Our tale unfolds in a manner fairly typical to such narratives; it centres on a young lad named Victor Costello, who was eager to win his father’s approval. The father, Paddy Costello, was known for his skills as a shot-putter. As far back as Victor could recall, his father’s association with shot put and his position as a second-rower in rugby for Leinster and Ireland was legendary. However, Paddy’s prestigious rugby career saw just one match in the Irish jersey on a frosty afternoon in Paris, a fact long known before colour television became a phenomenon.
Paddy was not the type to dwell on past glory and had a pragmatic attitude, which often amused Victor. Once while washing the car with his father, Victor observed him using an old Springboks shirt as a cleaning cloth, a souvenir from a past rugby encounter between Leinster and South Africa in the late 1950s.
As Victor recollects, his father’s guiding principle was, “Relish the glory of the current moment since it is fleeting.” Victor aimed to emulate his father in everything, albeit, he wanted to surpass his father’s achievements. That’s why his second cap for Ireland held more significance than all his other 38 caps, as it symbolised his accomplishment exceeding his father’s. One wouldn’t expect a lad named Victor to accept anything less than the best.
The day he beat his father’s shot put record remains hazy. The cloudiness originates from the suspicion that some details might have been conveniently concealed from him. Paddy had declared a reward of 20 quid for the day Victor could throw the iron ball further than him. But, there was a catch: Paddy’s record-breaking throw was measured in the old metric system of yards while Victor’s measurements were recorded in the contemporary metric of metres. As they sat at the kitchen table determining the conversion, Victor suspects that there might have been some dubious deduction of an inch or two.
Indisputably, by the tender age of 16, he had honed his shot put skills to outperform any individual across Ireland. Not long after leaving transition year, he secured his first victory amongst six consecutive national senior titles. Mother Nature had granted him distinguishing features of impressive height and strength. Paddy, a pipe-smoker and carpet seller, recognised in the lad a natural aptitude, a prowess that might possibly lead to stellar Olympic success. To help his son practise, he crafted a shot put circle with cement in their Glencullen, South Dublin gardening patch.
“I can still visualise him,” Victor recounts, “persistently knocking on the window urging me to step outside – God bless the man – while I strummed my guitar indoors. Being an average teenager, I’d roll my eyes in dismay – ‘Not now, for heaven’s sake!’ – but eventually would stretch myself and indulge the sport.”
Victor’s challenge was that everything seemed to flow naturally for him.
“There was this period where I held an undefeated streak in Ireland. I’m not boasting it or trivialising the game. Gary Lavin, my mate, would drop me at Santry for the school championships we had been partying just the night before. I’d simply turn up, snatch the victory, return home to get some sleep for a few hours and, later that night, I’d be out again.”
His father had a habit of leaving care notes on his bed, ready to be read upon his late-night return. These notes were a constant through Victor’s foray into the world of rugby.
Paddy was born into a large family, with many of them serving as law enforcement personnel, hailing from a village in Connemara, coincidentally named Costello. He was aware of the risks of inflating his son’s ego, but couldn’t ignore the boy’s charm. Victor was the celebrated champion of the Blackrock College rugby team and a former two-time Leinster Schools Senior Cup achiever. He scored an extraordinary 10 tries in a singular campaign, a record like his Irish Schools shot put one, that remains unbroken even after a span of around 35 years.
Paddy couldn’t help being filled with pride for his son. Rugby was his life and blood. It was at a social gathering in Bective Rugby Club that he met his wife, Marie. The promise of an athlete wasn’t confined to Victor alone in their family; Victor’s sister, Suzanne, was exceptionally gifted as a 100m sprinter and later represented Ireland in hockey at a university level. On weekends, you’d find the family of four journeying to Tullamore, Cork, Armagh or any other location where their sporting aspirations took them.
In his school days, prominent Ivy League institutions, including Harvard, Yale, and Brown, were vying for Victor’s attention. However, he cunningly rejected this promising path because he realised that his exceptional ability in shot put was simply a skill, while rugby ignited his passion.
During that time, rugby was yet to become a professional sport. Facilities such as the Leinster academy were non-existent, and there was no established progression pathway for players to ascend from school level to senior rugby. “Initially, you’d join a club and start with the third string,” he reflects, “then progress to Leinster under-20s and perhaps Ireland under-21s. So, there was this transitional phase between 19 and 21, during which you were mastering your rugby skills, but also free to explore other interests.”
This was the period that led to discussions between him and Paddy about the 1992 Barcelona Olympics. “Dad wasn’t a sentimental person,” he relays, “so he wouldn’t have told me if the Olympics was a dream of his, even though I think it was. Consequently, I felt like I was achieving this for both of us. My shot put was consistently reaching 17, 18 metres in 1990 and 1991. The Olympic qualifying standard was 19.30m, so I was quite close. Since I wasn’t fully committed to playing rugby, I had sufficient time to improve my skills.”
His entire 1991 was spent ‘gaining weight, enjoying steak and practicing shot put’. He was regularly outperforming competitors at events, emerging victorious almost mechanically while attempting to achieve the coveted distance. Paddy kept a keen eye on his progress from the peripheral, available to share his insights via their unique non-verbal communication, if Victor was open to hearing them.
He was always certain of his father’s position when he was in a match. Whether it was a rugby game in Donnybrook, his dad would stand on the terrace corner at the Dodder side, with his sibling by his side. His performance was deemed satisfactory when his pipe was within his lips, and lacking when held in his hand. While shot-putting, a hand-clapping motion from his father was an indication of excessive speed, alternative gestures showed a flawed trajectory in his father’s opinion.
His first shot at an Olympic qualification span came during a competition in Tullamore. A grand jubilation followed on his drive back via the minor road through Monasterevin, where, in the height of elation, he accelerated his Ford Granada across a humpback bridge, with his dad seated next to him.
To him, participating in the Olympics was more about being present rather than being competitive. It was a humbling experience to be amidst full-time track and field athletes for whom the Olympics was an eternal aspiration as well as a regular job.
He recognised Terry McHugh’s disapproval of his commitment to the sports, being a passionate and hardworking javelin thrower, McHugh himself. He was aware that gaining the muscle mass required for the Olympics could make him under-perform in rugby.
As much as he was proud to represent Ireland in the Olympics, he was conscious that his best would probably get him a fourth or fifth place. Not to forget, the possibility that the winner might be someone previously involved in drug usage, was another issue.
Despite previously serving doping bans, all three shot-putters, who achieved the top three positions in Barcelona, were playing in the Olympics. Jim Doehring, who bagged a silver, was allowed to play due to “irregularities” in the testing procedure.
Victor was optimistic that another outstanding throw, similar to the one at Tullamore, might get him into the finals. It was when he was walking towards the infield and heard a cheer, that he realised it wasn’t for him, but for Linford Christie and Ben Johnson, prepping for their 100m trials.
The awareness that he was taking part in the Olympics triggered a peculiar sensation in Victor Costello – not quite anxiety, but more of a vulnerability that seemingly emanated from his joints. His initial attempt, referred to as “the settler”, turned out to be a less than impressive 15.99 metres. His following throw measured 17.15 metres, hardly ground-breaking. His third endeavour was a foul, and he concluded the event ranked 22nd among 26 competitors.
Being in the throwing circle, especially during moments of underperformance, can feel tremendously isolating according to Victor. Unfortunately, in such situations, the path of least resistance often involves a lack of effort and accepting defeat. He insists that he didn’t intentionally give up, but things went awry and he lacked the resources to rectify them.
Victor believes later experiences – a rugby career, working as a pilot for Ryanair, and his recent ventures as a businessperson running a Florida flight school and a storage service for personal airplanes – have given him the tools he previously lacked. The 53-year-old asserts that if he were in the circle today, he’d be equipped to handle it. Throughout his life he’s encountered similar situations on the rugby field, in business interactions, and during stormy flights at 38,000 feet where giving up wasn’t an option.
Upon the team’s return to Dublin, boxing medallists Michael Carruth and Wayne McCullough left the plane first, with Victor slipping out the back with Gary O’Toole, their heads hung in shame. He often downplays his Olympic experience to shield himself from the knowledge that he could have done better. Nevertheless, he acknowledges the honor of participating in a global event.
Victor was later celebrated as a rugby player, a second career that brought him more acclaim. By his side, often with a pipe in hand or mouth, was his father Paddy, who witnessed his son’s first hesitant steps in the All-Ireland League. Victor learned to avoid his father’s gaze whenever he wasn’t performing at his best on the field.
Victor recalls when Paddy, his father, was witness to Victor’s first game for Leinster back in the autumn of ’95. He was also there in ’96 when Victor represented Ireland for the first time, as well as the next occasion which broke all family records. Paddy was present too, when Victor had an exceptional game in a Heineken Cup triumph against Milan in Donnybrook, back in October 1997. That night, while Victor celebrated the victory with his teammates at Kielys, Paddy left what was later found out to be his last message on Victor’s pillow.
“I still keep it” Victor affirms, “the note simply read ‘Nothing more I can do'”.
These words proved uncannily predictive as Paddy tragically passed away the next day from a heart attack whilst driving to Leitrim.
“I remember receiving a call from a police officer,” Victor recounts. “He asked me for my address as a car was being sent to my location. I asked him directly if the problem involved my father. His response being positive, I enquired ‘is he alive?’ Unfortunately, the answer was negative. The shock of hearing the news I believe aged me by a decade within a split second. I then had to look into the eyes of my mum and sister, and relay the news. From that moment we were no longer a family of four, but three.”
Nearly three decades later, Paddy’s teachings still resonate with Victor. Now a father himself, he’s passing on these invaluable lessons to his own fledglings. His son, a seven-year-old who’s not a rugby or shot put enthusiast like his father and grandfather but prefers football. “He’s really good at it,” Victor admits. “When he’s going off to his games, I tell him ‘You don’t need to try and be the next Ronaldo. Take it one step at a time and remember to enjoy yourself.’ ”
Sometimes, he recognises his father’s directives in his own advice. Even though the voice is Victor’s, he knows it’s the teachings of Paddy echoing through.