We all just get along

While heading in to work this morning, my wife mentioned that my brother was planning to go to the Munster final. She had offered to ferry him to the match but he said that there was no need, it wasn’t that much of a trek to Thurles (he lives in Portlaoise).

Cue much snorting. There was no way Waterford were going to concede home advantage to Tipperary, no matter how much sense it made in terms of ticket numbers or access to the venue. Did he really think the Waterford County Board would buy the argument that the players and the fans are just as familiar with Thurles on big match days as anyone from Tipperary, and can we not please stay away from the crumbling monument to Frank Murphy’s ego on the banks fo the Lee? No chance, the match would be in Cork thus ensuring that should the Rebel minors reach the final we’d have several thousand of their fans present cheering for Tipperary because they want to keep the Déise upstarts in their place.

So imagine my surprise and delight to find the match will indeed be in Thurles. There’s too much myth-making attached to the trip to Tipp. The delights of Liberty Square are uneven with the craic often being significantly less than ninety and Semple Stadium isn’t exactly the Nou Camp (and even if were it would, to quote that great philosopher Midge Ure, mean nothing to me). But it is the biggest venue in Munster, it is the easier venue to get to and get away from, and the quality of facilities have soared in recent years. Fair play to the suits in the Waterford County Board for ignoring any knee-jerk considerations about neutral venues and giving the punters what they want.

Update: it seems the reason the match is being played at Thurles is due to the GAA’s 125th anniversary celebrations. The last time the GAA had a beano to celebrate a big number, no less an occasion than the All-Ireland hurling final was switched to Semple Stadium. Wonder why that didn’t happen this time?

Counties That I Don’t Hate – Dublin

(No 1 in a series of 2)

Jerry Seinfeld once made the observation that when it comes to sport, we are ‘rooting for laundry‘. When Michael Owen was playing for Liverpool he was a hero to the Kop – his outside-the-outfit-y-fronts were slightly skid-marked for effectively displacing uberhero Robbie Fowler, but he was still an object of veneration. Yet three years ago he was roundly jeered and even booed by most of Anfield. His crime? Wearing a Newcastle United shirt. Wearing different laundry.

We’re meant to hate. Nick Hancock – yep, my vision of the world is informed by the bon mots of comedians – put it well when he denounced the habit of having a ’soft spot’ for a team. Hancock denounced such talk, saying that “football is not like religion, football is religion, and you don’t hear the Pope saying he has a soft spot for Islamic fundamentalism”. His addition to this quotable quote, that he was disappointed every weekend of the season that the optimum set of results – Stoke City winning and everyone else losing – didn’t come to pass, struck a chord with me back in the mid 90’s.

Now though, I’m not so sure. Even Nick Hancock would admit that Port Vale are singled out for special doses of venom – he must be having a right old time at the moment as Stoke sit comfortably in the Premier League while Vale languish in the depths of League Two. And once you admit that all teams are equally hateworthy but some are more equal than others, then there’s got to be someone you hate least. It might be due to geographical distance, or lack of competition, or lying down like a whipped cur whenever they meet your team – take a bow, Newcastle United. And my recent affection for the England soccer team has shown me that is possible to change your tune as you grow old(er) and mellow(er). So with all those caveats in mind, I’d like to record the existence of two counties that I like to see win, even feeling some disappointment when they fail.

The first of those is Dublin. I can imagine the splutters of outrage that would greet such a sentiment expressed anywhere else online or in the real world. The Jackeens! How could you like the soccer hooligans masquerading as GAA fans? And it would be fair to say that in the real world there is a divide between them and culchies. Many’s the time in my time in college in Dublin where I encountered situations where they looked down on everyone and everything from the provinces, as if the only difference between their home town and New York was that only one of them was still a capital city.

But in GAA terms, that sense of difference is something to be celebrated, not scorned. Noel Purcell was once asked when he would be heading up to Croke Park to watch the Dubs. Why, he replied, would he be bothered with a team of culchies? At the time I thought he was making some Hot Press-style cut at bogball and stickball. Now a little older and a little wiser, I can see that he meant that ‘Dublin’ GAA teams were stuffed to the gills with people up from the country who only played for the Metropolitans because it was impossible to haul themselves back home of a weekend to play for their real county. It would be hard for the native Dubs to get excited about a team like that.

Which is what made Heffo’s Army so exciting. The weight attached to this team in GAA history far outweighs their achievements. Four All-Ireland’s in ten years was a decent return, but Offaly won three All-Ireland’s between 1970 and 1983 and their legend is almost entirely based on one kick by Seamus Darby. The Dubs were different because of that soccer-style sense of razzmatazz and the townie ways of Tony Hanahoe, Brian Mullins et al. But they were the same too because, well, they loved Gaelic games (or one form of it, and how many of us genuinely devote equal time to both football and hurling?)

The Dublin GAA fraternity are our allies, not our enemies. When the rugger buggers were swooning because 20,000+ attended the decisive match in the 1993 All-Ireland League between St Mary’s and Young Munster, such hubris was slapped down by Robbie Kelleher who scornfully noted that the Dubs could get attendances like that at League matches. Whether this  is true or not – seems unlikely – it doesn’t change that fact that having the likes of Kelleher, a D4-type stockbroker, on our side against those who despise the GAA and everything it stands for, is something to be celebrated.

The charges laid against the Dubs are usually puddle-shallow. Supposedly they are all bandwagon jumpers because 70,000+ go to Championship matches while you’d be doing well (whatever Robbie Kelleher says) to get 7,000 at Parnell Park in the spring. This means they have an awful lot in common with the rest of us beyond the Pale. There were only 14,000 people at Waterford’s opening Championship match last year against Clare and a lot fewer than half of them were from Waterford (full disclosure: I wasn’t one of those present). Yet there must have been 50,000 people in Croke Park in September wearing white and blue. By that measure, it is the Déise ‘faithful’ who are the bandwagon jumpers, not the Dubs. These metrics – modest crowds far below the capacity of the venue in May / June, hysterical bleating that the diehards can’t get tickets in September – can be applied to every county in Ireland. Except Dublin.

Then there’s the whole soccer thing. It’s been a long time since liking soccer was considered an insult even among diehard GAA types. Almost everyone I know who is involved in the GAA, even those who are active in their clubs, has some interest in soccer, particularly (and ironically) English teams. Yet when the Dubs are involved their olé-oléing is instantly bracketed as some manner of crime against the memory of Michael Hogan. So what if the way the Hill supports its team is different to the rest of the country? Would people rather they were down in Dalymount Park?

So those are some defences against the Dubs. But there are reasons other than numbers and a shared sense of tribalism to like Dublin. In football, they are truly a bunch of the most lovable losers. Mayo are often cited (not least here) as a county whose inability to close the deal makes them attractive. Yet in 2006 Dublin managed to out-Mayo Mayo, throwing away a seven point lead against supposedly the most brittle county in the land. How could you hate someone who could implode in a manner that would make a British tennis player blush?

In hurling, sympathy for Dublin comes from another direction. Hurling is a sport constantly having to prove itself. With Laois completely gone out of the picture, Offaly and Wexford heading that way, and Clare, Galway, Limerick and Waterford continually flattering to deceive, the sport is desperately in need of some new blood.  It’s not a question of someone challenging Kilkenny. At the moment, we need Kilkenny to dip their standards for that o happen. But once that happens – and it will; it must – Dublin, with a lot of success and minor and Under-21 level, could be waiting in the long grass.

All this might change were Dublin to become any good. A team striding through the world would get old pretty fast, and there might be some justification to concerns that Dublin’s population advantage would make it invincible were they ever to get their act together. The thing about sleeping giants though is that they invariably tend to go comatose rather than wake up. Look at Newcastle United. Why have a down on a team for something that might, but probably won’t, happen? When the facts change, I change my mind. If Dublin become successful, I’ll reassess my attitude to them in that light. Until then, it’s hard to hate.

As I wrote this, it dawned on me that a success for Dublin could have immediate dire consequences for Waterford. If Dublin win Leinster and we win Munster then one of our rewards would be put in the same half of the All-Ireland series as Kilkenny. But you know what? I’ll take that chance. Winning Munster is an end in itself, and the odds are that we’re going to have to meet Kilkenny at some point if we want to win the ultimate prize – avoiding them until the final didn’t do us any good in 2007. So bring on a Dublin win in Leinster, a fitting reward for the efforts of those faceless drones that have dragged Dublin hurling up from the mire over the last decade. And when the capital joins the rest of us in embracing the joys of Gaelic games, you will all be grateful for what they did.

Two for the price of one

The minors took full advantage of the vagaries of the system last night when they came from four points down at half-time to beat Clare by six points in Ennis. This means we will be in both matches on Munster final day. The thought immediately sprang to mind that this had probably not happened since 1948, and that year didn’t work out too badly at either level. Sadly a little more digging revealed that we last reached both finals in 1958, and lost both. Here’s hoping these things alternate.

Be careful what you wish for

The question of whether the back door is harmful for the provincial champions is one constantly bandied about. Opponents of the back door will point in recent times to Armagh’s experience, champions of Ulster in four of the last five years and yet not even a final appearance to show for it in the main event. They’ve also seen Sam carried off by three back door teams, most gallingly seeing Tyrone do it in 2005 and 2008. So it will be interesting to see how they react to today’s football qualifier draw, which has seen Armagh draw the utter stinker of Monaghan away. And God knows what hand grenade awaits them in the next phase should they overcome Monaghan. With Tyrone looking forward to the winners of Cavan and Antrim, no prizes for guessing which is the happier county at the moment.

This debate also has its hurling counterpart, and the fate of Clare should provide a sharp counterpoint. The same people who think the back door is an easier router to the McCarthy Cup would no doubt be suggesting that Clare would be pleased to lose to Tipperary today. Having given a fine performance that would have shaken off any post-League blues, they could now look forward to a serene trip through the qualifiers. Then out come the one team that seem to be able to routinely put it up to Kilkenny. At least they’ll have home advantage, but Tipp have a Munster final to look forward to and still have their get-out-of-jail-free card.

Things could be worse for Clare. There are more middling-to-bad teams in the football qualifiers than good ones, so the odds should have been in Waterford’s favour to have a decent draw. Despite their recent decline, Meath are not ideal opponents, especially away from home. After being put in the same half of the draw in Munster as Kerry and Cork, Waterford might ponder that if it weren’t for bad luck they’d have no luck at all.

S*** ground, no fans

One of the significant events of my recent holidays was a trip to the Venue of Bellends . . . sorry, Legends that is Wembley Stadium. I’ve been to a few sporting arenas in my time now – the Nou Camp, Stamford Bridge, Goodison Park, the Millennium Stadium (photos sadly lost to the mists of time and a dodgy hard drive), the Reebok Stadium (?), Pride Park (!), and obviously Anfield and Croke Park.

Going to Wembley has reinforced a long held opinion of mine about sports stadiums. There is nothing inherently special about any of them. It was a splendid occasion, going to Wembley, but this was almost entirely because of the delight felt by my wife at finally seeing England play where they had won the World Cup all those centuries ago. Ultimately it was a big box with seats in it, albeit a state-of-the-art one in the case of Wembley.

Yes, they’ve all got a special charge to the people who frequent them regularly, and I always get a thrill of anticipation when arriving on Walton Breck or Jones’ Road. But that comes from the heart, not from anything that is bound up in the bricks and mortar. When I pointed out to a tour guide at Anfield that with all the times the turf at the ground has been replaced the ashes of those who had been scattered there were long gone, he sagely observed that people who had been buried at sea hardly expected to go to the exact location to locate the remains (wonder whether he is so candid with the loved ones who ask the same question).

Some people seem to collect sports grounds like stamps or fine wines, which is fine in so far as any hobby has an element of obsessive compulsiveness to it (bit like writing a blog that no one reads). But they seem to miss the point of these venues. They are special to the fans because of the history. To the occasional / once-off visitor, it’s just some place to watch the match.

Davy Fitz +1

A lot has happened since I last posted – that’ll happen when you take two weeks off in the summer. Expect a mish-mash of confused thoughts over the next few days as I try to make sense of it all without having experienced any of it first hand.

The first thing that springs to mind is how, after all the jigs and the reels, it has been a tremendously successful period for Davy Fitzgerald. There was a lot of pressure on both managers after the shambles of the drawn game, a match that was bad to listen to on a car radio in Durham and was likely infinitely worse in the rain-soaked flesh. Therefore it was inexplicable that Justin decided to make no changes to the Limerick team. How can a team score 1-8 in any 70 minute match and be considered worthy of such a vote of confidence? Davy Fitz, on the other hand, rang the changes. Playing Gary Hurney ahead of Dan Shanahan was not at all obvious and left him open to abuse should Waterford fall short. Leaving Ken McGrath out was unavoidable but there have been situations in the past where Ken was not much better than a cripple but Waterford managers have recoiled from the prospect of playing without him even as an impact sub. And the positional switches clearly worked wonders with John Mullane making mincemeat of the Limerick defence, adding 50% to his points tally from the weekend before and generally traumatising them to the extent that they had to keep on fouling him. Yep, after a fraught week Davy Fitz can feel pretty smug.

And so on to the Munster final, what will be our sixth appearance there in twelve seasons. To put that figure into context, it’ll only be the 24th time we’ve contested the final. It bears repeating again and again and again – this is a golden age for Waterford hurling. Rather than bemoaning the lack of All-Ireland titles or even finals, let’s rejoice in what has been achieved.

England v Andorra, 10 June 2009

It’s not worth the drama

As alluded to previously, we ‘ll be jaunting our way through the highways and byways of Britain for the next two weeks and won’t be going to the Limerick match. For those of you surfing on by looking for a slice of that Come on the Déise insight into clashes with the Shannonsiders, fear not: refresh your spirits with this account of one of the greatest hurling matches ever, certainly the best I’ve had the privilege of witnessing. Hopefully though it’ll be a bit less head-wrecking than that one and more like this. With me being in Blighty, the omens are good.

Where will we meet up in Thurles?

We won’t.

*shuffles shamefacedly away*