Clear round for Michaeli on new sponsorship deal Word

A YOUNG Wexford woman has become the latest showjumping star to join a growing number of riders under the Horse First Supplements banner.

Michaeli Byrne (21), from Camolin, has been involved in equestian sport from a young age and turned her hobby into a career as she got older. She has worked for people like Francis Connors, Steve Smith and Sophie Richards of Barnadown, and Shane Breen and Darragh and Sarah Kerins in Florida.

Over that time, she honed her skills in the showjumping world to compete against the best at Hickstead, Luhmuhlen and the Dublin Horse Show.

Trained by Johnny O’Connell and supported from the beginning by her father Michael Byrne, she currently works for Ronan Rothwell of Boleybawn Horses and has two Grand Prix level horses to campaign this year: Aerosmith, who is owned by Greg Broderick and her own horse, King Diego. Both horses are contesting the 1.35-1.40 qualifiers for the RDS. Two other young horses, in the wings in Boleybawn, Aasha and Filouandra, will keep the dream alive.

Michaeli’s horse King Diego was purchased as a project from Billy Pringle, via Michaeli’s aunt Kay Bowe. An unbroken four-year-old, the plan was to bring him on and sell him once he had a few shows under his belt. As Michaeli pointed out, he was not meant to stay, never mind become a Grand Prix prospect!

Speaking about her recent sponsorship, Michaeli said: ‘I am so pleased to be sponsored

Michaeli Byrne.

by Horse First Supplements. I have been using their supplements for years and am an avid fan of ‘Relax Me’.’

She remarked that it kept tense horses calmer in the ring, but let them open out more over the fences, which made it a perfect competition supplement.

Paddy Hughes of Horse First Supplements added: ‘Having watched Michaeli develop as a rider over the last few years I was delighted when Johnny O’Connell made the introduction and the idea for us to support Michaeli was born. We are very proud to support an up-and-coming Irish rider and we are delighted to welcome Michaeli to the Horse First team.’ I WAS in Amsterdam a few weeks before Christmas just gone, when a sudden snow blizzard brought the city to its knees. The canals froze, the trams stopped, the airport closed. Modern European city or not, everything came to a shuddering halt. White silence. Well, almost.

There remained the swish of tyres and the tinkle of handlebar bells. Regardless of the tricky street conditions and the bitter, biting cold, there they were, the natives and locals, pedalling away good-o, on their high nelly bicycles. Not a bother on them. Like mono-rail ghosts whizzing past. Ones, twos and threes.

It reminded me of a Sunday morning in the Connemara Gaelteacht, fado fado, when on our way walking down to ten mass, we were passed on the road by dozens of black bikes, piloted by men and women from the hills around the village, making their weekly pilgrimage.

Thing of the past, isn’t it, now. Men and women on the two wheels. In all weathers. And not a vitamin drink or thread of gaudy lycra in sight! Ah when men were men and women were glad. The folk that would have pedalled for miles to a match or a dance. Like the dance mentioned next, in Billy Brennan’s barn.

Inniskeen Road: July Evening by Patrick Kavanagh was a watershed moment in the poet’s writing career. Written in 1936, it marked the first time Kavanagh had the confidence to write in his own style, about his own world, and create what he saw, straight from his inners, and steer away from the constricted construction of work composed in an expected format for an expectant reader.

And here, he discovers himself. In it, we can recognise the gift he had for recreating what he was, and where he was from. Although the irony is, that in this piece he questions or doubts exactly what he is, and where does he belong? The whole community seems to be cycling to a dance tonight, bar himself. The poet feels isolated as the world wheels by.

He is part of this world, yet, as often with a writer, detached from it. He recognises this world and is somehow comfortable and uncomfortable in it, at the same time. (Something John B Keane often spoke of, as he typed away, watching from his upper window, the regular folk of Listowel, going about their business on the streets below.)

So, whilst the first 8 lines of this poem cement for us that rural scene of anticipation and excitement and delight, the final 6 lines drive home his feelings of exclusion, anger and isolation. There’s a dance on tonight, but he won’t be there. He will be dancing alone. Hence the mention of ‘Alexander Selkirk’, the real life individual who became the inspiration for that tale of Robinson Crusoe. Abject, utter, mind-warping detachment and loneliness. A visually awesome poem, it captures and holds wonderfully for us a time past, but let us not forget that it is also, splendidly sad. The bicycles go by in twos and threes - There’s a dance in Billy Brennan’s barn tonight, And there’s the half-talk code of mysteries And the wink-and-elbow language of delight. Half-past eight and there is not a spot Upon a mile of road, no shadow thrown That might turn out a man or woman, not A footfall tapping secrecies of stone. I have what every poet hates in spite

Of all the solemn talk of contemplation.

Oh, Alexander Selkirk knew the plight

Of being king and government and nation. A road, a mile of kingdom. I am king

Of banks and stones and every blooming thing.

Fógra: Dedicated to two late, great neighbours of mine. Tim and Lil Counihan. Back in the day they would cycle from Enniscorthy to Thurles to watch Cork in the Munster Hurling Final. And back home on the Monday. 160 miles of bad road. No 20-speed Trek or Giant required. When men were men.