From the archives: A rare JP McManus interview - 'Writing the cheque is easy compared to the efforts some people make'
Jp Pictured Mcmanus This Eye: Earlier At Fairyhouse Keen Month
THERE are many breath-taking things about being on the property of JP McManus in Martinstown, Co Limerick. The sheer breadth and scale of his home is one thing, but the verdant quilt on which it lies beneath the Galtee Mountains is every bit as important to its owner.
“Noreen and (son) John had most of the ideas for the house, to be honest,” shrugs JP. “I hadn’t much to do with it.”
Some two hours later as McManus drives us across his land and along the secluded country road that leads from the house to his stud farm, we encounter a primitively constructed wooden sign stuck in the ditch at the junction with the main road. It’s welcoming Noreen and JP home after their memorable Aintree Grand National success in April with Don’t Push It. The type of sign that wouldn’t look out of place amid a small hill of carrots at a country market stall. Nonetheless, McManus is proud of it and the manifest support it offers from his neighbours.
Perhaps that’s part of McManus’ magic and allure — he lives at once ostentatiously yet inoffensively as a neighbour to the good people of Knocklong and Martinstown. How does he manage that? Certainly not by talking himself, his many millions or his philanthropy up to anyone. It’s something that’s anathema to him.
McManus seldom conducts interviews of any length. That this one is at the kitchen table over a bite to eat, just the two of us, is rarer still. His cursory public utterances are usually reserved for the relative security of the parade ring, but that’s not to say he hasn’t things to say about issues of national import. However, in his legendary jousts with the layers in the ring, the less spoken, the less known. Those halcyon days are now in the past, he assures me.
“It was a big part of my life at one stage,” he nods. “But there’s a younger generation coming along now that are better at it than I am. At one point, punting was everything, all I thought about. I got up thinking about it and went to bed thinking about it. I’d still have a bet, but if someone said I could never bet again, it wouldn’t bother me.”
That’s not nearly as surprising as it might seem.
McManus is 59 now, has two fabulous grandchildren, has experienced the joy of owning a Grand National winner for the first time in 33 attempts and has sat on his own in a Baltimore hotel room reflecting on the successful operation in the hospital next door that prevented the spread of prostate cancer. His priorities have changed.
“Good comes out of all these situations,” he says of his health worries. “It makes you realise there are an awful lot of things you should have done that you didn’t do, and how I could have spent my time better. You’re given a wake up call. I went to the Grand National in 2009 knowing that on the following day I was going to Baltimore to be operated on Tuesday. I was enjoying it to a point, but I couldn’t get it out of my head what I was facing. So can you imagine how happy I was to be back in Liverpool the following year to see it (the National), much less win it.”
It was the sports story with everything, so it’s little wonder the John Smith Grand National trophy for 2010 is the first decoration to meet you in the lavish front hallway at Martinstown.
“I never actually realised how much winning the National meant until I did it. There’s no race I’d prefer. Commercially you’d want to win the Epsom Derby or the Kentucky Derby, but for me it was the Grand National. The flat is very commercial and a lot of my friends are involved (in the flat), but I’d prefer to have my few jumpers for a bit of fun. If you said to me now what race would I like to win next, it would be another Grand National. That’s how strongly I feel about it.”
The celebrations were laden with poignancy, though no less enjoyable for all that. “We had arranged to watch Munster’s Heineken Cup quarter-final against Northampton by getting the (television) feed into the box at Aintree. But afterwards we made for home, and dropped into a few of the local pubs, Souths in Limerick, Clarkes in Bruff and Bulgaden Castle down the road, they had a bonfire. We got home and it wasn’t too early. Jonjo and AP came over on Sunday and we had a bit of a hooley, and the day after we had another do at the local GAA club.”
The Grand National and the Cheltenham Champion Hurdle are not the only storied sporting occasions McManus has put his name on this year. In nine days time, the JP McManus Invitational Pro-Am will turn Adare in Limerick into Golf Central for just over 48 hours. Two days every five years, and a wistful JP reckons that’s just about often enough.
“I don’t think you could do it more than once every five years,” he maintains. “Collecting and distributing as wisely as possible is as big a job as you could imagine. When it’s over, everyone is drained. Actually, the part I enjoy most is the Wednesday, when everything has hopefully gone according to plan.”
In keeping with a man who has played the odds all his life, McManus is constantly looking at all the angles. “Well, we’ve already had the volcanic ash, so you’re always worried about something unforeseen that means the event doesn’t take place. What if the American players can’t get here because of fog? They’re finishing in Pennsylvania at midnight (Irish time), getting on a plane, flying to Shannon, making their way to Adare, get a couple of hours sleep before they play in the afternoon. Now if that’s not commitment...”
So if for some reason they can’t get here? “You try to make contingency plans. I want to have a Plan B in place, that means the decisions are made now, not the Sunday night before the tournament. Things like that are always a concern because you don’t have the luxury of time beforehand.”
If JP sounds worried, he might just be. He takes this pro-am, which raised more than €30 million (no, that’s not a typo) in 2005, very seriously — and not only because it bears his moniker. This event is personal enough to understand the affront he feels at the suggestion that it’s all a bit self-serving.
“You know something? I have to let other people make their own judgements on that. I know that there would be a lot of people disappointed if we didn’t do this pro-am. I know I don’t do enough in terms of meeting everyone. My own (health) problems have given me a greater appreciation of a lot of things. There’s an awful lot more good people out there than bad, people who want to help and do good. The trick is to channel that willingness; so many people want to help and they don’t know how to go about it. What can we do to make it better? We’ve more people who offer to be volunteers for the pro-am than you’d ever want.”
And more worthy charities and organisations in the mid west in need of financial assistance?
“You have an awful lot of carers who work day and night just for the betterment of our society. And they’re not looking for credit. For people at the coal-face, it’s a lift that the tournament is on again this year, that people actually care about and respect what they’re doing.
“They don’t go to any functions, or a night out. Seriously, we’re blessed to have these people. There are many people who put their hand in their pocket, and that’s great. But it’s easier to write the cheque than it is to spend the time dealing with daily situations, unless you have a vocation to do it. There are people in the limelight who get an awful lot of credit for what’s done, but they don't deserve as much credit as the nurses and carers.”
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PERHAPS such basic logic is the hook that attracts many of the world’s greatest golfers each time McManus goes looking for their help. Organisers are still pushing hard to get 30,000 supporters on Monday and Tuesday of next week and augment the six figure sums many well-heeled teams pay for the privilege of teeing it up with the game’s greats. But it’s not all about Tigers and fat cats. Hackers and high handicappers have been burrowing their way through the qualifier system for more than a year now for the chance of 36 holes with a star turn.
“With the qualifiers and the recent Grand Qualifier, 8,238 people have already played a part. They’ve had a round of golf, meal and entrance into the two days of golf for 150, so they’re quids in. The ultimate prize is to play in the event; eight teams made it, that’s 24 people out of that 8,238. When it comes to next week, it’s an open draw for the pros. They have the very same chance of drawing one of the world’s best as anyone else. It’s all very transparent.
“I think everyone appreciates the funds raised go in their entirety to charity. That’s attractive to the golfers who feel with a lot of events that so much raised goes on administration. They want to be associated with something they believe is worthwhile. We send them a full list of how the money is distributed but while they’re here, we try to give them a good time as well.”
McManus has a core committee and a network of some 400 volunteers but the key part of the master plan comes when the big tent is folded away.
“We are very much involved in how the recipients spend the money (see Page 12). We have to see the project before we commit the cheque. We have a committee that can help the organisations, and sometimes they need a little guidance.”
JP doesn’t set a target, though he accepts that the 2005 figure may have proved the event’s zenith. “Last time it was successful, but it’s not just about figures. This year we don’t have an auction at the gala event. Some people will be disappointed by that, but as you move on, you see things differently and you decide maybe that’s not the way forward.”
What he remains acutely conscious of is the impression the event creates for the overseas visitor. “I think it’s important we paint a very good picture of Ireland for them. Let the world know how many people we have who care about things.”
And if JP McManus could be really greedy and add one more gift to Champion Hurdles, Grand Nationals, grandchildren and good health? “I’d love 30,000 people to come each day next week and have the time of their lives. That goes for the players too. We want them leaving Adare retaining good memories of Ireland and more importantly, the people of Ireland. Because it’s all about people.”