The year of the fallout

We began the year still reeling from September 11. There was the war in Afghanistan, the jitters in world economies, and the sense that nothing would ever be the same again. It seemed that just as the new post-modern world order had seen off all comers, something ancient, musty and fundamental woke from a slumber centuries old.

While our first floods troubled us in the early weeks of the year, 2002 actually started well. We discovered a new hero, and a real one at that. Out of nowhere, but representing Ireland, Lord Clifton Hugh Lancelot De Verdon Wrottesley came fourth in the men’s skeleton finals in the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. Amazing, but true. And he persuaded his uncle Esme Johnston, owner of Bordeaux’s Chateau de Sours, to sponsor the Irish team!

Was this an omen? Was this another sign that we were among the elect? Was it fuck, as John Gogarty might say. That was as good as it got. As the economy sank and the waters rose, we got shirty. Say it any way you like, but this was a bad tempered year all round.

Nowhere was this more apparent than in Saipan, one of the central stories of the year. On the surface it was about two individuals, Roy Keane and Mick McCarthy. True, but this story also delved to far deeper levels. Individuals and their flaws, organisations and their dysfunctions and fate, bloody fate.

Passion? Righteousness? Conviction versus feelings, heroes versus chieftains, the pure versus the pragmatic... This was Shakespearean drama for everyone. This was as close as most of us will ever get to myth and it convulsed us for weeks, months, maybe even years.

Indeed, we are still at it. It has left scars, of that there is no doubt. And questions. As the dust settled, that voice kept whispering in our ears – what if? We’ll never know.

Everything else was a floody sideshow really. Yeah, we had a watery year of it. Maybe the end is nigh and St Patrick’s pledge that Ireland would sink beneath the waves seven years before the end of the world is coming true. Feels that way at times. Then again, Europe got it worse.

The Irish Catholic Church probably thinks it’s sinking beneath the floods of allegations and floods of abuse. As might the Gardaí pretty soon. And speaking of floods, the tribunal of the same name got down to naming Ansbacher names. There are at least twelve tribunals and inquiries of various kinds on the go as I write. The controlling totems of Irish society – politicians, poltroons, priests and police – are being exposed to a harsh and demanding light.

Back in August I wrote that ‘We’ve learned so much. Or rather, so much of what we knew has been liberated. Our vices seep out like creosote, dark and foul and viscid, clinging to sole and soul alike. How intrinsic they are!’

But we’re not alone in that. Elsewhere in the world, corporate capitalism came close to imploding with revelations of accounting and auditing malpractices. Executives were lampooned much as lawyers and real estate agents once were. Like I said, a bad tempered year all round...

And out there, where it rarely rains, bin Laden schemes on, Saddam awaits America’s displeasure and Sharon chases the shadows of martyrs, shooting whatever moves. Two bombs in Bali made it clear that the whole world is now a battleground. This too reeks of Greek mythology. America is contending with a Hydra – cut off one head and nine grow back. What’s more, they want to die. It will all take longer than they think.

Those who argued that all was changed were right. Your future awaits.