Technology isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. I’m starting to pine for the days when half the parish would be crowded around the one wireless at Widow Quinn’s kitchen listening to Cavan winning another All-Ireland or any of the other Ulster sides getting hammered by Kerry or Dublin . No one really thought that much about wanting to be at the actual match. The craic was great in the parlour and there’d normally be a punching session or two out of badness if the game was a bit dull. It was all innocent stuff. Then along came The Sunday Game and that was a bonus. They’d show the four All-Ireland semis and the two finals. It was a good reason to get a TV and turn it on in September.
What we’re witnessing now is an overdose. It’s a bit like the food. In the 50s/60s you’d never have seen an obese child unless he had travelled over from England or was the landlord’s son. You ate your dinner, your breakfast and supper and that was it. On a Friday there was the chance of a packet of sucking sweets. Now there’s larders packed to the brim and children are eating their way through the day. I see boys eating cakes on bridges without a smile on their face as if it’s something they do everyday. At Mass last week a child suffered the embarrassment of his vestment garments bursting open at the seams. The previous week some young buck asked the PP if he could have a couple more of those communions.
The same is happening with the football and hurling. RTE and TV3 are trying their best to keep us happy but in their panic to cover as many games as possible, they’re overdosing us. We see so many games that unless something outstanding occurs, it’s all much of a muchness. Now we’re demanding to be entertained, the same way as the young lad club barbecue last week demanded that he get beef, pork, chicken and fish on his plate at the same time. When he was told there was no fish, he lifted one of the corner flags and proceeded to smash the media box to pieces. The response to this by the mother was ‘ach sure, get the lad some fish’.
This need to be entertained has spread to the pundits and they’re now like a bunch of pre-programmed robots each week, feeling the need to criticise the product to keep us happy. There has been much debate about rule changes and the like in order to improve the Games. If the powers took time to look back on old footage of the games, they’d see that back in the 50s, we had one hell of a product. The playing rules were the same but it was the peculiarities that made us different. I’d perhaps encourage that the following is given its rightful consideration at congress next year.
A tradition that was one of the highlights of the games back then was the throw-in. Instead of the ref tossing the ball up between the four midfielders as you see now, a dignitary would’ve gotten the pleasure and exposure of carrying out that task. Often it was high-ranking clergy that performed the task. It was a great opportunity for any of the players who had perhaps been excommunicated for parking in the PP’s space the previous week of for not giving anything towards the upkeep of his house during the collection. The clergyman would throw the ball up between the four midfielder and all 12 half forwards. In a split second all you could see was a dust storm as ceremonial robes and even the mitre swirled in a frenzied torpedo in the middle of the field. Eventually someone would emerge with the ball and as the haze settled, a semi-naked, bruised bishop would sorely trudge his way back to the sideline, a broken man. Now imagine the viewing figures and talking points such a custom would create now if we reintroduced the celebrity throw-in. Picture this: Joe Brolly has been selected to throw in the ball at the start of a Fermanagh v Monaghan game. You’d have 16 lads licking their lips manically with poor Joe, barrister’s wig and gown on him, shaking with fear as he stares down Dick Clerkin’s deathly frown. The mayhem that’d ensue would create great discussion in the pubs and living-rooms across the country.
The possibilities here are endless: Ronan Keating, Patrick Kielty, Mary Harney, Martin McHugh, Colm O’Rourke, Graham Norton – the choices are mouth-watering. Just imagine Spillane standing there, quivering uncontrollably, at the start of an Armagh/Tyrone clash. Hub Hughes, Gormley, Dooher, Vernon , O’Rourke, McKeever all rubbing their feet like bulls waiting for the ref’s whistle.
That idea would be a start. Forget about abolishing the square-ball, 13-a-side, limiting the hand-pass etc. There are other practices from half a century ago that would need serious consideration that would prevent the public from becoming completely desensitised because of the amount of games we’re being exposed to on the television. The old-time heavier brown leather ball would be an attractive introduction. That would cut down on the amount of wides as you’d only realistically shoot from 14 yards out. There’d be less hand-passing as holding onto that boulder would take it out of you over the course of a match. That’s just an indication that there’s little wrong with the rules, it’s just the customs that have maybe diluted the product a bit. Less TV, heavier balls and get the clergy back onto the field.
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