Seamus McDonagh, who visits Springs frequently, is a good man. And a good storyteller. He has timing, wit, a light Irish brogue giving music to his words, and a hard-gained wisdom that lands as powerfully as a shot from a heavyweight boxer. Which he once was — a cruiserweight who went up a class to face Evander Holyfield, challenging the legendary champion for his title.
That moment in his life, and other unique experiences, triumphant and tragic, give substance to his soliloquies. In sum, McDonagh is an interesting listen, and whenever I speak with him, which happened recently during one of his visits here, the takeaway is emotionally beneficial and intellectually far-reaching: I always learn something that I want to learn more about. In this case, ironically, it involved writing.
McDonagh didn’t want to be a boxer, but he was pushed into the sport at age 10 by his father, who also was a fighter. “I figured if I had to box,” McDonagh told me, “I might as well become good at it — at least good enough not to get hurt too badly.”
The strategy worked. By 27, he had a record of 19-1, with 14 of those wins by knockout. And when a much-hyped bout between Holyfield and Mike Tyson was suddenly scuttled, McDonagh, like a real-life Rocky, was offered the chance of a lifetime.
It was June 1, 1990, when he squared off against Holyfield in Atlantic City. There was a big crowd, including many fans from Ireland, the birthplace of his parents, and where he had spent many years in his youth. Ranked ninth in the world, he was a clear underdog. But he gave it his all for four rounds, losing on a controversial technical stoppage. (The video replay shows he was on his feet before the count of eight; thus, the referee should not have ended the fight.)
No pun intended, it was a tough blow to McDonagh. He had sacrificed much to get into the best shape possible for Holyfield, including abstaining from alcohol, which had become by that time a way for him to cope with shyness and low self-esteem. Despite his disappointment, he pulled himself together to prepare for his next fight.
Unfortunately, his handlers decided it was best for him to engage in an extremely long and grueling training schedule. Not having the confidence to question this regimen, even though he sensed it was not the right approach, he entered the ring with sore and tired muscles. As a result, he suffered another defeat, and worse, a terrible beating. To box again meant risking permanent injury. Thus, McDonagh retired.
While change is never easy, letting go can be even harder. For McDonagh, whose self-worth and livelihood were connected to boxing, leaving the sport behind in such an abrupt fashion was disastrous for his mental health.
Akin to a careering train slamming into a brick wall, his past met his present with a thunderous crash. He emerged from the wreckage scared, confused, and traumatized. Years later, he would attach a diagnosis to his emotional state — Professional Athlete Syndrome.
While the syndrome’s most common symptoms, depression, anxiety, and loss of identity, can affect people from all walks of life when they leave a long-held profession, they are most prevalent in high-profile athletes. According to an article put out by Kindbridge Behavioral Health, “There are few careers comparable to those pertaining to elite athletics. It can be an exciting and rewarding vocation, but the expression ‘The flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long’ aptly describes how it ends for many involved.”
“Some are able to transition into life’s second act without a hitch, but others struggle with the departure from competition, fandom, and other activities that kept dopamine firing in a rapid succession. Compromised mental health ensues for a significant number of retired professional athletes, with research finding that their depression rates are as high as 39 percent. More concerning is that related suicide rates are two to four times higher for former male athletes than for the general male population.”
McDonagh experienced all of this and more once his career ended. “My purpose was gone, and I wanted to be gone,” he said. “I sat up in bed for days after that last bout, thinking, ‘If I don’t have to fight anymore, I don’t have to quit drinking anymore — I can drink all the time.’ But I discovered that alcohol no longer anesthetized my fears. I’d lost my solution. Then I really wanted to end my life. I drank more and faster until someone gave me a drug. I’d never tried drugs before. I think I got hooked the first time I did it.”
The next few years for McDonagh were defined by more downs than ups. He was in and out of rehab, squandered his money, couldn’t hold a job, lost relationships, and was suicidal. But the fighter’s spirit remained — a survivor’s spark keeping him off the proverbial mat. Perhaps the resolve to hold on came from his late mother (his father is alive, at 90), a woman he calls strong and ultra-loving. But his becoming sober, and staying sober, he attributes to Alcoholics Anonymous’s 12 steps.
“Twenty-nine years ago,” he said, “a person sat with me in a restaurant, and with pen and paper showed me how to do the 12 steps. Since then, I’ve done them every day. It starts each morning. The first thing I do is check in with myself. If I don’t feel well, it usually means I’m holding on to resentment — the idea that I’ve been mistreated, wronged, or disrespected in some way. I then open a notebook and do my best to describe the resentment in writing. Next, I work to identify what is fueling my feelings — my fears, which are always the root of resentment. Once I’ve uncovered the underlying fears, I can let go the resentment, anger, upset, and disappointment that come with it. I call it ‘Leaving Rage on the Page.’ It’s a very relaxing and releasing experience. When I write, my mind slows, I become more focused, and I’m able to bring up from my subconscious — and remove — self-destructive thoughts.”
Thanks to this practice, McDonagh has not only maintained his sobriety for 29 years but in doing so has become a role model and a supporter to others battling alcoholism. He is now a person defined by creative action and purpose, someone who has acted onstage and in films, who has built a successful business, and has become a devoted father and a steadfast friend to many.
—
John McCaffrey is an author and writing instructor who lives in Wainscott.
