“Every four or eight years, Ireland is forced to rally round young men from this class…”

I want to come back to the Olympic theme in more detail both here on Slugger and elsewhere. But this piece by Fintan O’Toole is worth flagging up for the pure politics of it, than anything to do with sport. The Ross O’Carroll-Kellys of elite Equestrianism failed to deliver, whilst the frequently maligned urban working classes once again provided the country with its only Olympic medal glory (boosted partly by the strange failure of the US and Cuba).

As so often in the past, national pride was salvaged by those of whom the nation generally feels least proud: young, working class men from marginalised communities. While the horsey set, with all their money and self-regard, were making a show of us yet again, the competitors who demonstrated honesty and discipline, pride and passion, were from the invisible Ireland that is represented only in court reports.


Kenny Egan’s north Clondalkin, for example, is almost literally a non-place. It is the product, not of democratic planning, but of the shenanigans that are the subject of the Mahon tribunal. Its “town centre” is a shopping centre that most locals can’t afford to patronise. The struggle to turn it into a home has been harsh: a decade ago, when Egan was starting to box, an astonishing 57 per cent of those aged between 14 and 23 in north Clondalkin had experienced homelessness.

This is an Ireland largely bypassed by the glossy high-tech economy. Just 6 per cent of its men and 5 per cent of women have a third-level education. Even now, there’s a 30 per cent chance of a child leaving primary school with serious literacy problems and a 50-50 chance of even sitting a Leaving Certificate.

There are no silver medals for north Clondalkin in the deprivation stakes – it scores 10 out of 10 in the economist’s index. Yet, there’s more to this story than deprivation – there’s the struggle against it.

And he believes the dominant narrative in the Irish media about this ‘underclass’ is faintly somatic and comforting to the easy affluence of the chief beneficiaries of the Celtic Tiger years:

It finds it convenient when young men from the working class reservations live up to the stereotypes, when they wear hoodies and white socks and throw shapes and sip cans of Dutch Gold lager on the back seat of the bus. The threatening signals allow for the maintenance of a reassuring distance. These people are stupid and crude and potentially violent, and it’s best to stay out of their way.

But “every four or eight years, Ireland is forced to rally round young men from this class and adopt them as our great national hopes”:

We get to hear them speak in their guttural urban accents – and discover that they have something to say for themselves. We get to meet their families – oddly enough, they’re nice, decent people. The cameras are brought into their homes – which turn out to be strangely clean and bright and comfortably furnished. We find, rather disturbingly, that a place like north Clondalkin is full of people with the same aspirations and ambitions as everybody else and that some of its young men make far better representatives for the country than their supposed social betters.

Boxing matters to these young men because it creates a world in which hard things are expected of them. Violence is controlled, restrained and sublimated. Wildness is the ultimate sin and discipline the ultimate virtue. Bodily power is nothing without intelligence.

Manliness is asserted, not by bullying, but by behaving honourably and respectfully towards an opponent inside the ring and, outside it, by a stoical acceptance of defeat and even of unfairness. Above all, boxing is a fatherly culture. Older men – trainers and mentors – treat younger men like sons, giving them the benefit of their own experiences and receiving, in turn, the gift of being listened to. And the young men learn, in the process, not just how to box, but how to be fathers themselves. They learn about encouragement and discipline, about cajoling and warning, about the ways in which different generations can talk to each other.

Boxing does for these young men, in other words, what education and community and society ought to do but don’t. It treats them as people who can achieve very tough things, not just in sport but in learning to be a man. It gives them respect and demands in return that they respect themselves. It defines them as individuals – in few sports is the competitor quite so nakedly alone – but it also creates its own family and its own community. It has no time for self-indulgent victimhood. It both teaches and recognises the dignity that is won in struggling against unfavourable circumstances


If you had a tune you could sing to that. And yet, ironically, it would not be far from the one nation Tory revivalism of David Cameron. Yet, perhaps, if Irish Labour (or any of the opposition parties) is listening, that might be the route to go in a mixed economy which in its understandable dash towards prosperity has lost track of just who provides the bedrock of the industrious new Republic.

Reconnecting the bottom with the top may be an old Tory tactic, but it’s an obvious counterpunch to the semi-permanent and highly expedient governance of Fianna Fail & Co.