the end get our various scraps of paper signed by the players, only after embarrassing a number of less well-known international squad starters with the inevitable youthful rudeness: “Who are you?” Similarly, I can recall obtaining Eamon Coughlan’s autograph at an athletics event in Santry Stadium soon after he was crowned as the world 5000m champion. Again, I stood awestruck as he scribbled his name on my piece of paper and politely asked me my name. My older brother had to remind me of my name before Coughlan completed the chore. Magic.
Bizarrely enough, I have never felt the same wonder or excitement when meeting public representatives of note – perhaps because you can achieve reasonably high office without doing anything of any major significance. Since entering politics, I have had the opportunity to share tea with Presidents and Taoisigh, I’ve rubbed shoulders with ministers and lauded figures from the Northern peace process and I’ve also shared lifts and taxis with various TDs and senators.
However, I never get the same tingle of excitement from these encounters as I do when I meet a sports star, which is something I find it difficult to put my finger on. Is it because sports stars are genuinely talented people whose job it is not to speak but to thrill us with their athleticism? Is it because politicians will inevitably let you down? Or is it because sporting endeavour is a mass spectator event and they can capture the imagination of a nation in an awe-inspiring moment of wild jubilation to make an entire country dance, almost literally?
Last week, while eating a late breakfast in a city centre bistro – God bless the summer holidays – I spotted a real legend of our sporting times sitting two seats down from me. Sonia O’Sulllivan, the former world champion and Olympic medallist, was enjoying lunch with a friend, and I suddenly had a huge urge to go over and to tell her how great I think she is. Sonia once won the world championship title at 3000m only to be ambushed by begrudging journalists asking her infantile questions about her reasons for rejecting a number of Irish flags that she was offered by spectators.
Reasonably enough, Sonia got upset and left the press conference. She really was too good for us. I wanted to tell her that but I left her alone. After representing Ireland across the world for all those years, the least she deserves is to eat her lunch in peace and not to have an eejit like me annoying her. That’s the thing about heroes – they probably are best left alone. Asking them stupid questions or interrupting their lunch just brings them down to our level.
