THE organisers of the GPO ceremony had been watching too much of the Olympics. Three weeks of Atlanta's weather convinced somebody that the reviewing stand didn't need to be covered except by O'Connell Street's plane frees, which the same organisers no doubt hoped would shield guests from the August sunshine.
But long before the Olympian entourage returned to Dublin yesterday morning the seating arrangements in front of the GPO looked like the deck chairs on the Titanic and the brave hundreds who'd turned out to greet their heroes might have been queuing for the lifeboats.
Umbrellas and plastic macs easily outsold Tricolours and hats, as the Irish summer achieved a seasonal best of 11/2 inches of rain in 24 hours. But at least the crowd didn't have to wait too long.
Indeed, Pete St John was on the point of bursting into song to entertain them when, before you could say Janet Evans, he became the latest victim of Michelle Smith's improved performance curve. The first bus load of Olympic umbrellas rolled down Parnell Square a full half hour ahead of schedule.
The giant screen in front of the GPO had been designed for the benefit of the people at the back, but since nearly everybody was at the front its chief purpose in the December like gloom was to relay the approach of the buses until visibility allowed the naked eye to pick them out.
As the buses lumbered out of the mist, two women emerged from the doorway of Clerys. They gazed with awe at the athletes or the weather, or both, and one said. "Still, look at the crowd that turned up. Aren't they great?"
They were indeed. But those of us who could never aspire to such greatness had by now retreated to the dry calm of Clerys' curtain department, three storeys and several degrees of comfort above the reviewing stand across the street.
On stage, Michelle Smith, managing to look both radiant and tired, accepted the Waterford Crystal sculpture from Lord Mayor Brendan Lynch and answered the questions of Michael Lyster with as much enthusiasm as she could muster.
But even the by now well worn answers "I never dreamed I'd be standing here with three golds and a bronze" were greeted with wild enthusiasm from the predominantly youthful crowd.
It had to be the GPO, of course, and Padraig Pearse could have written the script. In the name of the dead generations who accounted for most of the State's previous gold medals, Ireland had summoned her children to her flag in Atlanta. There, supported by her exiled children in America but relying first on her own strength, she had struck in full confidence of victory. And won, this time.
The ceremonies over, Michelle shook some more hands and posed beside Francie Barrett, who had a smile as wide as O'Connell Street itself, before she was gone again.
Down in the crowd one inspired woman burst into a stirring, not to say startling, solo version of The Dear Little Shamrock, in what might once have been a fine contralto voice.
She accepted the congratulations of the crowd with the modesty of an Olympian "Sure, it adds to the occasion." Then she responded to a renewed burst of music from the stage by leading another elderly female in a two handed reel.
If there was an Olympic event in enthusiasm, she'd have been a candidate for an elite scholarship between now and Sydney.
