Denis Lehane: FF leader well able to handle a stick
And while a lot of smokers huffed and puffed when his ban was first introduced, nobody is complaining now.
We are all much happier these days.
We are as healthy as can be as we dive into our creamy pints.
Anyhow, the next thing he took over the Fianna Fáil party, and now he could well be lining up for the role of Taoiseach.
So my story ends there, you might think.
Well, think again, for you don’t know the half of it.
Micheál Martin is a clever fellow, and if you saw his picture on these pages last week, you would know exactly what I mean.
There he was in Bandon Mart, droving calves.
‘On the campaign trail,’ you might think, as he was pictured decked out in all his finery, a fellow more suited to a wedding than to weanlings. Well yet again, you are very wrong.
Micheál is a lot cleverer than that.
If he was in Bandon solely on the campaign trail, wouldn’t he be sitting pretty in between farmers, shaking hands, holding babies and kissing mothers? He would be watching the mart action from a safe distance.
Micheál was in the thick of it. He was in between the calves with a big stick.
“And why?” you might ask.
Well, that was obvious to me. He was showing us that even though he might be a city boy, he can manage calves just as well as the next man.
He was letting it be known that if his role in politics ever goes arseways, he would make a damn good calf drover.
How else could you possibly explain the stick so firmly gripped in his hand?
His comfortable pose?
That cheerful smile on his face?
Micheál was in his element among the calves, and I heard from a reliable source that the calves he herded into the ring on that Monday made a very sizable sum indeed.
And not only that, but another reliable source, who was also at the mart on that Monday, told me that not only did Micheál stay for the reminder of the calf sale, but for the remainder of the day.
By all accounts, Micheál stayed on to ensure that every calf found a home.
Loading calves into trucks and trailers and every other conceivable form of transportation, he was a sight to behold.
Even lifting strong calves into the back of an old jeep, a job that fellows half his age would find a difficult task, he didn’t complain once.
But there was more, for it was said that Micheál also sorted out a heated issue that arose pertaining to a wonky calf tag.
In another case, he even went so far as to check the swollen navel of a fiery Friesian bull calf, before reassuring the purchaser that the calf would be fine after a course of antibiotics.
Anyhow it was said that by the end of the day, over a pint and a handshake, a pledge was given to the Fianna Fáil leader that should he fail in his efforts to become Taoiseach or President or whatever the hell it was that he was aiming for, there would be a job for him in the mart as a drover.
Micheál Martin, yet again, has every angle covered.
