It was perhaps a subtle blessing that the European Athletics U18 Championships fell last week of all weeks.
Trying to compete with a World Cup, a GAA championship season, Wimbledon, and an Irish Open that has endured a remarkable zero rain delays, would usually be an exercise in futility. But, a few outstanding Irish performances have ensured that it has peeked through the blinds like brilliant morning light.
The heroics of Sarah Healy, Rhasidat Adeleke, and Sophie O’Sullivan this week have been inspirational. Ditto, Dublin teenager Gavin Buzunu who pushed the League of Ireland to the forefront of our social-media consciousness last Friday night after his performance for Shamrock Rovers against Cork City, garnering comparisons to Buffon in the process. He’s 16. Word is Liverpool are interested. I’m sure they are. As I’m sure Gavin is too, just as he’s interested in Minecraft and Selena Gomez.
We all handle expectation differently. Trae Young is 19 years of age. Two weeks ago he was drafted into the NBA by the Dallas Mavericks with the fifth overall pick, before signing with the Atlanta Hawks in a trade. The night of the draft — which is effectively Debs night for 300 or so of the most gifted athletes in America — Young arrived to the show wearing burgundy suit shorts, a move that barely raised an eyebrow in an environment where one’s ostentatiousness is a prerequisite to longevity and success.
This sartorial statement would have only reinforced prospective teams’ opinion of his self-worth, something he’d better not be lacking when he faces down LeBron James in a matter of months. As much as I think Aidan O’Shea could pull this look off, imagine the reaction if he rocked up to Ladies Day at the Galway Races in similar rig? A tribunal would be established and all Government funding to the Atlantic Corridor project suspended. It’s just our way.
Just as it is to claim ownership of young talent, overhype it when they show a morsel of potential, and then react in bewildered hysteria when it doesn’t work out exactly the way WE had planned for them. Maybe we can’t change who we are, but maybe we can change how we react to it.
Russian philosopher Alexander Herzen said “because children grow up, we think a child’s purpose is to grow up. But a child’s purpose is to be a child. Nature does not disdain what only lives for a day. It pours the whole of life into each moment. Life’s bounty is in its flow. Later is too late.”
As adults, parents, coaches, and consumers, we should pay heed. The Arabic phrase “shway shway” has a myriad of meanings — amongst them; slow down, little by little, softly softly, take it easy — and, maybe I could just use one of those instead of coming over all Saul Berenson from Homeland on you, but it is this phrase that most comes to mind when I think of these young talented Irish kids, the road that lies ahead of each of them, and how we should treat them.
We want what we want. We want Olympic glory and giant-killing performances, and if we get them, watch how we react in a manner that would make Gabby Logan look like Roy Keane. That’s what we want. But what we want is unimportant. For these kids, none of whom have even filled out a CAO form yet, we have no clue what yet is important. There are infinite cautionary tales but yet we persist in falling into the same hole of overhype and eventual disappointment.
Please, with Sarah, Rashidat, Sophie et al, can we just play this one shway shway? Let them be. Let them enjoy today. Later is too late.
The relentlessness of golfing optimism
My brother is possibly the most honest nine-handicapper you could meet. By honest I mean he always hands in his cards, he is not interested in getting the infamous point one back.
He never tries to massage or manipulate his handicap in order to win more comps or get picked for club teams. To him, the sanctity of the handicap is his north point. But, for all his honesty, he can be pure criminal to play with.
“How are you playing?” you might ask him on the first tee. “I’ve never actually been hitting the ball better,” he will always, and I mean always, reply.
Give it an hour and he’s dropping to his knees like Neymar Jnr after lipping out for a triple-bogey 8 on the fifth, as we all stand there waiting, three fourballs gathered on the fairway behind us like an angry mob, honking on their imaginary horns.
He is, I’ve come to learn, the nine handicapper version of Pádraig Harrington. Harrington is always playing great golf, or has never been swinging better, or has just found the secret, and is unrelenting in his optimism. And so, as he called out the bookies for their show of little faith in him at Ballyliffin this week, you knew, you just knew, he was going to follow up his heartwarming opening 68 with an apocalyptic 78, and miss the cut.
If it was anybody else, you’d mock his hubris. But Harrington, as frustrating as he can be, has more than enough credit in the bank. It’s clear he lives by the mantra “to thine own self be true”, no matter the consequences. It has served him well. Much like the brother, I hope he never changes.
Is Leo the man for political football?
Pete McGrath resigned as Louth manager last week. The same week Leo Varadker “let slip” his suspicion of the media. Coincidence? Come on, people.
In his off-the-record utterances, Varadker in one single blow demonstrated the quality most desirable in the inter-county manager-du-jour; distrust of the media.
In many ways, Louth would be a great fit for Leo. They are at a low ebb after some years of promise. And if Pete McGrath was Brian Clough-ian in his methods, Leo would be pure contemporary Klopp — all energy and Hollywood smiles and the socks, the socks! The boys on The Sunday Game would love the socks.
Leo’s sidestep into management could start a trend for fellow deputies: Willie O’Dea taking over Limerick hurlers the next chance he gets. Michael Lowry would surely be a snug fit for the Tipp footballers, and whisper it, Enda to succeed Stephen Rochford in Mayo and end the famine.
Phil-ing their pockets in bizarre $10m battle
Speaking of idiotic ideas: Phil Mickelson this week confirmed that a one-off, winner-takes-all shootout between he and Tiger Woods will soon be coming to our screens.
The ‘all’ in this scenario is a cool $10 million. Just the 10. There hasn’t been too much mention of where that ten mil might end up, other than in one or the other’s credit union savings account. The ever-sycophantic American golf media seem to think it’s a great idea. Which is as bizarre as the conceit is grotesque.
My guess? Phil, a known gambler, goes all in on beating his old foe and, in a stroke of philanthropy Chuck Feeney would be proud of, dedicates the entire winnings to charity. Thus hammering the final nail in Tiger’s coffin and cementing his reputation as having nettles in his pockets, at the same time further endearing Phil to a public who are willingly blind to his own flaws.
At least Tiger would get .1 back.
Published by the Irish Examiner
Colin Sheridan 