Bewildered Cowen trots down well-worn path in hope that Six One mercy plea will make gargle gaffe old news, writes MIRIAM LORD
AS FAR as the Taoiseach is concerned, it's time to draw a line in the Sandeman's.
Time to move away from all this pub talk, going forward.
So Brian Cowen went on television last evening to apologise to the public for whatever he might have done to upset them. He's not sure what exactly it is.
Except that it has nothing whatsoever to do with the drink.
He appears to be of the belief that a lot of people took grave offence at the tone of his voice during a radio interview on Tuesday morning. He admitted, with abject contrition, that it "was not good". The Taoiseach entirely missed the point. If legions of irate listeners were to rise up in anger every time a voice on the radio irritated them, the country would be in a permanent state of revolt, the telephone system would collapse and Joan Burton would be under permanent house arrest.
People are annoyed because he sounded very hung-over on Morning Irelandand they didn't like what they heard. When it emerged he had been socialising at his party's annual think-in until 3.30 in the morning - drinking, smoking and singing - he was in big trouble.
For sure, Brian Cowen wasn't the only one in the bar in those convivial early hours.
But he was the only one there who is running an unhappy country in the middle of a financial calamity.
Worried citizens want a leader who is cool of head, calm in a crisis and completely on top of his game.
Instead, they get Brian. Who went on the rip on Monday night and got caught.
It's hard not to feel sympathy. He wasn't the only one feeling a bit congested afterwards.
He is in dire trouble, and knows it. After yesterday's Cabinet meeting (one imagines the atmosphere was a little strained) Cowen went on the news to explain why he sounded out of sorts on the radio.
The story totally overshadowed Labour's pre-season outing in Roscommon, but they don't seem too put out. In fact it was all they could do to wipe the smirks off their faces as they arrived at the Abbey Hotel for their discussions.
Cowen's apologia was the talk of the night. But they are not taking pleasure in his difficulties. Oh, no. Not Labour. "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," they murmured, mindful of some of the livelier sessions they've enjoyed in their time. (Not a patch on Fianna Fáil, though.) But back to poor Biffo, forced into an embarrassing act of contrition on TV.
You see, it was "a confluence of events", that resulted in the hoarseness of his voice during a radio interview on Tuesday morning.
He didn't say what events flowed together to cause him such pain, but here's a guess, based on what we saw that night: lager, fags, good craic and a lack of sleep.
Sure what's a fella to do, when there's a party confluence in full swing, only go with the flow? Which is all the Taoiseach did, and why he is now clinging by his fingertips to his job.
Yesterday, he did what his predecessor did when he was in a pickle - contacted the six o'clock news and threw himself on the mercy of the public.
It worked for Bertie Ahern, once upon a time.
The people are far less forgiving now.
Meanwhile, everybody at the Labour think-in was suffering from "congestion" or "a touch of the bronchials". Pat Rabbitte was delayed due to "congestion" in Lanesborough and there was a lot of theatrical clearing of throats before interviews.
Nasal passages to be cleared, and all that. Some warned of the dangers of drinking from damp glasses.
It rather took the gloss away from Michael D's first big appearance as prospective candidate for the presidency.
It took him over five minutes to rattle off his CV, which encompassed his time as "a public intellectual". (We'll have to get Fintan to explain that to us when we return, congested after last night's confluence.) Here's a slogan for deputy Higgins: "Put a Poet in the Park!" There is, however, the slight problem of Fergus Finlay, who is also after the nod, although his initials are FF, which might alienate some traditional Labour voters.
A teenage boy of our acquaintance has been in touch to sing the praises of a very popular professional wrestling duo known as "Finlay and Hornswoggle" - huge with the kids, apparently.
Finlay is a strapping Irish man and his sidekick Horswoggle is a pint-sized leprechaun. One of their most celebrated bouts was at the Armageddon contest when Finlay scored a shock win over archrival Khali after Hornswoggle Higgins interfered by hitting Khali in the groin with a shillelagh.
Just saying. There are ways of making presidential elections interesting.
Although not as interesting as Cowen's predicament. Maybe this is what happened - it's a surprise none of the Ministers' have thought of it yet: when he discovered he was hoarse, one of his handlers suggested he should try gargling and the Taoiseach took him up the wrong way.
A good explanation, except that he insisted last night that there was "no basis for the assertions" made about him after his radio ordeal.
Hadn't his Ministers backed him up with their range of comedy excuses? It's 16 years since Albert Reynolds was stood up by Boris Yeltsin at Shannon airport. Listening to them trying to convince a highly drink-savvy nation that the boss was "congested" brought that occasion to mind.
Albert gamely made excuses for the non-appearance of his guest, even though everybody knew poor aul Boris was under the weather on the plane.
There they were on the tarmac, for what seemed like an age, Kathleen all out in her Prada suit and Albert checking his watch. Eventually, he conceded defeat.
"He suffers from the blood pressure," Albert told us on the escalator in the terminal building. "When a man is ill, a man is ill." The he started flapping his arm: "It's goin' up and down, goin' up and down, so it is."
Meanwhile, back in the present the farce continued as Fianna Fáil tried to blame Simon Coveney for their ills. He tweeted that the Taoiseach sounded either drunk or hung-over in his interview.
This was "effectively a libel", declared Dermot Ahern, speaking at the opening of a new petrol station.
Bring it on, is what we say. That would be a great court case, we could all give evidence. I might get a new suit out of it.
Maybe the courts could make a day of it - Ivor in the morning, Biffo in the evening.
You have to laugh.
Because it's a joke.