The news that the economy shows no sign of slowing down, with the growth rate running at 11 per cent according to new figures, causes me mixed feelings.
On the one hand, there's relief. For a while there, my waistline was increasing at a rate uncannily similar to the Gross National Product, a situation which was clearly unsustainable in the medium to long-term. Had I continued to mirror the country's success, I was in real danger of losing sight of my economic fundamentals, as it were. But following a series of belt-tightening measures, including spending cuts in the junk food sector and 30 sit-ups a day, my personal growth rate is now around the EU average; and so, for the moment at least, I can still play football in my spare time, rather than taking up darts or sumo wrestling.
But the actual economy continues to boom, to such an extent that experts now fear a "hard landing" is more likely than a "soft landing". Which is a major cause of concern. Especially to the many people who, like me, suffer from literary aerophobia, the fear of air-transport metaphors.
Nobody would deny the skill of the Government in getting us where we are. But the worrying question is whether Captain Bertie and Charlie "Biggles" McCreevy are the right people to get us back down again safely.
What bothers me most is the silence from the cockpit. I mean, what's going on up there? Are they flying around in circles trying to burn up excess fuel? Where have all the cabin crew gone? And what was that noise?
Anyway, putting these thoughts on autopilot for the moment, economists agree the big problem facing the country is the labour shortage. And I think I have a suggestion that might help: which is that when the Riverdance people return to Ireland this summer after "five years of international success," the Government should confiscate their passports.
I know Riverdance is inextricably linked with the country's recent achievements, including full employment and the peace process. Indeed, many recall the original Eurovision interval act as a cathartic moment, when we as a people at last realised we could throw off the shackles of history and just, like, wave our arms around.
But the problem is there's no sign of the Riverdance phenomenon slowing down either. On the contrary, the news that Michael Flatley is branching into film looks like a classic case of overheating. And all this success has been a major drain on the economy. I don't know how many different spinoffs are now touring the world, but I bet you could stand the chorus lines end to end on the runway at Dublin Airport (thereby ensuring a soft landing!) and you'd still have some left over. You don't have to be an expert to see that this is a factor in the local skills shortage. Which is why I think the Government has to say to them: enough is enough. It was great while it lasted, but it's time to rejoin the workforce. Irish dancing was never meant to be a full-time job.
I mentioned sumo wrestling back there in what you were supposed to think was a casual, unplanned way, but was in fact a sneaky columnist's trick known as "foreshadowing".
Perhaps you weren't following the recent "Grand Basho" in Tokyo. If so, you'll have missed the humiliation of a competitor called Asanokiri who, according to the International Herald Tribune, became "the first wrestler in 83 years to lose a bout because his loincloth fell off".
Asanokiri was "yanked from the ring" the report said, after his belt (or mawashi) unravelled on live TV, exposing his undercarriage. He explained later: "I tied (it) the way I always do, but today it just came loose."
You have to feel sorry for him, because loin cloths in sumo are only a modern fad, imposed 83 years ago when Japan felt the influence of supposedly "decent" Western values. The values don't seem to have sunk in too deeply, however, since as the Tribune pointed out, "most Japanese were upset less by Asanokiri's disrobing than by missing the spectacle on television".
Still, the incident is deliciously symbolic of what has been happening in the ancient sport of late, including revelations of systematic match-fixing over many years. Moreover, like so many Japanese products, it's a symbol we could import here.
We don't have sumo in Ireland, but we certainly have scandals. And there are uncanny similarities between Japan's national sport and our ongoing tribunals. The same passionate crowds attending the Grand Bashos in Dublin Castle. The same heavyweight participants jousting in the witness box; with their sumo-sized bank accounts exposed for all to see, and only the ugly details covered up.
And also, just occasionally, the same wonderful moment (it took about 83 years in the Flood Tribunal) when the defence finally unravels, and a competitor retreats from the ring, red-faced, with his mawashi around his ankles.
Frank McNally is at fmcnally@irish-times.ie
