THE LAST five decades have been periods of radical change in Ireland – often for the better, lately for the worse. Institutions have collapsed, values have been stood on their heads, identities have become fluid and complex. Yet through it all has run one lovely thread of continuity, emerging from a very old culture but never seeming anachronistic. For all his unique ability to generate breathless excitement, even from the dullest material, there has been great comfort in being able to take Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh for granted.
Knowing that his mellifluously magnificent voice would emerge from the radio on any given Sunday during the GAA season has been like knowing that the waves would always crash in from the Atlantic or that our children would always like ice cream.
The plaintive hope that he might change his mind was expressed this week by many of those reacting to the news of his retirement. This was not just the usual formulaic courtesy. Nor was it merely the sincere tribute due to a supremely accomplished broadcaster. It reflected something deeper – a shocked realisation of how much we have come to rely on Mícheál Ó Muircheartaigh and of how genuinely irreplaceable he is. He has embodied a particular kind of modest grace: in half a century in the public arena, he has never let us down.
Even Ó Muircheartaighs uniqueness is not of the kind promoted nowadays. It is not about flamboyant individualism or self-regarding eccentricity. On the contrary, it is rooted in the wider culture of Corca Dhuibhne in which he grew up. The linguistic richness of a bilingual world, the melodic flow of sean nós singing, the improvisational wit and dramatic pacing of the storyteller – all of these have their echoes in Ó Muircheartaighs peerless commentaries. And his dazzling accomplishment has always been subordinated to a determination to serve the listener and the game by translating movement into words, the visual into the audible. The delightful lines that are recalled with such fondness always arose from what he was describing rather than being imposed on to it.
It is typical of the man that, at the young age of 80, he should choose to retire while he is still at the peak of excellence. It is perhaps ungrateful to say that his retirement will leave Ireland just a shade duller, a little poorer, a bit flatter. But it would be equally ungracious not to hope that, long after he lapses into radio silence, his voice will be in our heads, recalling some of the pleasures and decencies that Irish life does not have to lose.