Colin Sheridan: Trying, and failing, to put a value on greatness

The moment was an allegory for an era of football Casillas’ Spanish team dominated; winning a World Cup was its zenith, a rare instance of a fairytale ending for a team who fulfilled their glorious promise, writes Colin Sheridan

It's been a long week. It started with an inversion of the old fairytale, as the princess very publicly rescued a stranded prince, and in doing so struck a seismic blow for the fairer sex and people of colour, while also making a strong case for the formation of a princesses’ union.

Never again will new Royals have to show up for a big game, untrained in the art of the curtsey. Appropriate mileage will be guaranteed. Pints of milk and soggy sandwiches in freezing changing rooms will be replaced by protein shakes and power salads. No sharing tracksuits. The Meghan Markle collective bargaining agreement will look after all of that.

If we thought the week was off to a shaky start, it got a little wackier as news emerged from the art world that a Banksy piece, which had been bought for $95,000 in January, was subsequently (deliberately) set on fire, and the video of the burning sold for $380,000. Cynics railed that this was just another stunt, and a monumental waste of money.

That was before a digital work by the graphic designer known as Beeple sold for $70m. In one fell swoop of the auctioneer’s hammer at Sotheby’s, the housing market in Ireland looked quite reasonable. It’s hard to live in a digital print on your computer screen.

Meanwhile, Waterford’s Sam Bennett, who’s been wandering around like Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense wondering why no one can see him for months at a time, won two stages of the iconic Paris-Nice race last week. It’s still early in his season, but his performances suggest an even bigger year than last is on the cards. Loathe as I am to fun-cop his moment, Sam and his supporters would be wise to remember there is a British and Irish Lions tour of South Africa (or South Armagh, pandemic dependent) planned for late this summer, so tall tales of his heroic endeavours may have to cede space to the debate over who is a Lions bolter, who’s a certain starter, and who’s going to captain the midweek dirt-trackers. Sam may have the respect of his cycling peers, and he might have to make do with that.

Sam doesn’t strike me as the type to make a fuss, which is just as well. Another country might build an entire sporting movement around such a sporting talent. Not us, though! Is there such an abundance of good news stories doing the rounds at the moment that we barely make room for him? Bennett could do with an hour on a Californian couch with Oprah, just to decompress. Explain to us that his country hasn’t been returning his calls.

Leona Maguire could join him. The Cavan golfer’s recent LPGA Tour displays should make her a poster-girl for Irish women achieving in international sport, yet, like Bennett, the adulation others receive seems to somehow pass her by.

If there was one story this week that signalled the end of something beautiful, however, it was the news that Spain’s World Cup-winning captain, Iker Casillas, and his wife Sara Carbonero, were ending their marriage.

None of anybody’s business, of course, but given they gave us one of the enduring and poetic images of an otherwise drab World Cup in South Africa in 2010, the news hit, also serving as a metaphor of the decline of another kingdom; that of Spanish football, and the place it had in our hearts for the last 15 years.

Moments after hoisting the World Cup, Casillas was being interviewed by his then girlfriend Carbonero, when, overcome by emotion, he passionately kissed her live on television. To her credit, Carbonero composed herself, before continuing with her broadcast.

The moment was an allegory for an era of football Casillas’ Spanish team dominated; winning a World Cup was its zenith, a rare instance of a fairytale ending for a team who fulfilled their glorious promise. Casillas and his wife have survived a heart attack and ovarian cancer respectively during their time together, proving they are nothing if not remarkably resilient human beings.

La Liga, once the canvas upon which spectacular art was regularly made, is ailing, failing to compete with its English equivalent, or indeed, PSG, who play in a league of one in terms of infinite money. Now, Barcelona, with its ageing Messi, are lapsing toward irrelevance. Real Madrid — San Iker’s alma mater — are plodding along without a recognisable world star. Proof that, all empires eventually do fall.

Not even Oprah can save them.