TIMES SQUARE: Many ordinary Irish people remain deeply traumatised by the Roy Keane saga, says Brendan Glacken. However, for the sake of balance, it must be pointed out that such high-level rows are not at all uncommon in other areas of Irish life. In this very newspaper there have been occasions when all-important articles by our top columnists have almost not appeared as a result of mismanagement, inability to deal with supreme talent, and a general lack of appreciation of - for want of a better (more important) word - genius.
We columnists are conscious of our privileged positions. The substantial fees we earn are not as important to us as our standing as role models, moral consultants, and keepers of the national psyche.
However, we do tend to be perfectionists, and it is the little things that bug us. The lack of professionalism on the managerial side. The "sure aren't we great" attitude taken towards us. The general sloppiness of the managerial approach. The lack of proper and regular technical back-up.
Just the other day, for example, I arrived here to find two of my Thursday pencils not properly sharpened, and the other missing. My reference books had not been tidied. My computer had not even been warmed up.
The explanation by management was pathetic, involving a mixture of grovelling, back-pedalling and buck-passing.
I am afraid I lost my cool. I used language which some might describe as intemperate. I called my manager a "Scottish clot". I realise he is not actually from Scotland, but I know he once attended Hogmanay celebrations in Edinburgh. If we are always to become bogged down in detail, there is little hope for any of us.
I then rang my agent, who booked me a seat on the 15B to my home in Rathgar.
Arriving home, I walked the dog. I do not own a dog myself, but my neighbour deems it a favour for me to walk her animal. The creature, Phoebe, does not seem to mind one way or another. She is a pleasant and quite harmless mutt. Her lack of appreciation at being walked by an eminent personality is actually quite refreshing.
At home, my phone rang endlessly with messages of support, which were dutifully transcribed by my two secretaries. However, no phone call came from the management. I cannot say I was surprised.
Meanwhile, a deadline loomed, as did an empty space in the paper.
At about 5 p.m., as I strode along Terenure Road East, acknowledging the applause of passers-by, my agent called me on my mobile with an urgent message. Did I realise the dog was no longer on the end of the leash?
I took this as code at first. I took it to mean my column would not appear. I am afraid I lost my cool again. "Tell that mongrel management," I began - but was interrupted with the information that Phoebe had been found snuggled up in her box at home.
Some people no doubt look foolish walking a leash without a dog on the end of it. Thankfully, others among us are able to rise above such trivia. I strode home.
Through my agent, via my solicitor, I now made a number of phone calls, offering interviews to selected media able to afford them. Gratifyingly, no one was able to take up the offer.
I now learned that a flurry of phone calls had led to a hurried series of meetings back in the office. For the first time, the word "apology" was mentioned.
On further investigation I learned, quite unbelievably, that the proposed apology was to come from my side. I straightaway sacked my agent and put a senior counsel on stand-by.
Word now came to me that my colleagues were under severe duress. While the old hands were at a complete loss what to do, it was intimated that the "young lads", all of whom naturally aspired to columnist status one day, were close to tears.
Any professional will tell you that in a crisis, an emotional approach is the last thing he wants forced on him. So I let them wallow in their self-pity.
Next came the message from my so-called colleagues that the "interests of the team" would be best served by my absence. Well, that was the first good laugh I had all day.
And that was it, really. No further calls were made. An "article" of sorts duly appeared: one of the youngsters stepped into the breach and acquitted himself reasonably well, considering.
I suppose you could say we have closure now. At least, night and day ever since, that's the word that keeps going round in my head.