“Declan Burke is his own genre. The Lammisters dazzles, beguiles and transcends. Virtuoso from start to finish.” – Eoin McNamee “This bourbon-smooth riot of jazz-age excess, high satire and Wodehouse flamboyance is a pitch-perfect bullseye of comic brilliance.” – Irish Independent Books of the Year 2019 “This rapid-fire novel deserves a place on any bookshelf that grants asylum to PG Wodehouse, Flann O’Brien or Kyril Bonfiglioli.” – Eoin Colfer, Guardian Best Books of the Year 2019 “The funniest book of the year.” – Sunday Independent “Declan Burke is one funny bastard. The Lammisters ... conducts a forensic analysis on the anatomy of a story.” – Liz Nugent “Burke’s exuberant prose takes centre stage … He plays with language like a jazz soloist stretching the boundaries of musical theory.” – Totally Dublin “A mega-meta smorgasbord of inventive language ... linguistic verve not just on every page but every line.Irish Times “Above all, The Lammisters gives the impression of a writer enjoying himself. And so, dear reader, should you.” – Sunday Times “A triumph of absurdity, which burlesques the literary canon from Shakespeare, Pope and Austen to Flann O’Brien … The Lammisters is very clever indeed.” – The Guardian

Monday, June 20, 2011

Rory McIlroy: Fail, Fail Again, Fail Better

You’ll pardon me, I hope, for writing about golf again, but about six weeks ago, on the morning of April 11, I posted a piece that began like this:
I tuned in late to the Masters last night, long after Rory McIlroy (right) had blown his four-shot lead at the start of the day, but just in time to watch Rory disintegrate in considerable style as he took the long way home, hacking his way through the undergrowth of the more remote parts of Augusta’s back nine. Commiserations to Rory, although it’s hard to feel truly sorry for him - if you’re good enough to establish a four-shot lead going into the last day of the Masters, then you’re good, period.
 [ … ]
  At the time, Rory was a shot clear of a chasing pack which included Tiger Woods, and such competition brings with it its own pressures. Ultimately, though, he wasn’t competing against anyone but himself. He was competing with the limits of his skill, his facility for grace under pressure, his ability to keep his inner demons at bay whilst maintaining an outward fa├žade of calm efficiency.
  In the end, Rory lost his battle with himself, which will probably be the most disappointing thing for him when he wakes up this morning. To be beaten by a better golfer is one thing, and nothing to be ashamed of. To be beaten by yourself, though, sabotaged from within, that’s a whole different issue.
  Later that day, as McIlroy talked about his meltdown, grinning and bearing it, I along with thousands of others tweeted a message to Rory McIlroy, the Beckett-inspired, ‘Fail, fail again, fail better.’
  Fast-forward to yesterday. You’ll probably know by now that Rory McIlroy, at the grand old age of 22, won the US Open by a remarkable eight shots, in a style not seen since Bobby Jones in 1923, in the process setting all kinds of records. Yes, it’s only a game of golf; but as a feel-good story, and particularly a metaphor for taking on all comers, including yourself and those twin impostors triumph and disaster, Rory McIlroy’s rehabilitation and redemption will be hard to beat this year.
  On occasion I tend to refer to the Irish crime writers who hail from the other side of the Border as the Norn Iron bunch. As of this morning, courtesy of Rory McIlroy’s extraordinary talent and irrepressible will, ‘Norn Iron’ takes on a whole new dimension.


savannah said...

well done piece, sugar! we watched the open with 2 little chadian boys (some of the newest immigrants to the usa) who cheered rory on because he was young! in fact, the boys held a putter for the very first time and learned the art of the short game in my living room! what they really wanted to learn was to "spin the stick like rory!" xoxo

Dana King said...

I was there with the Sole Heir for the first round on Thursday, and the buzz that went round the course as he kept piling up birdies was considerable. When asked by the Beloved Spouse that night about my prediction for the next day, I said, "This is the Open. He's not posting a 65 again tomorrow." I was right again. The double on 18 pushed him to a 66.

The Sole Heir was there again yesterday with her mother, standing in the first row behind the ropes when he won and watched the trophy ceremony. She called me from dinner and was so jazzed I could barely understand her.

Not a close tournament, but still entertaining, thanks to the skill and charisma of the wee lad. Well done.

Peter Rozovsky said...

I just dubbed him The Celtic Tiger!
Detectives Beyond Borders
"Because Murder Is More Fun Away From Home"

Luke Sweeney said...

The Talented mr McIlroy!