In the aftermath of the Taoiseach's vapid gloss on the cult of Michael Collins, there's surely one less PR person in gainful employment.
Here's hoping that whoever put that text in the Taoiseach's hand had a very bad week indeed.
Look at the wreckage incurred.
Vincent Browne reminded Irish Times readers about Collins's dictatorial tendencies and his menacing designs on the North to the last.
Over at the Irish Examiner, T Ryle Dwyer supplemented these insights with choice cuts from his absorbing new book, Michael Collins and the Civil War (Mercier), where he details Collins's erratic judgement and brutal instincts.
Dwyer reminds us that Collins's old habits died hard even when he was in the Treaty harness.
He describes a crazy Collins scheme from 1922 whereby he thought he could secure the release of IRA colleagues held by the Stormont regime by taking 100 unionists hostage and having the British hangman murdered in his own house!
The Taoiseach ignored this material, while failing to ask whether Collins's death might actually have spared the infant Free State a Katanga-style border war with Craig.
On Newstalk then, Shane Coleman said he found the Taoiseach's speech to be a bit tribal.
All that stuff about "occupation" and Collins the "persuader" reads like a jingle of euphemisms when set next to Browne and Dwyer.
The ghost of Brian Lenihan forces us to augment the charge of vagueness with that of cowardice though.
Remember when a dying man faced the Collins clan in 2010 and reminded them that the sharpest scrutiny is the condition of enduring fame?
The late Brian Lenihan went out of his way to dwell on the melancholy fact that "many people with little or no connection to the struggle died or suffered by accident, or because of where they worked or where they worshipped".
Former inspector Gerry O'Carroll put some flesh on these old bones in the Evening Herald.
O'Carroll wanted us to spare a thought for the almost 500 Irishmen in the old RIC and Dublin Metropolitan Police who were murdered on Collins's orders, Joyce's "genial giants" whose fate it was to prove that treason was a matter of dates.
So, the Times, the Examiner and the Herald did the work the Taoiseach refused to.
Prime ministerial oratory is supposed to be an answer to that old biblical question: many of us have asked being broken, how are we to live?
But the Taoiseach spoke instead as if we were chimps huddling at our first fire.
By contrast, every major media outlet except RTE did their audience the courtesy of assuming that they were adults who were able to navigate complexity.
So they gave us snippets of the real Collins, the man who had the presses of the Irish Independent smashed after that paper editorialised against the attempted murder of Lord French, who thought unionism was mere whimsy.
All of the Taoiseach's detractors spoke to a desire for an historical synthesis that is deeper than the casual come-all-ye he proffered.
The real debate we must have about Collins centres around his understanding of violence.
The buzzard idol rigged up by Neil Jordan and Tim Pat Coogan screened out the central puzzle of his life, namely his wildly contradictory use of deadly force.
Think about it.
How do we make sense of someone who allowed his underlings
in Cork city to harass and murder scores of innocent Protestants while leaving untouched the IRA's biggest enemy in the city, Bishop Daniel Coughlan?
Many Protestants were murdered for trivial or even imagined irritations, but no one touched the loud-mouthed friar whose sermons probably denied Collins hundreds of recruits.
Same goes for the elderly magistrate Alan Bell, shot in the head and groin, according to The New York Times, after Collins's men lifted him from a tram.
Why kill a nosy civil servant like this, you might ask, and leave untouched most of the IRA's really tough foes, namely the unionist MPs at Westminster who were sapping David Lloyd George's liberal credentials?
Why allow some IRA units to exile "informers" when others got to use mere rumour as grounds for capital punishment?
Why did Collins express outrage at being labelled a cut-throat, but do nothing to prevent someone like Joe Dolan getting into his "squad"?
Dolan was sent by Collins to kill one Captain Noble in Ranelagh, Dublin, on Bloody Sunday in 1920.
TCD's Anne Dolan -- no relation I assume -- tells us that when Dolan found only a semi-naked woman in the captain's bed, he beat the woman up and stole all her rings.
Another Collins intimate from that fateful day, Mick White, ate the breakfast of the man he shot before taking flight.
Not the stuff of legend, this brackish pool is it?
It retains some potency, though, because Collins's calculus of violence -- half-formed and unarticulated as it was -- still casts a terrifying shadow.
We see it in Sean O Faolain's conflicted attitude towards the H-Block hunger-strikes in his London Review of Books essay in 1981 and in Judge Brian Walsh's surreal meditation on the different kinds of IRA brutality in Finucane v McMahon in 1990.
Collins lives for sure, but he lives here in these shadow lands.