Sounds like a re-hash of a story from the Times on 11th Jan 2003.
Here's a little extract;
They got a blast out of the music, yes. But to them, it was a business first and foremost. It was their living. For me, I suppose it was more the ego thing. You understand what I'm saying?"
His exit from music promotions was as disastrous as it was glorious. Offered a chance to book Joe Cocker - who with Aretha Franklin made the only type of music Byrne really cared for - he jumped at it. This was 1980, a low ebb for Cocker. Byrne got him bookings in Ireland and England and on the continent but neglected to hammer out sufficient sums to cover himself. Cocker sang up a storm and Byrne was torn between pride for the show and dismay at losing about (pounds) 50,000 because of it. In 1980! Rueful, he passed on the option for another Cocker tour and could but smile when his hero scored a global hit with Jennifer Warnes a year later for Love Lift Us Up. If that wasn't a sign to quit while he was behind, nothing was. Anyhow, there was always Shelbourne.
Until there wasn't.
He speaks of his time in prison in monastic terms.
"It was a period of reflection for me, a low period in my life."
In truth, it was probably the first time he had paused for breath in about 15 years. Stolen fags hung him. The cigarettes were nicked and Byrne purchased them for one of his businesses. It was a minor enough transgression but there were a fair few puffs and the judge decided to make an example of him. So in the mid-80s, he did a stretch, did some thinking, clearing the clutter of the previous decade.
He was in prison when he heard Phil Lynott died. He first saw Philo when he was playing with The Black Eagles, managed by Joe Smith from Crumlin.
"That was a terrible moment for me, not being able to go to Philo's funeral. I kind of felt I was a father figure to him in the early days before he took off with Thin Lizzy. It was a lonely time, my lowest ebb."
As if in sympathy, Shels had also sunk, mired because of money troubles and internecine warfare over ownership and disappearing crowds (in the '50s, they could command maybe 30 buses of supporters for away games) and apathy.
"At that time, I recognised the club was in danger and if we didn't come up with a framework, the repercussions could be disastrous."
And Ollie is talking about Shelbourne here but also he is talking about himself. He needed a blueprint, the club needed a blueprint and when he walked free, chastened and burnt but still not bitter, he set about implementing it. He describes the day he met Tony Donnelly as "the greatest of my life". Donnelly provided Shels with financial backing, know-how and respectability and to Ollie, he is a saviour.
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