Flashes of Panic

On reading that Eamonn Coghlan plans to run the Dublin Marathon, I have a story to share.

Some years ago, in my previous job, I went to a big national-level high school cross-country meet with a few co-workers. Eamonn (who, if you don’t follow running, was a dominant miler for Ireland in the ’80s and ’90s, known as “Chairman of the Boards” for his invincibility indoors,) spoke at the post-race dinner.

The speech was probably his standard “stump speech” at the time, since he was recently retired, and he hadn’t polished his public speaking skills. It wasn’t that his presentation was bad; he was quite comfortable. It was that he hadn’t dropped the casual tone of the track circuit, and the speech was laced with mild profanity of the “God damn” level.

He talked about his early years running and his troubles at Villanova, and how various coaches, parents, and other authority figures had kept him on the track to running stardom. Midway through, we noticed that they all addressed him the same way, in Coghlan’s Irish brogue: “Jaysus Christ, Eamonn!”

For quite a while in our office (and still, in my mind,) he was referred to as “Jaysus Christ Eamonn” rather than by his full name.

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