Book Review - Laptop Dancing....

Laptop Dancing and the Nanny Goat Mambo by Tom Humphries

“ABSOLUTE truth,” said Hunter S Thompson, “is a very rare and dangerous commodity in the context of professional journalism.” Tom Humphries hunts for this virtue amongst a maze of media frenzies, teenage millionaires and fellow dissilusioned hacks. Welcome to the life of a sportswriter.

Humphries, a journalist for the Irish Times, complains frequently about his bad timing. “Day after day of never being in the right place.” However, Humphries times this book like a fairway-bound drive from his hero Padraig Harrington. Within twelve months, he reports on the Ryder Cup, Winter Olympics, All Ireland Finals, New York Marathon, Champions League Final and World Matchplay Golf in California.

Oh, and the World Cup. Humphries spends seven eventful weeks in Japan and South Korea, reporting on The Republic of Ireland’s campaign and contributing to the biggest football story of the year. An interview with Roy Keane for his paper is the catalyst for the Manchester United captain’s unceremonious departure from the tournament. This provides the story within a story which is the book’s main selling point.

Nevertheless, it is Humphries prose which moves the book from newsworthy territory to noble terrain. Self-depracation oozes from the pages, as the disgruntled Humphries maligns his place in the world. “Call home. Turns out it’s my birthday.” His dry references to his own deficiencies – from describing himself as Shrek to his daughter succeeding in speaking to Mick McCarthy where he failed – create a caricature equally amusing and endearing.

Regardless, Humphries teeters on the edge of smugness when discussing the problematic nature of his job. The murky profession of a sportwriter is painted as “a disease rather than a trade.” Our plucky hero has no choice but to plod on, from one disappointment to another. He points out the steady decline in standards, the lack of respect, the removal of access given to the press, the poor pay. “Why do I feel so tired? Is this my life?” This is all rather self-righteous, even obnoxious, considering many of Humphries’ target audience would swap places with him in an instant.

He manages to maintain a likeable charm despite this, mainly through his understated comic talent. Wit and sarcasm are spread generously through the pages, the glue holding intertwining anecdotes and musings together. When trying to gain access to a Military Sports Facility, he hands a Kalashnikov-toting guard a letter written in Korean. “It may say, ‘I am an Irish journalist. Shoot me.’ Whatever.” Humphries notes the absurdity of situations with a knowing wink.

When commentating on the state of the media, Humphries is equally philosophical, but far more considered. The book is secretly a gritty portrayal of the fickleness of media, hidden beneath a façade of light-heartedness. The author astutely deconstructs the functions of the press, lamenting their role as witch-hunters-in-chief.

A scandal at the Winter Olympics provides context for Humphries to illustrate sportswriters’ abhorrent ability to create sensation. “You want a different ending? We, the media, will go and fix it.” The elegance and dignity of sportswriting seem to be subverted in an age of Google and tabloidisation.

Humphries detests this, pointing to past journalistic greats who researched widely, created balanced views and were true experts in their fields. Annoyance at the loss of innocence in sport being mirrored in sportswriting is clear.

There are lessons to be learned for budding journalists within the text. Humphries attempts at securing interviews are enlightening, practical problems are described acutely. Also, his moral stances upon issues like libel and writing for the reader not the athlete give insight into the mindset of the typical sportswriter.

However, he is passive in his acceptance of the ills of modern sportswriting. This is because, quietly, Humphries loves it. For every grumble is a moment of joy, for every sleepness night of work is a sleepness night of fun.

An example of this can be found in the book’s title. The often pointless gathering of quotes after sporting events is satirised expertly. The Nanny Goat (meaning quote) Mambo refers to shuffling press pack attempting to prize publishable utterances from pampered stars. Yet, while the mindlessness of this is mercilessly exposed, one such occasion brings Humphries the highlight of his working year.

Standing in the dressing room after the All Ireland hurling finals, the author is touched by the purity of the scene: “that sense that sport isn’t just sport anymore, is pervasive.” These are the moments that Humphries lives for; simultaneously they are the moments that give the book its heart.

As he hilariously vilifies footballers talking in cliché and the media choosing sensation over substance, it seems the truth is eluding him equally in other respects. His “war with sport” is steeped in valiant failure. In the end, there is no war – Humphries needs sport and needs sportswriting. That’s why he will keep doing the Nanny Goat Mambo, and why his book sparkles with a vibrancy only possible from a man who loves what he is doing.

Greg Rose