Playing to the gallery under flag of convenience
ONE of the more curious aspects of the rise of Conor McGregor has been its use of nationalism.
McGregor loves playing up his Irishness, displaying attitudes last showcased in 19th century caricatures of Ireland in sniffy British publications.
He waves around the Tricolour any chance he gets, to the point that it became a prop tossed between himself and Floyd Mayweather in the build-up to last week’s silliness.
It reached its climax with an absurd version of the national anthem delivered by Imelda May in Las Vegas, but again this was of a piece with McGregor’s reliance on a particular version of what it is to be Irish.
He appears to understand how much of America sees Ireland, and plays up the drinkin’ and fightin’ and blatherin’ stereotype.
It has done him no harm, given the money he has made and his profile in that country, but what is surprising is how so many of his fans have been taken in, too.
They queued up to take part in vox pops in Vegas and insisted he had fought for Ireland and that we should be proud of him.
That is a matter of opinion, and perhaps taste, too, but McGregor has also tapped into the enthusiasm for loud, ‘hilarious’ expressions of being Irish, of the kind that bored us to tears during last year’s Euros.