Antiheroes
Gerry Ryan
Ah, Ger Ger. Mr. Ryan, a beloved-by-some-hated-by-others radio shock jock, passed away this summer. However he will regret not living long enough to attend his funeral as the nation began wailing and rending its collective clothes as though this were a repeat of that whole 9/11 business, or someone had just said 'Princess Diana' in a sad way. The mourning and venerating of the man went so far over the top it may have been possible to see China. From all corners of the nation people were calling old Gerry a genius, a poet, a prophet and possibly a candidate for fast-track sainthood. Yes, it seemed Gerry could fly no higher than when he was six feet under.
Inevitably, it all fell to pieces. Towards the end of the year, just at the point when most of us had accepted Ryan Tubridy's voice as a reasonable substitute, some news arrived that would shock us all.
But not really though. Everyone knew that Ryan was a heavy cocaine user. To call it an open secret would be understating it massively. Yet everyone from the top of RTÉ to the loneliest listener claimed that they had no foreknowledge, that they were shocked, and yes, appalled at his conduct. The denouncement began in earnest. Gerry was a cautionary tale, a fatter Katie French, a man who some whispered 'got what he deserved'.
Of course all this was ludicrous hyperbole. Ryan was merely a human being. He was flawed and something of an idiot for his continued drug use, but neither a monster nor a saint. He was not worthy of venerating, not worthy of condemnation and certainly not worthy of the countless column inches spent pouring repulsively over ever gory detail of his life.
Mixed Bags and Non-Entities coming soon.
