I could kiss John Delaney, I love him so

TODAY, this column walks tall with the following declaration. I love John Delaney.

I love him as only one man can love another, just shy of switching sexual orientation.

As a journalist, I love him because of his generosity in providing copy.

But, most of all, I love him because, in this vale of tears, there is nothing that rescues the battered spirit quite like the ridiculous.

Let’s first dismiss the trifling matter of the five million big ones. The hullabaloo that has been generated about the deal that John struck with his mucker, Sepp Blatter, has been blown out of all proportion.

John and Sepp are men of the world. This was nothing more than a little arrangement between two like minds. Both have records in manoeuvring themselves into positions of power for the long haul.

Neither man suffers from a lack of self-esteem, as evidenced by the huge wads of cash they pull in from their respective associations. John is paid around €350,000 per annum, making him the highest paid football administrator this side of an oil-soaked regime like Quatar.

The pair have a similar taste in the opposite sex.  John has revealed that at a gathering in Vienna, some time ago, Sepp eyed-up John’s partner, Emma Something-Or-Other, and said he approved.

John told him to move on, and the smart money says that, only for the presence of Emma, things might have turned ugly. It could have ended up with chequebooks at dawn.

John enjoys huge support in his association, just as Sepp did up until a few weeks ago. Both men know how to water the grassroots.

In fact, in a recent radio interview on Morning Ireland the similarities between the pair were writ large.

“On a personal basis, he could be affable, if he requires you,” said the interviewee. “He has a huge ego and he operates on that basis. He thinks (his association) is an empire, its own country, a huge power. Personalities aside, he is not the person to lead (his association) going forward.”

Who said that? It was John talking about Sepp. But it could just as easily have been Sepp referring to John. Isn’t it uncanny? Two lads, thick as thieves, tripping over each other to make the world a better place.

There, however, the similarities end. I have it on good authority that Sepp can sing, whereas John has a brutal voice, as evidenced by his little episode last year, when he was caught belting out a song about an IRA hunger striker.

John is also better in the smarts department. He actually convinced Sepp that the FAI had the basis of a legal action over Thierry Henry’s handball in Paris. Sepp looks a bit dopey now and again, but he couldn’t be that stupid? It must come down to John’s ability to convince others that he has huge ability.

Ok, his ability isn’t limitless. An issue arose as to whether the €5m was a gift or a loan. When I heard that, a cold shiver ran down my spine.

Momentarily, I was back at the Planning Tribunal, where another giant of Irish life, Bertie Ahern, tied himself in knots over whether he had received a gift or a loan as a dig-out.

The agreement itself was straight out of the Sepp and John Administration Handbook. The moola was provided on the basis that it would be repayable if Ireland qualified for the next World Cup. These guys would have fitted in as right bankers here, a few years ago. Lend money out, but it’s written off if the borrower isn’t successful — and somebody else foots the bill.

Staying with the theme, John couldn’t remember what was done with the cash. Initially, he said it went into the Aviva. Then, there was some suggestion that it was invested in the game, in areas which might otherwise have been ignored.

See how John was taking care of those who might otherwise be ignored? We now know that football fans in disadvantaged areas had a two-way bet during the last World Cup campaign.

If Ireland qualified, all hell would break loose. When we didn’t, football people were treated to John’s munificence with an extra €5m. How lucky is Irish football to be led by such a giant?

Try telling that to the bregrudgers. Chief among them were the terrible twins, Jose Mourinho, the Chelsea manager, and Tom Fleming, the Dáil deputy from South Kerry. Fleming suggested that John should take a 50% drop in salary. What tosh. Monkeys and peanuts, Deputy Fleming, and John Delaney may be a lot of things, but he’s no monkey.

Mourinho quite obviously used the €5m story to have a pop at John, because he is in fear of his ‘Special One’ status being usurped.

John Delaney is a man of integrity and ability, but more than anything he is a strict disciple of openness and transparency. No public figure could claim to be more open about their private life, or more transparent about promoting the object of their affection.

The picture taken at the England match, last Sunday, painted five million words. John and Emma are standing where others sit, enjoying a good smacker, while Sports Minister Pascal Donohue looks on, as if a loved-up couple are a silly, but welcome, distraction from the real world.

John introduced the fragrant Emma last year, in a hard-hitting documentary about his life, entitled John The Baptist, in which John emerged as a cross between Michael O’Leary and Mother Teresa.

He was very open about the fragrant Emma, when he was under pressure about the half-cocked, brutal singing. On that occasion, he told Ryan Tubridy that Emma was getting dog’s abuse online over the incident. How brave he was to share the guilt and shame that must have been eating him up because his loved-one took abuse for him.

He was transparent with Ray D’Arcy when he revealed Sepp’s covetous glance at the fragrant Emma. Even on the deadly serious current affairs programme, Morning Ireland, he didn’t shirk from his fidelity to openness.

Asked by Gavin Jennings how long he intended to go on after his lucrative contract expired in 2020, John manned-up.

“I’m very happy in my personal life,” he responded to the question about his professional life. “I’ve made that clear recently. Any decision will be on a joint basis.” Notably, he didn’t say “joint” with whom? Was he talking about the fragrant Emma, or was he perhaps hinting that he wouldn’t make any big decision before consulting his kindred spirit, the bould Sepp.

So, folks, you can see why I love John Delaney. What you see is what you get, and what you get is unbeatable. But for now, consider this: If he truly is John The Baptist, who in their right mind would want to be Salomé?

Michael Clifford