APPLAUD THE GREATS, IGNORE THE CLOWNS
AS A nation we have a strong and proud relationship with sport.
Other countries thrive on the ‘everybody hates us, we don’t care’ attitude, but generally us Irish like to punch above our weight, without treading on too many toes in the process.
We love to be adored, thought of as the good guys, and be patted on the back as some sort of vindication of our sporting existence.
The followers of our soccer team are a case in point, a source of pride. Always up for the craic, never taking ourselves too seriously. The constant stream of humorous stories might be more than a tad over the top, but everything is done in good spirits.
However, whether it’s a ridiculous attention-seeking ploy or just sheer madness, Conor McGregor is single-handedly doing everything he can to tarnish that image and resurrect the view of the Irish as loutish and ignorant.
He can drape the Irish flag around his shoulder in celebration all he likes, but not in my name.
Anyway, enough about that unpalatable circus act; the past week saw the sad loss of two greats of sport, Eric Bristow and Ray Wilkins, long before their time at the ages of 60 and 61 respectively.
There’s no doubting that darts ace Eric Bristow was rough around the edges, having played the pantomime villain at times, but any sense of cockiness was always tongue in cheek, without any of the vitriolic unnecessary nonsense that we see from the likes of McGregor.
The Crafty Cockney was one of the leading forces in transforming darts from a pub game to a massive phenomenon in the 1980s.
Eight million people tuned in to watch Bristow win his first world title against Bobby George in 1980, and he went on to claim five world crowns in seven years.
Of course, there was a slight smugness about him as looked down his large Roman nose and showed his superiority over his rivals and shot down any hecklers in the crowd. He may have been the player that the supporters loved to hate, but there was no real animosity there.
Bristow stirs up memories of smoke-filled venues, players taking a sip or gulp of a pint depending on the state of their nerves, Sid Waddell bleating out classic one-liners and characters, proper characters, that lit up an auditorium with their larger than life personalities.
When Bristow began to fade so did darts, before the rise of Phil Taylor, who has the Crafty Cockney to thank for paving the way for him in the game, as he saw his potential and loaned him £10,000 so he could afford to travel to events.
Bristow was far from squeaky clean and his indiscretions can’t be ignored, particularly when he was sacked from his Sky Sports commentator’s role in 2016 after an offensive tweet regarding sexual abuse in football, although he did apologise the following day, saying his wording was wrong.
Despite his faults, given the outpouring of affection in recent days, it looks like darts fans and the wider public will remember the good times rather than the bad and cherish the halcyon days of the game during the ’80s when Bristow strutted his stuff in his trademark red Crafty Cockney shirt, with legends like John Lowe, Jocky Wilson and Leighton Rees as his supporting cast.
The late Ray Wilkins was the epitome of what a sports person should be. The former England star was supremely talented, yet humble and always came across as a proper gentleman.
It’s been heartwarming to see all the genuine tributes that have been paid to the player, who represented the likes of Manchester United, Chelsea and AC Milan during his stellar career.
The people who were acquainted with Wilkins were universal in their praise for the gifted midfielder, while those, like myself, who just know him through our television screens, saw him as a man filled with great warmth, compassion and grace.
There have been an array of touching stories written about Wilkins in the past week, from ex-QPR player Nigel Quashie to a former soldier that he helped to save from a troubled life on the streets, despite having to battle demons of his own.
Quite simply, Wilkins was a beautiful person as well as a beautiful footballer.
Some sports stars, although it would be the antithesis of what they would have sought, deserve to be put on a pedestal and revered as genuine role models.
Others, like Mister McGregor, just need to be ignored.