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Ryan Tubridy: With sturdy self-belief, our best-paid broadcaster hits his summer groove

Radio: He knows his style isn’t for everyone, but his enthusiasm is infectious

Behind his carefully-cultivated image as a fuddy-duddy dweeb, Ryan Tubridy (above) is clearly imbued with sturdy self-belief. Photograph: RTÉ

Mick Heaney's face
Mick Heaney
Fri Jul 16 2021 - 05:00

Behind his carefully-cultivated image as a fuddy-duddy dweeb, Ryan Tubridy is clearly imbued with sturdy self-belief. It's not just that he has the assured poise of someone who's the State's best-paid broadcaster (though that surely bolsters one's self-worth), he also has a thick skin, at least to the extent of laughing off on-air insults. On Wednesday's edition of his programme (The Ryan Tubridy Show, RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), the presenter is in the middle of a jolly chat when his guest casually notes: "This is horrific, having to talk to you." Far from being offended, Tubridy drily replies: "You wouldn't be the first person to say that."

By this stage, one wonders if Tubs knows what the word 'great' actually means

Of course, it's a light-hearted exchange between himself and English screenwriter Georgia Pritchett, prompted by the presenter's (correct) observation that his guest is shy. But while infectiously enjoyable, the conversation is also testament to the host's confidence in his own instincts, even as he acknowledges his style isn't for everyone.

Tubridy doesn’t try to hide his fanboy enthusiasm for Pritchett’s work. He excitedly cites her contribution to TV sitcoms such as The Thick of It and Veep, repeating her jokes back to her. So giddy is the host that he loses the run of himself altogether, calling children’s programme Mr Benn “one of the great television shows” and describing American comic actors Will Ferrell and Paul Rudd as “two of the great talents of our time”. By this stage, one wonders if Tubs knows what the word “great” actually means.

And yet: despite the host’s presumption that his listeners – and indeed his guest – share his obsessions, the interview underlines Tubridy’s knack for hitting the right notes in his morning slot. There are diversions into US politics, British emotional repression and Pritchett’s introversion without ever breaking the relaxed tone. Those who lack Tubridy’s nerdy interests won’t see the screenwriter as a celebrity – judging by her honest interview, she doesn’t see herself as one – but in the host’s hands, the chat becomes a star turn.

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His conversation with Graham McCormack is a more serious affair, but again Tubridy tailors the item to suit his show. McCormack describes how he started smoking cannabis at 11 years-old, progressing to alcohol and a breathtaking panoply of narcotics (including “Lynx cans in a bag”, inhaling deodorant solvent from a shopping bag). With mental health issues accompanying his addictions, he “hit rock bottom six or seven times”, but has been sober for four years now.

McCormack’s experience is all too common, but Tubridy focuses on what he sees as the one unexpected aspect of his guest’s story, namely its rural setting. “When I hear drugs, I think the streets of the cities, not the boreens of the villages,” the host says. McCormack assures him it’s now “a national thing”, with access to drugs easier than ever. It could be a grimly familiar tale of personal misery, but the host’s easily engaging style ensures the item is accessible without being preachy: “I’m not trying to be prissy about the whole thing.” Overall, the show ends up being greater than the sum of its parts. Pleasantly stimulating without being too taxing, Tubridy has hit an unlikely summer groove.

Another summer bonus is the return of Documentary on One (RTÉ Radio 1, Sunday), the reliably compelling strand of stories from across Irish life. The new series kicks off with Crossing The Line, which recounts the Ireland rugby team's infamous tour of South Africa in 1981 at the height of the apartheid era. Produced by David Coughlan (who also narrates) and Donal O'Herlihy, the documentary is scrupulously non-judgmental about the players involved, but places the affair in damning historical context.

Even then, there was no excuse for ignorance about the white supremacist regime in South Africa, with many Irish players declining to go. Former Irish international Tony Ward had previously toured South Africa with the British and Irish Lions team without any qualms – "I put my career before everything" – but was so disturbed by what he saw that he turned down the chance to return.

The motivation of those players who went was, apparently, simple. "Rugby was god," says Gerry O'Loughlin, who quit his job as a teacher to join the tour. "I didn't have any qualms of conscience, and I still don't today." Another member of the touring party, John Robbie, cites the mantra of the day, about the need to keep politics out of sport. Even then, there were doubts: "I suppose inside I knew it was wrong," says Robbie, who remained in South Africa partly to avoid the "s***storm" back home. That the IRFU made great show of facing integrated sides (South Africa even fielded a black player, Errol Tobias, for the first time) suggests that the representative body knew sport was inseparable from politics. As for the rugby itself, Ireland lost both tests against the Springboks, capping a miserable year which had seen the team get the wooden spoon (for coming last) in the Five Nations championship.

This seems like well-deserved comeuppance, but there’s a discomfiting coda to the saga. The following year saw a revival in Ireland’s rugby fortunes, winning the Triple Crown for the first time since 1949. Hugo MacNeill, a player who declined the South African trip, suggests that the experience actually galvanised the squad. The documentary doesn’t explore the uncomfortable ramifications of a morally dubious expedition being rewarded with positive long-term results, instead presenting it as an uplifting conclusion to a squalid episode.

That aside, it’s an absorbing documentary with renewed resonance in an era when English footballers are accused of “gesture politics” for taking the knee, while facing racist abuse for any mistakes. Which makes it odd that Documentary on One appears to have faced a demotion of its own, shunted from its customary Saturday transmission to a Sunday evening slot that clashes with the Lyric Feature, the corresponding factual strand on Radio 1’s sister station. It’s a slightly baffling move: for all the fleeting pleasures of chat shows like Tubridy’s, thoughtfully crafted documentaries deserve a prominent radio platform too. It’s not only sporting bodies that can shoot themselves in the foot.

Radio Moment of the Week: Back to the grind

As presenter of Drivetime (RTÉ Radio 1), Sarah McInerney is a tenacious interrogator, no matter who is in the hot seat. On Wednesday, she discusses Dublin's proliferation of coffee shops with Gary Grant of Imbibe coffee roasters company, who says Irish consumers seek "more complex flavour profiles". "Would you look down your nose at people who buy the ready ground stuff?" asks McInerney. No, insists Grant, adding "once you grind it, I suppose you're almost contaminating it in a way". McInerney chuckles mischievously: "It sounds a little bit like you're looking down your nose." Even during light items, she enjoys grinding down guests.

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