Manus Shanahan, obsessive sportsman and undiscovered T.V. sports' pundit, was born on the small island of Inishtish, 20 feet off the Leitrim coastline in 1931. Always having an affinity for sports, as a child he developed an unerring skill for the long jump, while jumping onto the mainland each morning for school. In fact statistically, between the years 1900 and 1950, the population of Inishtish produced more long-jump champions per head than any other part of Ireland.
However, from an early age, Gaelic football was his true love, his father being a member of the infamous Leitrim Connacht championship-winning team of 1927. Manus's life changed, however, in the summer of 1954. A promising, inter-county career as full forward foundered when, after a very strict reading of the infamous "foreign-games" rule, he was banned from playing Gaelic football for life when at a local youth club he was spotted playing table soccer.
Taking this very badly, he decided to leave for England and take up a trial he'd been offered by a soccer scout, to play for Plymouth Argyle. Arriving in Devon that autumn he found it difficult to settle and on the field it was obvious he still had his beloved Gaelic football on his mind.
Local football correspondent Russell Smedley remembers: "His first game was in the old third division south against Brighton & Hove Albion. Playing as a striker, from the word go the tall young Irishman stuck out. From the kick-off and to the annoyance of his team-mates, he kept picking up the ball and kicking it over the crossbar. He was substituted after four minutes". Another incident occurred in the midst of a relegation battle that year with lowly Colchester United when, in the last minute and trailing one-nil, Plymouth, after much pressure won a corner. TO the consternation and bewilderment of the whole stadium, Manus, without thinking, proceeded to take the corner from the half-way line.
His next game, though, caused the most comment. He was brought on very late as a substitute in an FA-cup game against Port Vale.
Once allowed on by the linesman, he immediately ran up to the bemused referee and handed him a tiny piece of paper. A Port Vale defender, meanwhile, had blatantly handled the ball in the box, but the referee completely missed the incident, still scratching his head and trying to fathom the meaning of the said piece of paper.
Manus's inability to score goals and his continuous tendency to mix up the rules of two distinct sporting disciplines was affecting himself and his team-mates. However, in a round about way, it benefited some of the fans. Sociologist, toe fetishist and life-long Plymouth supporter, Grant Natress, points out: "In the mid-1950s, when your football team scored, you threw your cloth cap in the air.
"This, over a season, though, proved expensive for the normal, humble, working-class football fan. One Wolves' fan famously lost 134 caps in one year. Obviously, fans of "The Pilgrims" during that 1955 - 1956 season did not have to incur such waste. In fact perversely, the longer Manus played for Plymouth, the more money the fans saved on headgear."
He was released by Plymouth the following year. He found it difficult to find another club. Feeling the need to prove himself, he worked tirelessly to better his soccer technique. By the time Crewe Alexandra made a bid for him in the summer of 1959, and where he subsequently played for two seasons, he had much improved and had thankfully eradicated all those Gaelic football regulations he'd grown up with, apart from the persistent habit of leaving the field of play after 35 minutes of each half.
Like a lot of ex-soccer players, on his return to Ireland in the early 1960s, he turned to management. As a football manager though, he was strictly old school: "I'd do anything to get my players to give me a performance. I'd shout at them, torment them and sometimes even confiscate their bubble-gum cards". Some thought he took the stewardship of that Home Farm under-12 team too seriously.
His first game in charge was a supposed relaxed charity affair and family day out, organised by the local parish, between his junior side and the senior squad of Cosmo Rovers. At half-time his youngsters were trailing one-nil. The psychotically competitive Manus was not impressed. The endless supply of breakable china that he had stipulated be available during each game began to be smashed against the dressing-room wall. The youngsters just stared into space, terrified. He berated them fiercely, told them to forget it was a friendly, to go out on that pitch and win the game.
Things didn't get much better in the second half, though, Cosmo Rovers running out eventual four-nil winners. He later recalled: "I was totally disgusted. It was like men versus boys out there!" Threatened with legal action by some irate parents, Home Farm let Manus go. As a form of compensation, he was allowed to keep four boxes of Wedgwood saucers. It was the darkest period of his life as he pondered what to do next. His wife Liz remembers: "He'd become obsessed with football. He'd be out in the shed mumbling to himself, breaking saucers and giving imaginary team-talks. I worried about him. He'd become a man with very little in the way of an interior life. Anyway, RT╔ had recently started up and I suggested to him that maybe he should try getting on the telly, and discussing soccer during matches". Manus loved the idea. He immediately made an appointment with the then head of RT╔ sport, straight-talking Ulsterman Val Montgomery, for the following week.
Football punditry, however, in those days had yet to gain full acceptance from a still somewhat sceptical national broadcaster. This can be clearly gleaned from Val Montgomery's recently discovered diaries, which recorded his encounter with Manus: "Wednesday, March 31st, 1965. I had a most extraordinary meeting this morning with a former association football player who asked me to employ him as a 'televisual soccer expert'. He told me he wanted to sit in our sports' studio during live transmissions of international soccer games and at half-time he wanted to be asked by the presenter what his opinion of the match was. For this, he asked to be paid money. I told him I'd never heard anything so absurd and quickly showed him the door".
Manus Shanahan died in his sleep in 1995. Ever the sportsman, he was driving his recently purchased quad-bike at the time.
Karl MacDermott is currently writer-in-residence at his home in Kilmainham.