McHugh's Miscellany: That pride of being Irish on the podium is a true uplifting elixir . . .

I have to say that in these times of strife, suffering and stress, be it wars, economy or climate change, the broad beaming smile of Ciara Mageean being interviewed after taking silver for Ireland in the 1,500 metres at the European Athletics Championships in Munich was one of unbridled joy and utter beauty.

And then to be followed up by Letterkenny’s Dr Mark English with a bronze in the 800 metres. Amazing . . . 

That was the ‘Crème de la mente’ as Del Boy would have it said, or more correctly, the ‘Crème de la crème’ of the championship for wee Donegal.

Ciara Mageean shows that beaming smile and pride in her Irishness

Pic: Ben McShane, Sportsfile

If one did not feel emotional and pride as Ciara from Portaferry in Co Down spoke with such emotion and delight at winning the most prestigious medal of her career to date, then you should really pack your bags and go to the Antarctic.
In a few words I think she summed up the passion that the Irish have for their country.
For all our faults and we have many, when our little nation does do well, we elevate our heroes and give them the credit they hugely deserve.
Equally, with Mark and a monumental gap of eight years since his maiden bronze at the Euros, he was equally measured in poetic resonance that was only matched by his pace and tempo in the final and which ultimately forged his ascent to the winner’s podium.

In fairness, we do embrace our athletes in defeat as well, as we manifestly know that the true class and pedigree of any man or woman is the oscillating journey of the endeavour, not the result per se!
But when the bonus of victory arrives, it can be cherished with that unquenchable exuberance that reflects the beating heart of the indefinable attribute of being Irish.
My very earliest athletics memory was as a little gasúr with my adorable and long departed grandfather Trooper and Papa Big Ben as we watched Eamon Coughlan agonisingly shaded into fourth at the 1976 Olympics at the same distance in Montreal.
The television signals were a little less sharp than today and the cumbersome new colour sets themselves seemed to be half the size of Errigal mountain and longer than Rossnowlagh strand.We all huddled around the big box with great expectations; my own probably infused by the anticipation around me, with what seemed to be half the neighbourhood.
I recall this little knee high Irishman crying his heart out because the Villa Nova speedster had missed out on a medal. It was injustice of monumental proportions with my tsunami of tears evident for days afterwards.

The winning smile that matched the winning run Photo: David Fitzgerald/Sportsfile

But I will venture to say that from that day forth, I knew what it meant to be an Irish person and the appendage of passion, ingrained into the DNA, for the very first time.

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And I don’t think it ever leaves us, whether we remain local, emigrate and return, or remain part of the great diaspora.
These days however, I do feel that gurning has oft times replaced grit and gumption, not alone on the sporting field, but also in life itself.

I hope that Ciara Mageean and Mark English will help us all refocus our vision on the light rather than the darkness that seems to have permeated the collective consciousness as of late.