Martin has mettle to take blows and be a contender
ARGUABLY, the finest moment of Robert de Niro's Oscar-winning performance in Raging Bull is his portrayal of his character Jake La Motta's lamentation of his wasted potential.
"I could have been a contender," the washed-up boxer pitifully bemoans.
As the son of an international boxer, Micheál Martin's ingrained interest in the sport means he can probably be counted as one who would appreciate the moving tale of the fighter's life and times.
At the moment ,though, Martin can certainly be counted as a real contender for the Fianna Fáil leadership, especially after finally winning a rewarding but bruising battle to get through the smoking ban this week.
In finally announcing the starting date for the ban, the minister referred to it as providing a legacy for future generations. Humility may prevent him from staking a personal claim to that legacy at present, but it could yet have far-reaching political consequences for his own future.
Commentators said the smoking ban would make or break Micheál Martin and the drive he showed to get this visionary policy through confounded the detractors, who accuse him of being racked by indecision.
That's not to say the venture went perfectly, as the manner in which it almost fell apart at the seams, was postponed and slightly changed, did highlight the flaws in his make-up. Taking quite a few hits along the way, the victory came on points rather than a straightforward knock-out blow.
The overwhelming support he surprisingly received at the Fianna Fáil Árd Fheis in October was a crucial moment, confirming to his wavering party colleagues that he truly had public backing.
"The smoking ban was a political masterstroke, which didn't cost anything, and yet was hugely popular. It distracted from the drip feed of health disasters and it strengthened his political credibility," a keen observer of his career and political commentator noted yesterday.
Now the alleged smokescreen is a done deal, next on the agenda for the local-boy-come-good from Turners Cross in Cork city is the hard sell of the reform package for the health service unless he gets an anticipated move elsewhere. Although you won't hear him say it, four-and-a-half punishing years in the Department of Health is enough for anybody and while the plum job of minister for finance would definitely be appealing, the hallowed halls of Iveagh House and the Department of Foreign Affairs would also be enticing. Wherever he ends up, he'll be in a commanding position whenever the top job comes up.
Alternatively, the Taoiseach could let him stay put to continue supping from the poisoned chalice. Despite the frequent calamities to befall the holder of his office, his midas touch and empathy with the ordinary man and woman on the street has served him well and means he would exit in the reshuffle with reputation intact, and probably enhanced.
To date, the 43-year-old's rise through the ranks could be adopted as a textbook guide to how to become leader of your country. The slight problem is that the final chapters have yet to be written.
After growing up in Cork, the cut-throat world of college politics in UCC, through the students union and Ógra Fianna Fáil, was an educating introduction to politics.
The assistance of FF HQ, apparently under direct orders from Charlie Haughey, was required to get the bright young teacher on the party ticket for Cork Corporation in 1985, after the status quo blocked him at convention. The threat he posed was confirmed when he took a seat at the expense of one of his party colleagues, sitting councillor Mick Finn.
Shoe leather and hard slog got him elected to Dáil Éireann at the second attempt in 1989, but as he was identified as a Haughey man, he was never promoted by Albert Reynolds, despite becoming FF's top dog in Cork city in 1992, so he continued to build locally and made a real impact as lord mayor.
The butter wouldn't melt in his mouth demeanour betrays a typical Fianna Fáil characteristic of never being afraid to pull out any stops and the possession of a ruthless streak, according to party colleagues. "He'd never miss a stroke but I'd say that now in a complimentary way," a FF insider from Cork acknowledged yesterday. Impressing as opposition education spokesman after Bertie Ahern became Fianna Fáil leader, the Taoiseach then stuck with him in that portfolio when the Coalition came into government in 1997.
Nervously watching from the gallery of Dáil Éireann, Mr Martin's supporters let out cheers of joy and relief as Mr Ahern announced his Cabinet selection, to the chagrin of the security staff. Uniquely popular with teachers, he was then moved to health in 2000 to really test his mettle.
The leading vote-getter in the country still keeps a watchful eye on his backyard and has a cabal of capable and close confidants to ensure no slippage, including Humphrey Murphy, Dermot O'Mahony and Deirdre Forde.
His right-hand man is his brother Seán, who also holds his seat on Cork City Council, where he is backed up by Cllr Terry Shannon among others.
Equally in Department of Health HQ in Hawkins House, he has a tight and effective kitchen cabinet of special adviser Christy Mannion, who moved with him from the Department of Education, policy adviser Deirdre Gillane, who is a former Irish Nurses Organisation official and press adviser Caitríona Meehan, a former FF press officer.
In Leinster House, he would be regarded as being particularly close to Mary Hanafin, John O'Donoghue and Brian Lenihan.
Friends and foe alike say his first priority remains his family. His wife Mary O'Shea, who he met in college, possesses an astute political mind, and the couple have four young children, Micheál Aodh, aged nine; Aoibhe, seven; Cillian, three and one-year-old Leina.
Regarded as a good mimic of accents, he likes history books and biographies and he is proud to tell stories of his father Paddy Martin's boxing exploits.
That boxing heritage will come in useful when it comes to the heavyweight prizefight ahead.
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