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PRINT Holly Gash Diarmuid McGreal Emphatically no
t a paean to sport, the goal here is to apprehend the lure of the arena in clear view of its shadow side. The Game: A Journey to the Heart of Sport Tadhg Coakley [Merrion Press] The Horse of Selene Juanita Casey [Tramp Press] If one word describes the mood of The Game, Tadhg Coakley’s new meditation on sport, it is ‘conflicted’. Conflicted by the memories of his fleeting, fading time as a player (Coakley has an All-Ireland minor medal for Cork), in light of his long, involved afterlife as a fan. Conflicted by the sense of belonging within a collective that sport has afforded him, and his need for critical, writerly distance from the crowd. Or conflicted, above all, by his own passion for sport as such, and the pathologies – of homophobia, sexism, racism, and violence – that it seems to arouse in others. Conflicted, that is – in essays blending personal narrative and critical reflection – but never equivocal, because his view of sport is coloured, he says, by love. Emphatically not a paean to sport, the goal here is to apprehend the lure of the arena in clear view of its shadow side. This is the first distinction of many, as an early essay on memory goes on to define two ideas of time: the chronos of ordinary time, and kairos, the experience of deep, meaningful time in which transcendent sporting moments occur. The health of a sporting interest is determined by two types of passion: obsessive or harmonious passion. When we read of sporting miracles happening “in that liminal space between two worlds,” we sense we are on shakier ground, but it is when the language slips into a more hackneyed register that the reader’s stamina really begins to feel tested: “sport is a double-edged sword,” for example, or “these are the two extremes of sport. The yin and the yang.” Further dichotomies he explores include that of us and them, of fans and fanatics, and of losers and winners which Coakley, on more insightful form, sees as the ultimate grounding of sport in “the beauty of winner takes all. Its binary meritocratic certainty.” Just when you start to wonder if this kind of dualistic thinking isn’t inculcated by the experience of competitive sport – isn’t, as it were, coached – Coakley shifts his focus 54 to the macro level, expending much of his eloquence – and his considerable research and reading – in tackling the divisive and exploitative role of certain financial, political, and media interests in the modern game. It is here that the sporting sceptic is likeliest to feel engaged, but the latter is equally unlikely to understand Coakley’s reluctance to eschew consumption of even the most compromised of sporting products, such as the looming World Cup in Qatar. To the neutral, his moral reticence may come across as so much hand-wringing, especially if a convincing case is not made for sport in its own terms. The distillation, in writing, of the sporting spectacle is an uncommonly difficult feat, especially to an audience of the uninitiated. Difficult but not impossible, as Coakley’s frequent references to the tennis writings of David Foster Wallace remind us. Coakley’s own efforts are, by contrast, sometimes clouded by sentiment. Ultimately, the unenthralled will have to concede the point, “that sport is – must be – meaningless, while at the same time being compelling.” Compelling mostly, however, for its already inveterate fans, those best placed to enjoy The Game. DMG Juanita Casey’s biography is a rich tapestry of occupations, marriages and rumours that seem impossible to cram into one woman’s life. Casey was an artist, poet, potter, horse breeder, zebra tamer, circus trainer, sailor and a writer, and her 1971 book The Horse of Selene holds a mirror to this fascinating life whilst weaving a ‘fable-like’ tale of love and pain. The book is set on the remote Island of Aranchilla. Yet this amalgamation of the Aran and Achill islands has not forged a rural idyll. Instead, Casey deftly illuminates a darkly claustrophobic undercurrent lying beneath an ostensibly beautiful island. God-fearing farmer Miceal, tied like a ‘dark standing stone’ to Aranchilla, becomes entangled in the lives of summer visitors, particularly the alluring Selene. The collision between Miceal’s grounded Island life and the enticing adventure that these visitors promise, encapsulates the oppressive grip of traditional Ireland. At one point Casey zoomorphoses the Island as the wild horses that dominate it: “Cream froth blew up the shore and lay on the sandy neck of the beach, laced with a mane of bubbles.” Aranchilla is wild and majestic, but also a place to be wary of. Casey describes her own writing as a ‘fountain of words’, and The Horse of Selene is full of these fluid and glimmering descriptions. Undoubtedly a book that’s wholly deserving of rediscovery. HG