Useless
By Mikie O'Connor
In my home town there are two Dinny Sullivans. Ironically, men of similar disposition and philosophy - both avid sports enthusiasts and neither susceptible to bringing home pigs purchased in bags. One however, is known as "Good Dinny" and the other as "Bad Dinny", the latter not winning his tide by any subversive or criminal activity, but rather by a strange quirk of fate. Both are keen darts players. During Advent in Sean Brennan's pub on the fringes of the Latin Quarter, there would be a mighty gathering of protagonists for the turkey competitions. A draw for partners preceded events. If you were drawn with Dinny from Barrack Street, there was a serious chance you would be walking a turkey home before you that night and every chance the wife would be encouraging you to go to the pub more often. Hence, when the name Dinny Sullivan came out of the hat, there would be universal cry, "Good" or "Bad" Dinny.
A few years ago, my father had turf ready for footing, there was one man for the job if you book him - "Bad Dinny". "I'll be with you Monday week. God willing" he told me. I enlist another great friend of mine for the trip. A seriously fit young man, hard as teak with a fist full of All Ireland medals in his back pocket, not unfamiliar with the bog either. When we reached the bank of turf in the morning the vista was glorious, it was going to be a scorcher. For those unfamiliar, turf is laid out in rows about 200 feet long and twelve sods wide. Discretely I challenged "Domo" to keep pace with "Bad Dinny" for the day " I heard he's good", "but I love a challenge". After about an hour we reached the end of the first row. Domo and Din together. As I was a little in arrears, Dinny turned around and helped tidy my row. Domo stood up to straighten his back, sweat was dropping from his brow, he looked worried. He had every right to be. By lunch time, Dinny was a full row in front and at this stage we engaged ourselves more in conversation to take our minds off the toil and my aching back - a legacy of dragging the players of Desmonds around Ireland for 15 years. Joking aside, a day in the bog can be a microcosm of life itself. It can be good or bad, happy or sad, a success or like 1988 a failure. As in any game, any match, it can have its Fancy Dans, Desperate Dans, Dick Turpins or Willam Tells.
A few years ago, a low budget Australian movie - Muriel's Wedding,won unexpected acclaim. A black comedy of the kind that is all too often inflicted on the young people of today. It seems we are all able to deride and condemn whom we perceive to be flawed and lesser mortals. At one stage in the movie - over dinner - Muriel's father described her to his guests as the most "Useless" of all his children. It seemed funny from the outside looking in, but I have come to despise such cynicism. There are too many positive things around us that are ignored. When I was growing up in Castleisland, the word "useless" was commonly used in all sorts of sporting pursuits. There were useless greyhounds, useless cocker spaniels, useless horses, useless putters, useless football boots that had to be re-tied when they missed simple scoring chances. Thankfully, it never had any more personal signifivance than bemoaning the last missed free, dropped catch, socket or knock-on. Loosely it was an adjective that embellished any kind of set back - defeat or misfortune.
A few years ago - or so the story goes, a famous local builder was working with his son who was learning the trade. The son was long enough in the trade and the tooth to know that block laying was a precise art and that his father was from the school of "more haste speed". It was Saturday and with the impetuosity any young man is entitled to - near the end of the job, he asked his father if they would be finished by tea-time. " I suppose we could" replied the father "if we left ourselves go".
It's so easy for us to think for others. To condemn their difference, reluctance to dive on the ground, their inept contribution. So easy when you look at it from your point of view - so easy to call them useless.
A few weeks back, a young lad was describing the cut and thrust of the forwards in his local team to Castleisland's greatest all-round sportsman, Eamon O'Connor. Eamon proposed that Philip Horan would have made them look like novices. "What" says the young fellow "that auld lad played football". Some years ago Philip scored four goals to grasp victory from the jaws of defeat in the County Championship. He was marked by a young man who now holds seven All Ireland senior medals. Later, his more famous brother being asked about the negative impact of study and exams on match performance was heard to say "oh awful, terrible altogether, you'd be wrecked, sure a guy call Phil Horan from Cordal scored four goals against my brother while he was in the middle of exams and I wouldn't mind but Horan was useless.
Mikie O'Connor wrote this article for the 1998 Christmas Blitz Programme