It’s community that fuels the GAA, not million-euro donations
JP McMANUS is well used to fawning. As a rich man with a passion for golf, he is quarry for the slobbering and genuflecting that attends the powerful in that game. Golf is a shrine to wealthy males, and money doesn’t so much talk as cause knees to weaken on the fairways.
It wields a similar power in racing, where his status was well reflected in a recent TV interview. A piece to camera with McManus and his seven grandchildren could have been charming, but it was ruined by the squeaking deference of the joyous interviewer.
It was less a pleasant set-piece than a fan interaction that left the billionaire and the grandkids standing awkwardly, watching a grown man howl with delight.
He is accustomed, then, to the waves of gratitude that have been generated by his latest lavish GAA donation.
To many, it confirms his status as a force for good in Irish life, a rich man who has not forgotten his roots, or the passions that have sustained him through his life.
Others have cast a far more jaundiced eye on the gesture to donate €1million to every county on the island, the money to go to the clubs therein.
Reservations about the donation stemming from his tax affairs are understandable; exasperation at the opportunism of a handful of politicians using it to grandstand is just as easily understood.
But rushing to either position seems less advisable than recognising the good in what he has done, and regretting that an immensely wealthy man has chosen to make himself tax resident in another jurisdiction.
It’s possible to acknowledge his kindness but also to reject the argument made by some of his champions that it’s his money and he should be trusted to use it more wisely than the State would.
That latter argument quickly collapses on the application of the slightest weight of logic, and wouldn’t be long unravelling the bonds of social solidarity, already dangerously frayed, if we could all make those sorts of choices.
Those arguing for McManus to exercise freedom in how his money is distributed, are quick to shout for more public funding for facilities in sport, while conveniently overlooking the work taxes do in keeping hospitals open, nurses paid and guards on the street.
The provision in the McManus donation that the money go to clubs is both a recognition of the atomic forces from which the GAA are supposed to draw their power, and also a smart caveat that ensures it cannot be diverted to training funds or debt settlements.
The reality is that there are county boards which could barely be trusted with distributing the contents of a selection box.
There is, though, one uncomfortable aspect of all of this, and it’s the focus on one man. There is no suggestion McManus is motivated by anything other than a desire to do good, and the money will make an important difference.
However, the organisation is supposed to be about the efforts of the many, and not the munificence of the few. This is, whatever the arguments otherwise, a story about a man of unimaginable wealth making a massive intervention into the workings of the biggest, most important community, recreational and sporting organisation in the country.
That obliges discussion, not clapping like giddy seals, or megaphone disquiet.
The GAA works because of selflessness, because of the dedication of a sort captured best by George Eliot in Middlemarch.
These words are worth recalling, because they are beautiful, and because they convey selflessness of the kind that motivates volunteerism of the purest kind.
‘The growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.’
That work goes on, unheralded on social media, unadorned by slavering expressions of gratitude.
Those efforts will in many instances be aided by what JP McManus did this week.
And to the legions who have benefitted from his kindness and his charitable donations in the past, this is just one more example of a good man sharing his fortune.
Money fell out of the clouds on a dull Thursday morning. It will pay for jerseys and pots of paint; a lot of ploughed-up pitches will feel the benefit, too.
But when the money is spent and the headlines have grown yellow and crinkly, the work that keeps the GAA alive will go on, wordlessly, unstintingly.