Lighten Up: Why the Oscars needs to come to the Green Glens
As I left the mart later in the day with my reward in the bag, I wished the same for Jessie in the upcoming Oscars. May she bring home as much from LA as I brought home from Macroom on Saturday. Picture: Valerie Macon / AFP via Getty Images
Jessie Buckley's Oscar adventure was the talk of Macroom mart on Saturday.
I was there selling two bullocks, but my moment in the sun was completely overshadowed by Jessie.
And fair enough. It can't always be about me.
Anyhow, as I waited for my bullocks to enter the ring, I was asked about Jessie's chances at the upcoming Oscars.
"Will Jessie win?" came the cry into my ear, as if I were DiCaprio himself.
"Of course she will win!" I roared back. Our Kerry lass is in a league of her own.
And then I added I felt next year's Oscars ought to be held in the Green Glens in Millstreet.
With Cillian from Cork winning last year and Jessie from Kerry on the threshold of greatness this time, the Green Glens would seem like the ideal venue to host the event next year.
Like the Eurovision in the old days, if the Irish keep on winning, eventually all eyes will have to turn to Millstreet.
"Like the days of Niamh Kavanagh," I explained, before humming a tuneful verse of 'In Your Eyes'.
"But the Oscars is a different kettle of fish entirely," one old codger piped up from some place low down by the ringside.
"What different kettle of fish!?" I roared back.
"Sure tis the same thing entirely," I insisted.
And then I went on to explain that the Oscars themselves badly need the lift and that a visit to a town so close to the Cork/Kerry border would be the ideal medicine.
"Like the introduction of a new bull or ram to the herd," I explained, "the change would revitalise the whole thing."
It would bring a new bounce to proceedings.
"Yerra, things are gone very stale out there in Hollywood," I remarked, as if I knew what I was talking about.
Then, getting into my stride, I elaborated further, highlighting the prime example of the ploughing.
The National Ploughing Championships changes venue every few years, and this always adds a fresh spark to the adventure.
"A new plot of ground will always lead one to bouts of renewed vigour and excitement," I declared.
"But what about the National Dairy Show? That's already held in Millstreet?" came another cry.
"A couple of chip cartons and a few empty cans of Fanta is all the Hollywood crowd would leave behind."
And then, as my two bullocks entered the ring, it was my turn to hit the spotlight.
The bright lights off the seller's screen flashed above my eyes, illuminating us all and giving the whole world the details required on the age and origin of my cattle.
Similar in some ways, I suppose, to the billboards of Los Angeles or the bright lights of Times Square.
And as I climbed the steps towards the seller's box, I too felt a bit like Cillian and Jessie heading up the red-carpet steps to receive their gongs.
T'was all very exciting, almost glamorous, but nerve-racking too.
Thankfully, mercifully and praise the almighty, all went well in Macroom on Saturday, for while I didn't receive a golden trophy for my cattle, I did receive a handful of cash, enough to keep the wolf from the door. And a farmer can't ask for more than that.
And so, as I left the mart later in the day with my reward in the bag, I wished the same for Jessie in the upcoming Oscars.
May she bring home as much from LA as I brought home from Macroom on Saturday.
And hopefully, then what Hollywood hosts today, the great Green Glens in Millstreet could be hosting tomorrow.
Sure, there's no harm in wishing upon a star.
