THE NAME Myles na Gopaleen was usually rendered in English as "Myles of the Little Horses". But the great man himself apparently disagreed with this version. His preferred translation was "Myles of the Ponies" - because, as he insisted archly: "The autonomy of the pony must not be subjugated by the imperialism of the horse." I think I know what he meant. Imperialism of any kind is bad. But imperialism of the horse variety is especially offensive, writes Frank McNally
Which is why I always have to grit my teeth when anyone in these islands - but especially this one - uses the term "the Grand National" to refer to that big race held every April at Aintree, while reserving their ethno-geographic identifying adjectives for the supposedly less-grand nationals run at Fairyhouse, or Chepstow, or Ayr.
You may say that the Liverpool event is the original of its kind, and so deserving of special recognition. Very well. I'll see you that argument and raise you the first four-and-a-half mile steeplechase held anywhere, which was in Cork in 1752.
"The Gold Cup" is nearly as bad. All right, the race of that name run at Cheltenham every March is the climax of the jumps season, in Ireland as well as Britain. Certainly, in terms of media noise, the corresponding event at Punchestown yesterday was only its faint echo.
Even so, my inner pony bridles when people here refer to the race at the Cotswolds track, in any formal context, as "The Gold Cup". Decorum insists that, at least in this jurisdiction, the Cheltenham event should carry a geographic identifier about its person at all times, and produce it when required.
Of course, the phenomenon is not confined to horse-racing. It extends to many other sports too, including golf. The thing that Pádraig Harrington won in Scotland last year was "The Open", apparently, not the "British Open", as you in your ignorance might have thought.
Even the Americans, whose level of self-esteem entitles them to hold a "World Series" of baseball (which is not, as is frequently claimed, named after a newspaper), are expected to genuflect before The Open's supremacy, and reserve any added adjectives for other opens, including their own.
Such is the crippling modesty of people on this island, by contrast, that even events unique to us must be geographically defined. We still hold something called the All-Ireland Hurling Championship every year, for example, when we could just call it "The Hurling Championship" or, even better, "The World Series of Hurling" instead.
But getting back to horse-racing, and to my original point, this has been a good week for ponies. And the man we must thank is Jim Bolger. The Kilkenny trainer caused consternation across the sea (oh, all right, across "the Irish Sea") on Monday when he announced he would not be running his horse New Approach in what is still known over there as "The Derby".
For months now, the colt had been ante-post favourite for the Epsom race, based on the assumption that, as last year's outstanding two-year-old, he had to run in it. So when Bolger explained that he would be avoiding Epsom in favour of the Curragh, adding that success in the English Derby was not vital to the reputation of a future stallion, there were noses out of joint everywhere. Shocked British racing journalists invariably reported his decision to miss "The Derby" for "the Irish equivalent". One newspaper, describing itself only as "The Times" (is there no end to this kind of thing?), called it "a bolt from the blue".
The only ponies it has not been a good week for, in fact, were those of the €25 or £25 variety wagered ante-post on New Approach to win at Epsom. But if you plunged on the horse for that race, it serves you right. Maybe you should have backed him for The Derby (which is held in Co Kildare) instead. I'll get off my high horse now.
SPEAKING of Myles, if you're anywhere near Dun Laoghaire this week, you should pay a visit to the Town Hall, which is hosting an exhibition of paintings and other memorabilia by the brother. No, not the fictional brother, about whom Myles wrote extensively. This is one of Brian O'Nolan's real-life brothers: Micheál Ó Nualláin. Micheál was the youngest of the family, born 17 years after his famous sibling. One of his early memories is of a 25-year-old Brian, transformed into a father figure by their real father's sudden death, bringing home a suitcase full of presents for the children on Christmas Eve. But in common with the other O'Nolans, Micheál was to become very familiar with the writer's working methods.
In the early years of his column, as Anthony Cronin has recorded, Myles would write a whole week-full of Cruiskeen Lawn pieces on Sunday afternoon, tapping them out two-fingered and "with quite unnecessary violence" on an old Underwood typewriter, at the same table around which the younger children were trying to do homework. For their sake, he eventually had to place a thick felt cloth under the typewriter to muffle the noise and vibrations.
So the pictures in Dun Laoghaire are the work of a first-hand witness. Several feature Myles (or possibly Flann) poised at the typewriter. Others are of friends and contemporaries, including Brendan Behan and Patrick Kavanagh. The exhibition also includes humorous illustrations of themes from Cruiskeen Lawn. It continues today, tomorrow, and Monday.
fmcnally@irish-times.ie