Unfortunately, Garth Brooks is a hard man to get a hold of, particularly from this side of the pond. He's represented by Bob "Major Bob" Doyle. Doyle's contact details are public, but he won't respond to any of my emails or phone-calls. And even then, Doyle would only be the gatekeeper. It's Garth who we need to understand.
Four years on, the most fundamental questions at the heart of the catastrophe remain unanswered. What I remain most fixated on is what kind of man Garth Brooks is.
In today's money-driven society, what kind of musician walks away from a €10 million pay day for three nights of work? Surely if somebody is motivated by greed, then they'd say to hell with the Monday and Tuesday fans who got screwed, play the weekend nights and celebrate with a new private jet or whatever it is that rich people buy.
Does that mean, as Burke speculates, that Brooks was instead urged onwards by an insatiable ego? Always wanting more? A five-night residency in Ireland's grandest and most historic venue, playing to hundreds of thousands of his slavishly devoted worshippers. Once he learned that he couldn't beat the system, was his pride so wounded that he took his ball, burst it and stomped off home?
And what if Dublin City Council had given in? What if we had let 10% of the entire population ride roughshod over Croke Park and its surrounding neighbourhoods for those five nights? Would Brooks have added a sixth date? A seventh? If things hadn't gone down the way they did, maybe Garth would still be there, belting out 'The Thunder Rolls' and only taking short breaks on the weekend to let Dublin play football.
During a Nashville press conference after the cancellation announcement, Brooks said "If the prime minister [Enda Kenny] himself wants to talk to me I will crawl, swim, fly over to him. I will drop on my knees just to let those 400,000 people see me." Dropping to one's knees is not exactly the calling card of pride.
Garth's long history with Ireland meant these weren't simply any other shows. Eating ice-cream for a living, that's what he'd told us right?
Eating ice cream for a living is an understatement. Garth Brooks could have comfortably collected a cheque for €10,000,000 paid for by the Irish public and done it all while performing to a total of 240,000 screaming fans over three nights. He'd have been a martyr too — sharing in the pain of his 160,000 loyal subjects, deprived of joy by resident petitions, the paperwork of faceless local authorities, licensing laws and other things that his fans would have been happy to blame.
It's important to understand that by 2014, Garth Brooks hadn't released a new album in 13 years. From 2004 onwards, he reserved his live appearances for special performances only. From 2009 to 2013 he almost exclusively played residencies on the Las Vegas strip, the ultimate retirement move. He hadn't toured or released new music in 10 years.
Desperately seeking a comeback, he came to the one place where he knew he'd be loved, where he'd be welcomed back with open arms and no tough questions. A place where he could sell concert tickets to 10% of the entire population without even breaking a sweat beneath his cowboy hat. Maybe when he learned that a failure of bureaucracy had upended his hopes of a five-show comeback special he simply couldn't believe it. In a tailspin, he gave us the ultimatum of "five or none" and since it couldn't be five, that meant it had to be none.
On July 14, just 11 days before the first of his concerts was supposed to take place, Brooks released a new statement. This one had none of the former's "five or none" defiance. This one was weighted down with unblinking sadness.
"I have always been advised to never send a message in the moment," he wrote. "It is said it is best to take a walk, wait a while, and think about it. With that said, I just received the news the Irish council cannot change their earlier ruling to not allow the licenses for all five shows. To say I am crushed is an understatement. All I see is my mother’s face and I hear her voice. She always said things happen for a reason and for the right reason. As hard as I try, I cannot see the light on this one."
Avril, Garth's number Irish fan, has since been to see him in Las Vegas, and reported that Garth still talks about Ireland when he's onstage in the US. "He straight up brought up Croke Park. He said 'You'd wanna see Croke Park, you'd wanna see the Irish people, you'd wanna see Ireland.' He had nothing but love for us. And he didn't know there was Irish people in that audience."
By the sounds of it, there's no bitterness nor begrudgery from Brooks. Just love. But it's four years later and there's still no suggestion that Garth's return is on the horizon.
As for Ireland, the Garth Brooks-shaped wound on our heart is slowly scarring over, but is still tender to the touch. Whenever we hear "Bruce Springsteen" or "The Rolling Stones" and "extra date added" in the same sentence, we'll instinctively flinch. Before Garth-gate, Brooks' most recent three studio albums had reached chart highs of 4, 6 and 1. Shortly after the Croke Park collapse, his Man Against Machine album failed to break into the Irish top 10.
Like an old war veteran with a missing limb, we can still feel the twinge where our Garth Brooks concerts were supposed to be. Until we understand exactly why it happened, we probably always will.