Oliver Callan gets stuck in a furrow at the Ploughing Championships

If, as the late American screenwriter William Goldman observed, all Hollywood executives know that sooner or later they’re going to get fired, so too every Irish radio presenter lives with the knowledge that they will some day end up broadcasting from the National Ploughing Championships.
As inescapable fates go, it’s not the worst. The reactions of those who undertake the pilgrimage to the sprawling agricultural jamboree range from anthropological awe – check Ray D’Arcy’s past appearances – to giddy gusto, with RTÉ’s Gaelic games correspondent Marty Morrissey a reliable exponent of the latter response in previous years. Still, it’s rare to hear someone as excited by the experience of the Ploughing as Oliver Callan (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays), whose overstimulated presence makes even the perma-jocular Morrissey sound as impassive as a helpline chatbot.
Opening Wednesday’s show from the event in Ratheniska, Co Laois, Callan sounds like neither the satirical impressionist he is nor the chatshow host he has latterly become. Instead he resembles a stand-up comic flailing around for quick laughs. Broadcasting from an on-site big top – dubbed “the RTÉ scandal memorial tent” – Callan describes attendees as being there “to deeply inhale shite and diesel for three sweltering days”. (By way of mitigation, the Monaghan-born host uses the first-person plural when chuckling about “culchies”.)
The tone set, Callan roasts the entire political class, by way of obvious stereotypes and rote caricatures. “I think that’s everybody insulted equally,” he concludes. But his rapid-fire jokes fall flat if audible laughter is anything to go by. It’s notable that the biggest cheer of the segment occurs when Callan stops and invites the Limerick band Kingfishr to play live.
It’s a misfiring turn by Callan, but an uncharacteristic one too. A confident performer in the studio, attentive or acerbic as the occasion demands, he sounds less assured in this setting, his attention split between listeners and in-person audience. He regains some composure when meeting his guests, for instance gently ribbing the peripatetic hurling manager Davy Fitzgerald: “You seem like a fella carrying an awful lot of grievances.” The overriding air is one of mild discombobulation, however, as when the champion sheep shearer George Graham remarks that anyone can shear wool, “including Oliver Callan”. “I don’t know about that,” Callan replies in a voice best described as sheepish.
For all that, the host can probably just write it off as a bad day. Certainly, his lengthy interview with the author Roddy Doyle on the previous day’s programme underlines the qualities that have helped lift Callan’s ratings above those of his predecessor, Ryan Tubridy.
As he hears Doyle talk about the genesis and evolution of his enduring fictional character Paula Spencer, Callan is curious without being overeager. He lets his guest vividly recall the outraged reaction in Ireland to portrayals of domestic abuse in Family, the 1994 TV series that first introduced Paula and her violent husband, Charlo.
[ Roddy Doyle: ‘I feel quite good about living in Ireland. But I think we were probably a bit smug’Opens in new window ]
The host also avoids sermonising when Doyle voices his disquiet at the blanket condemnation of rioters in Dublin last November, delicately suggesting that social and economic factors were at play alongside far-right agitation.
It’s a compelling piece of radio, thought-provoking yet attractively accessible. (One might say the same about Doyle’s work in general.) Nor is it a one-off. Callan’s long-form conversation with the broadcaster and author Graham Norton two weeks ago was similarly appealing, albeit different in tenor and substance. For all that he sounds lost in the wilds of Co Laois, when it comes to absorbing interviews Callan is, to quote the old gag, outstanding in his field.
Other RTÉ personalities have a happier time at the Ploughing. Opening Tuesday’s edition of 2FM Drive with Beta Da Silva (weekdays), the eponymous host elicits healthy cheering from his audience, to his apparent relief. “I didn’t know how that was going to go,” he confesses. One can understand his uncertainty. Whereas the last permanent incumbents of the drivetime slot, the podcasting duo the 2 Johnnies, could fit in easily at the Ploughing with their raucously rural sensibility, Da Silva is an African-Irish presenter with a distinctive Dublin twang who has made his name as a champion of urban genres such as hip-hop on The New Music Show. In other words, not the typical visitor profile at the annual festival of country life.
But Da Silva dives right in, his trademark greeting of “big, big love” speaking of his genial on-air persona. He’s joined by the singer-songwriter Brad Heidi, roped in as copresenter (and occasional performer) for the day, which also helps with the immersion into this alien setting. Da Silva admits it’s not his usual milieu – “That’s my life: I sit at home listening to new music” – but seems to enjoy himself. Back in the studio the next day, he enthuses about his visit – he talks about seeing tractors and horses with vague wonderment – while expressing regret that he didn’t see more exhibits. If nothing else, he sounds more like a ploughy star than Callan does.
A bigger question is whether Da Silva can make himself at home in his current berth or whether he’s keeping the seat warm. Since the 2 Johnnies exited 2FM in May – joining Jennifer Zamparelli, Doireann Garrihy and, in July, Donncha O’Callaghan in an exodus that denuded the station of its biggest names – their old slot has been occupied by the duo of Lottie Ryan and David O’Reilly, who then made way for Da Silva.
The impression is of a station patching up gaps as they appear, as with an injury-ravaged football team. But while Da Silva’s preference for tunes over chats is a long way from the 2 Johnnies’ nonstop banter, his current elevation is a welcome acknowledgment of Ireland’s diversity. As Da Silva’s Ploughing foray underlines, there’s room for all voices.