Bertie Ahern was uncharacteristically coy about the exact size of the intriguing cash gift, but somewhere along the line of £50 million metamorphosed from whispered rumour to reported fact.
The name that has been associated with this fantastic figure is J.P. McManus, the multi-millionaire gambler, horse-owner and financial wheeler-dealer who has reportedly been persuaded to part with a substantial amount of his massive fortune to help build an 80,000-seat sports stadium. If true, it is philanthropy indeed.
If true.
There is a view in some sporting circles that the proposed stadium will never happen, and this donation could be just another myth surrounding a man about whom nothing, in terms of his financial wealth at least, can be said for absolute certain. His response to the media interest has been typical. His conversations with Government are confidential, he has told an acquaintance, and he has no intention of confirming or denying the reports.
McManus myths have been building since the very beginning. His first bet was said to be as a nine-year-old when he put an unrecorded number of shillings on Merryman II who went on to win the 1960 Grand National. Another tale sees him as a grown man walking into a Cheltenham bookmaker' with a satchel full of cash and losing it all on a "sure thing".
Many satchels of cash later, he is involved in a different type of gambling, but one that involves an equal amount of risk. The tax exile heads a currency-dealing operation in Geneva. He has gone from betting shillings to millions. His private jet now takes him and his wife, Noreen, to race meetings like the Grand National in the Czech Republic last weekend, where it is said, he knows when to call it a day.
He was just 20 when he received his first bookmaker's licence, but soon realised it could be more profitable on the other side of the track. He became a feared yet fearless punter and was given the title of the Sundance Kid by one British journalist.
He now owns more horses than he can remember and a stud-farm in Limerick. He added to the McManus legend when he lost £30,000 after backing one of his own stable, Gimme Five, to win at Cheltenham in 1994. The following day he was back betting £80,000 on hot favourite, Danoli, which won him £155,000. "That put the wheels back on the bike," he was famously quoted as saying afterwards.
The father of three is also said to have won money betting on his beloved hurling, most notably backing Limerick in the 1973 All-Ireland final. He named a number of his horses including Grimes, Pat Hartigan and Joe Mac after Limerick hurling legends.
McManus is part of a kind of super-rich holy trinity which includes business men Dermot Desmond and John Magnier, pals who enjoy the cut and thrust of a four-ball golf game played for high stakes.
He came to public attention for something other than gambling when the 1993 Glackin report was published. In it McManus was found to have been one of the key figures in the Telecom Eireann site deal. It is an involvement he has consistently denied.
Acquaintances say that despite his enormous wealth (anywhere between £100 million and £400 million), he is down-to-earth and incapable of being flashy and hasn't forgotten his friends. His generosity is as legendary as are his antics on the rails, and he is viewed as Irish jump racing's greatest patron. He still runs his horses in green and gold.
He is an essentially retiring person, and his charitable endeavours have been kept quiet, but they include a total of eight scholarships to his old Christian Brothers school. He was also thought to be one of the first to donate to a fund for jockey Shane Broderick who was seriously injured in a racing accident on Easter Monday last year. The fund is now in excess of £1 million.
Behind the genial demeanour, however, is a sharp mathematical brain capable of assessing risks and calculating odds in seconds. He studies form and races horses for a hobby now. The financial world is where his nerves of steel are more profitably employed.
Irish people generally reserve a mix of awe and admiration for J.P. McManus, but others believe he and his high-flying friends are part of a new generation of Irish people who think they can buy their way into anything.
His alleged £50 million to be placed on the nose of a new State-sponsored national stadium adds to the enigma. The Government will not spend too long looking this particular gift horse in the mouth.