“Isn’t She Lovely Altogether” Cold Dead-Eyed Dáithí Ó Sé Practices In Mirror

WITH JUST HOURS to go until this year’s Rose of Tralee kicks off, Dáithí Ó Sé remains locked into his pre-game routine which has served him well since 2010.

“Isn’t she lovely altogether? Isn’t she lovely altogether? Isn’t she lovely altogether?” Ó Sé said, repeating the same words he has been saying into his reflection since 5.30am this morning.

The colour completely drained for his face, his eyes glazed over, a dedicated Ó Sé foregoes any sense of his personhood, instead giving over completely to the notion that he is merely a vessel to deliver stock phrases everyone is expecting when they tune into the RoT.

“Sure where else would you get it? Sure where else would you get it? Sure where else would you get it?” Ó Sé now repeated, his body remaining eerily still except for his mouth, the host locked into a repetitious routine like a prize fighter punching a boxing speed bag.

“Only at the Rose of Tralee, am I right? Only at the Rose of Tralee, am I right? Only at the Rose of Tralee, am I right?” continued to say in front of the mirror, now appearing to levitate such is the power of his relentless focus.

“Have ya a poem for us? Ah ya do! Have ya a poem for us? Ah ya do! Have ya a poem for us? Ah ya do!” Repeated Ó Sé, momentarily allowing his focus to flit away and become caught up in a fantasy in which the Rose of Tralee is taken over by a crack team of international criminals with a shoeless, singlet wearing Ó Sé everyone’s last hope.

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