The great balancing act of being DJ Carey
Exhilaration of a great hurling career no shield against life’s vagaries
DJ Carey in action against Tipperary’s Bobby Ryan during the 1991 All-Ireland final. Photo: James Meehan
It says something about the enduring appeal of DJ Carey that more than seven years after he retired from inter-county hurling the launch of his autobiography should open so many doors, including the prime television portal of the Late Late Show.
It is true that in the time since he last pulled on a Kilkenny jersey he hasn’t been entirely absent from the spotlight given his high-profile, nine-year relationship with businesswoman Sarah Newman and then the financial calamities of the age keeping him in the eye of the media.
This publicising of his private life never appeared to sit well with him. He expresses that discomfort with ‘celebrity’ in a rare detour through such matters in the pages of DJ A Sporting Legend (with Martin Breheny, Blackwater Press), which as the title suggests, concentrates on the game that propelled Carey into the public consciousness in the first place.
It is salutary stuff. There is an image, cherished by many in the GAA, of the games as essentially recreational activities in which ordinary people do extraordinary things and, despite all of the acclaim, go back about their lives as soon as the stadia empty.
DJ Carey’s career shows however that for some players the focus that comes with an elite sporting career, even if amateur, becomes impossible to compartmentalise and separate from the humdrum rhythms of normal life.
He recounts how the first call to county arms at senior level came so early that he was still in school. That early prominence facilitated the chance of going into business on his own so that by the time he was 23, he had two senior All-Ireland medals and his own commercial enterprise.
The strong sense is of someone who never quite had the time to enjoy the fecklessness of youth and young adulthood: missing out on things like the abandon of college life and a few Fitzgibbon campaigns, things routinely enjoyed by hurling peers.
Hurling fame had its compensations but also its burdens. The most striking image I have from talking to Carey during his career comes from before the 1999 All-Ireland final when he was reflecting on the strange decision to retire two years previously – which he reversed within a few weeks.
“Maybe two years ago or more it was a lot more difficult because I was trying to build up the business and meet commitments as well as hurl,” he said. “That’s when you’re pulling the hair out of your head on a Sunday during a game wondering where a cheque is going to come to meet the bank on Monday. That’s when it’s tough. Now I’m no millionaire but business is going well.”