The country will be abuzz next weekend, with the European Open, at the K Club, followed by the biggest private party of all, JP McManus's pro-am. Róisín Ingle meets the Limerick legend.
A man is speaking so loudly into a mobile phone in the library of Adare Manor that I am having difficulty hearing JP McManus talk in his soft Limerick burr about the pro-am charity golf match that he is holding at the hotel in nine days' time. Suddenly the man goes quiet. He has just recognised McManus, who is often referred to as a legendary gambler or even, if perhaps not accurately, as the Limerick billionaire. Mouthy mobile-phone man switches to a whisper, awed to be breathing the same air as this ordinary-looking fiftysomething.
I'm expecting to be slightly awed myself. The stories of how much money the racehorse owner and bookie's dream - or nightmare, depending on his form - has dropped at Cheltenham in his time are legion: a hundred grand here, a satchelful of cash there. He's amassed even more of a fortune from canny deals, such as his share of Manchester United - sold last month to Malcolm Glazer for a profit, with his business partner John Magnier, of more than €100 million - or playing the currency market in Geneva, where he lives when he is not at home at Martinstown Stud, near Kilmallock, with his wife, Noreen, and their three grown-up children.
The best estimate is that he's worth more than €500 million; McManus is politely dismissive when you make the rather obvious assertion that he is a very wealthy man. "I don't know about that now. I have the name of someone who has a lot of money, and I suppose that's nearly as good as having the money," he says with a friendly, if cagey, chuckle.
Having money - or even, as he insists, simply having the name of someone who's rolling in it - allows him every five years to stage one of the world's highest-yielding charity golf events. The last JP McManus Invitational Pro-Am, held at Limerick Golf Club in 2000, raised €20 million for local charities. This year the event, which will be attended once again by golfing superstars such as Tiger Woods, Stuart Appleby, Padraig Harrington and Mark O'Meara, culminates in what its organisers describe as the biggest private party ever thrown in Ireland. U2 are playing Poland that night; otherwise, they might have been persuaded to head to Adare to provide the after- dinner entertainment in a huge marquee in the grounds of the manor. Instead The Corrs have been booked, which gives you an idea of how far removed from your average fundraising ball this is.
Exactly 1,100 invitations have been issued to professional and amateur golfers, who include some of McManus's closest friends in Magnier, Dermot Desmond and Michael Smurfit. The likes of Gary Lineker, Bertie Ahern, Charlie McCreevy, Charlie Swan, Christy Roche, Keith Wood, Eddie Jordan and AP McCoy have also been known to get the nod. Most of the guests will have made huge donations for the privilege of playing in the invitational pro-am and attending the Dom Perignon-fuelled bash. Apart from a few charity teams that have raised €10,000 to enter, the 56 amateur teams are paying €100,000 to play. They have all been rewarded with invitations to the ball.
Otherwise, even being a big cheese in business, with a hefty wad to bid in the post-dinner auction, won't help you get an invitation now; the handful of corporate tables - up for grabs for €25,000 - were snapped up long ago. As Jane Howlett, of the organising committee, says: "Some of the guests come planning to spend a million at the auction, but we try to tempt them into spending more than that."
Last time, a painting of McManus's friends celebrating an Istabraq win was auctioned for €1.4 million. This year a likely lot is a round of golf with Woods; Howlett also expects Bruce Springsteen to sign one of his guitars for whoever bids the most. Is McManus friends with the singer? "Let's just say there's a connection," she says.
McManus foots the bill for the event - this year's host is Patrick Kielty, taking over from Gay Byrne - so that all of the money raised can go to the charities. The golfers, their wives and families will be put up in local hotels, including Adare Manor, the Dunraven Arms and Dromoland Castle. Volunteer hairdressers are being bussed down from Dublin to style the wives' hair for the ball, and a local tailor will be on hand to deal with any last-minute black tie glitches. "JP is very clear about what he wants, so it is easy to work with him," says Howlett. "We started organising the event two years ago, so, while it is a massive undertaking, we are confident it will run smoothly."
The event is well timed, with the K Club, in Co Kildare, hosting the Smurfit European Open just before the pro-am. Just over 20 golfers will be helicoptered from the K Club to Adare on the Sunday night; others will arrive from the US after playing in the Cialis Western Open, near Chicago.
McManus is not playing, saying that it wouldn't be fair on his team mates. "I'd have an idea or I'd need to make a phone call, and I'd be gone," he says. He rarely gives interviews, preferring to let people speculate about his wealth, his tax status and the exact nature of his job - "You would be the best judge of that," he says when I ask about his media-shy persona. "I'm here, aren't I, talking to you?" - but today he wants to ensure that the pro-am is as successful as possible. So here he is, sipping sparkling water and chatting about his roots.
Born in Dublin, he moved with his parents first to Galway and then to Limerick, a place that is as much a part of his identity as gambling and horses. "Everyone has to have a place to identify with," he says. "Limerick is mine."
But before he talks about his identity, gambling and otherwise, he wants to explain the involvement of the various charities in the event. McManus's philosophy is to help those who help themselves. So, while charities that have raised €100,000 are allowed to enter teams, those that managed to raise only €10,000 were still in with a chance, via a qualifier held at Adare last month. As a result, amateur teams that would have paid just €20 to enter a charity tournament could end up sharing a caddie with Tiger Woods.
"We have an awful lot of people who want to play but financially don't have the means," says McManus. "We have tried to bring this tournament to everybody. In the qualifiers we had almost 9,000 people playing golf, and that's an awful lot of people all who have played a part in the success of the event."
At this stage of his life, says McManus, he does few things that he doesn't enjoy doing; organising the pro-am is clearly one of the tasks that appeals to him. "In Geneva I work as little as I can. You know what they say about a man who works: he'd do anything for money," he laughs.
But what exactly do you do for a living, I ask, wondering what label he puts on his ephemeral career. "As little as possible, to be honest," he replies. "I try and get other people to work." But when you are working, what do you do? "Not much. I pretend I am working." What, you play games on the computer? "I wouldn't know how to turn on the computer," he says. "I just never learned. I have got other guys there who do that for me. I just make decisions. There is no shortage of computers. I might be able to read what's typed on them, but ask me to trade on them and I am not able. No way. It's not my scene." You are more of a pencil-and-paper merchant? "I don't do much of that, either."
He is less coy about his path into gambling, describing his father's displeasure when he got a bookie's licence as a young man. "I suppose he didn't think there was a future in it," he says. "I was always into the gambling. I think it was bred into me. I used to believe it came from my dad, and now I think it was my mum. My mum would always have a little flutter or a game of cards."
His father died in the late 1970s, his mother just a couple of years ago. Does he think gambling is genetic? "I'd say there would be a little bit of that in it. I never made a study of it," he says. There is a long pause while he considers the possibility. "I wish I could answer that, but I don't know. My dad would have £1 on my horse in 1960, but he would have put the same stake on a horse in 1978. My mum would always say that: he had £1 on a horse for as long as she knew him. It was an awful lot of money in the 1950s and not as much, obviously, in the 1970s. I don't know the answer to your question."
He is anxious to stress that his gambling life hasn't always been plain sailing. The key, he says, is that he never went into debt. "That way you can always come back. There is a big difference between having nothing and owing a lot to somebody else," he says. "I wasn't too long on the road, and then I was back to my dad, looking for my job back. There were times when I had a bad day at the races and cards in Killarney, ending up with no money, and I'd hitch back to Limerick to face into a field of hay. It wasn't always smooth. I never thought of getting out of it, because I wasn't educated to do much else."
He was a poor student, he says, but being on the road was an education in itself. "There is one good thing about gambling, I've found - on racing, on cards, on whatever - it gives you an insight into the other person's character. You get to learn about people. I remember I was with a friend of mine years ago, a compulsive gambler, and he said to me: 'I got up in the morning and things were bad, and now in the evening I just wish it was the morning again.' " McManus laughs as he remembers. "That sums it up. It's an addiction."
So is he addicted to gambling? "At this stage in my life I wouldn't care if I never had another bet. It wouldn't bother me." When was his last one? He has to think. "I think I had a bet on the National, without much success." I ask again if he is addicted to gambling, curious about whether he sees gambling as a problem. "I was close enough, I'd say, at times in my younger life. I'm not sure. But now it wouldn't bother me. I feel I am in control now." So you are in rehab, I joke. "Whatever way you want to put it."
Perhaps, I say, you have been so successful that you no longer feel the need to gamble as much. McManus chuckles cagily again. "Ah, I don't know," he says, still friendly, still smiling. "I don't know. I don't really understand what you are trying to say." I suppose I am asking for the secret of his success. Why has he succeeded while the lives of other gamblers have ended in ruins? McManus doesn't take the bait. All he will say is that it's all down to luck. "A bit of luck is no load. I know I was lucky. You couldn't have survived without a bit of luck at certain stages of your life. Sometimes you get credited with things you are not entitled to be credited with, you know."
So perhaps the pro-am and his other charity endeavours are about giving something back and creating a "bit of luck" for other people. "You can give back without having a golf tournament," he says. "The main thing is that it creates a great awareness of the causes, and the funds are just a bonus. We raise a reasonable amount of money, but we get a lot of people supporting it. People like to be part of it. All the monies raised go in their entirety to charity, and that encourages people to contribute. They get a lift from the fact that these superstars want to come here and support them."
He says Desmond and Magnier have always helped him get together the best field for the pro-am. What qualities does he look for in his friends? "No two of them are the same. I love them all for different reasons." What kind of people doesn't he respect? "Let's not go down that road," he laughs. "I'm not getting into that one. There's not too many; let's put it that way. We'll look at the positives."
I ask if he is a spiritual person. He becomes distinctly uncomfortable. "If you ask me do I go to Mass on Sunday the answer is yes. If you ask me am I spiritual, who is the judge? I could be a lot more . . . I go to Mass, yes, but am I a spiritual person? I'm probably no worse than 50 per cent and no better than 50 per cent. If I was in the top two-thirds I would settle for that."
The conversation is steered towards safer territory: his love of golf, hurling and backgammon. "When it comes to backgammon I know enough to recognise a better player," he says before uttering what you sense could be something of a McManus motto. "You have to know your limitations."
Even though you could sit for hours and only scratch the surface of what goes on inside McManus's head, you get the feeling that he has already read you like a book. And perhaps that's the real reason he is where he is today, whether making million-dollar decisions in Geneva or making millions for charity in Co Limerick. We should be so lucky.
The JP McManus Invitational Pro-Am 2005 takes place on July 4th and 5th at Adare Manor Hotel & Golf Club, Co Limerick. You can buy tickets (€25 for one day, €50 for two) from www.jpmcmanusgolf.com or 061-487022
