The two-footed lunge

"I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant,” declared James Joyce, as he placed the final – and possibly only – full-stop at the end of Ulysses.

In idle moments, I often imagine Brendan O’Connor saying the same thing whenever he finishes one of his hilarious articles for the Sunday Independent. His bizarre offerings are about as coherent as Ulysses, although there the similarities between his work and Joyce’s end.
For those of you unfamiliar with the work of Mr O’Connor, his is a fairly simple brief in every sense of the word. The Sunday Independent’s self-styled resident wag, he takes weekly “sideways looks” at the issues of the day, aiming potshots at what he perceives as legitimate satirical targets. Which is all well and good if you’re a keen-eyed marksman of the calibre of Jonathan Swift, but completely fucking pointless if you’re incapable of hitting a sacred cow’s arse with a banjo.
Now you could argue that the man is just trying to earn a living and nobody ever dies as a result of his harmless musings, but I disagree. Every time I subject myself to one of his gormless social commentaries a little piece of me dies. In fact, quite a large chunk of me cashed in its chips upon reading a vile article he wrote recently about one of the greatest footballers I have ever seen or met.
It is well-documented that Paul McGrath is an alcoholic. A man with issues, as they say. Indeed, McGrath’s alcoholism is particularly well-documented by the Sunday Independent, who not so long ago published a scurrilous drink-by-drink account of one of his pub-crawls, complete with graphic illustrations. In his day, however, Paul was one of the greatest centre-halves in world football and despite his illness, continues to be one of the most gentle, kind and respected men in Ireland.
So what does Brendan O’Connor do? He notices that Paul McGrath has taken a position at a lowly League of Ireland club and proceeds to write a snide, patronising article belittling his attempts to restore some sort of order to his chaotic existence. “Thank God somebody came up with a solution for the Paul McGrath thing,” he wrote, stretching his vocabulary to the limits. “And yes you heard it right: It wasn’t Watford, it was Waterford.”
Nice one Brendan. Funny man.
If the article in question had been in even remotely amusing, clever or well-written it would have been worth reading. After all, Paul McGrath, like everyone else, is fair game for a ribbing... if it’s done properly. Sadly, O’Connor’s effort was the kind of impotent, torpid, half-arsed attempt at wit for which his name has long been a by-word.
“We all love Paul and we definitely think we owe him a living,” he expounded, warming to his theme of the Paul McGrath “thing”, before explaining that Waterford is the right place for him because he isn’t qualified to coach anywhere else and is too shy to earn a living on television.
Unlike Brendan, obviously, whose career highlights to date include helping to run RTE’s comedy death ship Don’t Feed The Gondolas aground, donning a wig-and-wacky-glasses-combo to release a novelty single that was about as funny as chewing blunt, rusty razor-blades coated in salt, and being the only writer in the Sunday Independent consistently capable of making the 04 Team seem like Pulitzer contenders.
Who better then, to take it upon himself to mock the latest efforts of a lovely man whose comparatively threadbare CV boasts a mere 83 international caps for the Republic of Ireland, appearances at both the European Championships and World Cup, an FA Cup winner’s medal, two League Cup medals and a PFA Player Of The Year Award?
It occurs to me that rather than scoff at Paul McGrath’s new role at Waterford United, Brendan O’Connor could do worse than travel down to Waterford United for some pointers instead. Journalism may appear to have little in common with football, but as with any discipline it’s all about technique.
A master of his art, Paul McGrath could probably work wonders on Brendan’s notoriously poor vision and timing when it comes to tackling the weighty issues in order to minimise the risk of future ill-advised two-footed literary lunges. Just a thought.