Whilst I can claim to be nothing more then a bit green behind the ears, I never hesitate to offer an opinion when the opportunities arise! In these recessionary times, we see more and more companies locked in negotiations and disputes with Unions. Many of the relationships are betrayed of the basic necessity for a successful bond between the two parties; mutual trust and respect. For me, I can see the value in a mature Union to organise the masses and provide a window to negotiate with Management. It can bring a structure and order to proceedings which is absolutely necessary.
However, there are also Unions which are governed by revolutionaries, the type of people who would start a fight with themselves and who would lightly follow the agenda of those they represent and heavily follow the agenda of a smaller covert group. They take the fight to the establishment and are never happy to find a common ground, always eager for more. These are great influencers lost to the mainstream political world.
So, where do the GPA fall in all of this? Are they the big bad monsters described in the latter part of the previous paragraph? Maybe. Maybe not. Their relationship with the GAA does not contain even a hint of mutual trust or respect, instead it's characterised by a poisonous and deep rooted sense of suspicion which won't be easily reversed. The GPA want 5% of the G.A.A.'s income. Just in case you are not clear, that would be the income of a volunteer, non profit organisation which cascades money through its deep lying roots to help erect some of the finest sports facilities in the country, in some of the smallest towns. And to who does that 5% go to? Into the pockets of the elite player which would essentially be the first step into the ill-fated world of pay for play.
If this demand is met, what next? With the economy shrinking and more intercounty players out of work, additional support would be needed. 7% please Mr. Cooney. And on it would go until we had whittled down the Championships to 6 elite professional teams in each code before collapse and a fastpass into the High Court with the unfortunate Tom Coughlan of Cork City heading the queue.
I'm convinced that is the road the Gaelic Players Union will bring us down should they get their way. When a prominent hurler was asked earlier in the year whether pay for play was on the agenda, he replied, ‘not for the moment’. Not until we get our 5% and our foot in the door he meant? Proceed with caution.
The G.A.A. came out a few weeks ago with an excellent and responsible blueprint for the future of the G.A.A. and GPA's relationship. It would see official recognition, administrative support and financial support for many programmes which would benefit our finest players. This week, it seems one of the founding fathers of the GPA, DJ Carey, supported such an involvement.
This one is going to run and run though and will see the recession pass into a distant memory. Well, that’s assuming no-one ventures down to Cork and hits the nuclear button and withdraws their services. If they do, then the G.A.A. should be hot on their tale because there is a brave man down those parts who put on the gas mask and fought the fight.
If Gerald Mac could find thirty men to play for him, so could Pat Gilroy or Davy Fitz or whoever else holds the reigns when doomsday comes around. Sure, it would rob us of the most talented and most elite hurlers and footballers in the land. However, remember this. You have been to thrilling U-12 games, Senior Championship matches and games from all sorts of ages and grades. You have left with a tingle down your spine, thrilled by the bravery you witnessed, the commitment that saw men play to a standstill and the flashes of skill that leave you in awe. That’s the tingle which was absent when you left Thurles after Episode 1 of Limerick and Waterford this year.
So keep some perspective and hold your ground.
You see good games and bad games at all levels. What makes you sick in your stomach or cry in sorrow or joy, is watching your club or county play. Who wears the jersey is not so important, it’s what burns inside the man whose back it adorns that matters most. That's not to say the current GPA Members don't display these traits. It's just to remind ourselves that they are not a scarce resource on our Island, but more of a natural resource. Gold is great, but Silver can have a nice shine to it too.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
If there is strength in numbers....
....then Belgium may bring the whole of Germany to its knees this weekend. Over 50 Belgium GAA players will fly to the Bavarian capital tomorrow to go to battle in Round 1 of the European Football Championship. 26 lads and around the same amount of girls will travel. It is a great indication of the rapid growth of our club. We will be the only mens team to enter a team in both the Shield and the Championship sections whilst only Holland can match our Ladies in entering two teams in the Ladies competition.
Having sat in the stand wishing I was playing last Friday night, I'll get my outing this weekend. Its been a disasterous couple of months with injury and a continued dose of antibiotics but hopefully that can be put aside for the weekend and the body will hold up to a bit of action.
Our A team go about defending the Championship from a lowly position. Benelux was a write off as we failed to get to any of the four finals. Still, we travel with our strongest team to date all be it with a few injury concerns and fitness issues. Our opponents provide little novelty as we square up against Lux and The Hague who we know all too well. While Paris are not in our Regional section we know them well from last year.
Its very disappointing that teams like Copenhagen, Amsterdam and Munich won't step out of the Shield and take on the Championship. This has a knock on effect on our B's who will have their work cut out. They are in a group with Liffre, Frankfurt and Copenhagen which gives them a reasonable chance to qualify for the semi. They've been fairly diligent about their training this year and have had to box above their weight in the Benelux rounds. Hopefully they will see the fruits of their labour this weekend.
Our girls won 2 of the first 3 rounds to leave them well placed going into round 4. They have a few new additions but will be without the influential Anay who injured her knee in Luxembourg. They too have a B team but as the Ladies is not split into Shield and Championship they must compete against much more experienced teams.
Having felt I have failed to light the fuse in fellas so far this year I was at a bit of a loss of what to say to them tonight. So I just told them what I tell myself and what I alluded to in previous blogs. Three things. The first, play the game with your head up, know your next move before you gather possession. The second, beat your man. You have every right to win every single ball if you want. And the third, the most difficult, and the one we each need to think about most between now and Saturday. Hunger. Hard to define, hard to recognise it if you have it and hard to find it if you've lost it. For Saturday, it comes down to what fellas want and what actions they will take to get it. The actions portray the hunger. If the players get it back, then Germany may well fall.
Having sat in the stand wishing I was playing last Friday night, I'll get my outing this weekend. Its been a disasterous couple of months with injury and a continued dose of antibiotics but hopefully that can be put aside for the weekend and the body will hold up to a bit of action.
Our A team go about defending the Championship from a lowly position. Benelux was a write off as we failed to get to any of the four finals. Still, we travel with our strongest team to date all be it with a few injury concerns and fitness issues. Our opponents provide little novelty as we square up against Lux and The Hague who we know all too well. While Paris are not in our Regional section we know them well from last year.
Its very disappointing that teams like Copenhagen, Amsterdam and Munich won't step out of the Shield and take on the Championship. This has a knock on effect on our B's who will have their work cut out. They are in a group with Liffre, Frankfurt and Copenhagen which gives them a reasonable chance to qualify for the semi. They've been fairly diligent about their training this year and have had to box above their weight in the Benelux rounds. Hopefully they will see the fruits of their labour this weekend.
Our girls won 2 of the first 3 rounds to leave them well placed going into round 4. They have a few new additions but will be without the influential Anay who injured her knee in Luxembourg. They too have a B team but as the Ladies is not split into Shield and Championship they must compete against much more experienced teams.
Having felt I have failed to light the fuse in fellas so far this year I was at a bit of a loss of what to say to them tonight. So I just told them what I tell myself and what I alluded to in previous blogs. Three things. The first, play the game with your head up, know your next move before you gather possession. The second, beat your man. You have every right to win every single ball if you want. And the third, the most difficult, and the one we each need to think about most between now and Saturday. Hunger. Hard to define, hard to recognise it if you have it and hard to find it if you've lost it. For Saturday, it comes down to what fellas want and what actions they will take to get it. The actions portray the hunger. If the players get it back, then Germany may well fall.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Provoking The Emotion
I was in Pairc Ui Rinn last night to watch my club Kinsale play Fermoy in the QF of the IFC. I'd been onto the lads during the week looking for a flash on the team and how things were going. Its the first Championship game I've gone to see since I stopped my involvement after the Cill na Matra game in April 2006. With such a lapse in time I presumed I could go along without any issues about not being involved.
The minute I passed through the turnstile all the feelings a big Championship occassion provoke came back. I flicked through the programme to check the team. No surprises from what was expected. I saw the lads floating around the dressing room. Kenny was in his casuals cause he pulled the hammer last week, a big loss. After saluting John Mar I had over to the covered stand with my brother John.
The place was full of familiar faces both from Kinsale and neighbouring clubs. There's always an awkward acknowledgement when you pass lads you played against although it gets more friendly with time. There was a game on beforehand so the lads were over popping in and out of the dressing room. Its easy to imagine how they would be feeling, eager to get going. I used to love every aspect of the build up. At that point you're going through all the different things that might happen in a game and how you will handle it.
I was going through the programme again as they came out. I'd have only played regularily with six of the starting team. Mick Sull was captain and full back. He's been living in Dublin for a a good six or seven years. It says it all about the man that he is captain whilst still living up there. I don't know how many times I lined up along side him but i enjoyed every one of them. A selfless player who'd always have your back.
His brother Richard was at centre back. He won a McGrath Cup medal with the Cork Seniors earlier in the year and already has a Munster Junior Medal in his back pocket this year. Keohane was at midfield. Similiar to Mick Sull, we'd have alot of football played together, often with him on the wing in front of me.
In the forwards there was Colm on the wing, another commuting from Dublin and Quigley inside him in the corner. Quigley is an animal of a man and has had some success with the Aussie Rules, representing Ireland on a couple of occasions. Next to him was Conor O'Brien. Conor manages to combine two things that when put together, make for a difficult opponent; speed and strength. He had the best game I've seen him play in a long time last night.
The rest of the team was full of youth. The Coughlans, Wardy and more. They've given the team an injection of energy that was maybe needed a few years earlier. The lads played with the wind in the first half but took a lead of just three points in at half time. You always felt the missed chances may be costly. In the end they were as Fermoy went two points ahead with the last kick of the game.
The whistle followed and many of the lads slumped to the ground. Often in sport you see lads doing things to look for attention but if you've ever been knocked out of the Championship, you know the feeling when every bead of life drains out of you in the seconds after the whistle seals your faith.
Months of work, all the way back to January, just disappear like day into night. G.A.A. is all about Championship. For a sport fellas train so hard for its a bit strange that 60 minutes can end your year and you have no opportunity to change the situation.
I walked across the pitch after the game and intentionally didn't talk to any of the players. I'm completely out of the loop now so nothing I would say would have any value. The dressing room door was open as I passed and the lads were inside, totally silent and still. Its a horrendous feeling, really undescribable unless you have experienced it.
My tussle with my tonsils kept me away from the post match debrief. By all accounts it was a good night though. That's important. There are alot of young fellas coming through and its important the group stays together and looks forward, rather then revolting and creating a split.
I'd have given anything to line up alongside Mick Sull and the lads last night. Playing Championship with your club has no equal. At 28, with a back and hamstrings like mine, coupled with the state of the economy, I'd have to say I'm a long shot to have the privelege again. Still, you can never say never..
The minute I passed through the turnstile all the feelings a big Championship occassion provoke came back. I flicked through the programme to check the team. No surprises from what was expected. I saw the lads floating around the dressing room. Kenny was in his casuals cause he pulled the hammer last week, a big loss. After saluting John Mar I had over to the covered stand with my brother John.
The place was full of familiar faces both from Kinsale and neighbouring clubs. There's always an awkward acknowledgement when you pass lads you played against although it gets more friendly with time. There was a game on beforehand so the lads were over popping in and out of the dressing room. Its easy to imagine how they would be feeling, eager to get going. I used to love every aspect of the build up. At that point you're going through all the different things that might happen in a game and how you will handle it.
I was going through the programme again as they came out. I'd have only played regularily with six of the starting team. Mick Sull was captain and full back. He's been living in Dublin for a a good six or seven years. It says it all about the man that he is captain whilst still living up there. I don't know how many times I lined up along side him but i enjoyed every one of them. A selfless player who'd always have your back.
His brother Richard was at centre back. He won a McGrath Cup medal with the Cork Seniors earlier in the year and already has a Munster Junior Medal in his back pocket this year. Keohane was at midfield. Similiar to Mick Sull, we'd have alot of football played together, often with him on the wing in front of me.
In the forwards there was Colm on the wing, another commuting from Dublin and Quigley inside him in the corner. Quigley is an animal of a man and has had some success with the Aussie Rules, representing Ireland on a couple of occasions. Next to him was Conor O'Brien. Conor manages to combine two things that when put together, make for a difficult opponent; speed and strength. He had the best game I've seen him play in a long time last night.
The rest of the team was full of youth. The Coughlans, Wardy and more. They've given the team an injection of energy that was maybe needed a few years earlier. The lads played with the wind in the first half but took a lead of just three points in at half time. You always felt the missed chances may be costly. In the end they were as Fermoy went two points ahead with the last kick of the game.
The whistle followed and many of the lads slumped to the ground. Often in sport you see lads doing things to look for attention but if you've ever been knocked out of the Championship, you know the feeling when every bead of life drains out of you in the seconds after the whistle seals your faith.
Months of work, all the way back to January, just disappear like day into night. G.A.A. is all about Championship. For a sport fellas train so hard for its a bit strange that 60 minutes can end your year and you have no opportunity to change the situation.
I walked across the pitch after the game and intentionally didn't talk to any of the players. I'm completely out of the loop now so nothing I would say would have any value. The dressing room door was open as I passed and the lads were inside, totally silent and still. Its a horrendous feeling, really undescribable unless you have experienced it.
My tussle with my tonsils kept me away from the post match debrief. By all accounts it was a good night though. That's important. There are alot of young fellas coming through and its important the group stays together and looks forward, rather then revolting and creating a split.
I'd have given anything to line up alongside Mick Sull and the lads last night. Playing Championship with your club has no equal. At 28, with a back and hamstrings like mine, coupled with the state of the economy, I'd have to say I'm a long shot to have the privelege again. Still, you can never say never..
Championship
To understand, you need to have experienced the build up, the anticipation, the excitement and the anxious nerves which come with the run in to Championship. Preparations usually conclude two or max three days prior to the main event. However, from a week or so out, you'll be speculating on the selection with your teammates, fielding questions from the locals and gathering some of their opinions too!!
You can be sure that the build-up won't go without hitch. Suspensions and injury concerns can let doubt creep in if not managed properly. There will be lads not togged at the final sessions as they buy some recovery time. For every one of them there will be a couple more sweating on their places. Assuming you have navigated past or through back doors the enormity of the consequences of defeat preys on your mind. It would bring a shuddering halt to your summer, whilst victory could potentially catapult you to the places of your dreams.
In the preceeding days you will look after yourself like a professional. Sleep, hydration, diet all to the fore. Anything interfering with your pattern will be scoffed at. The productivity of those at work will take a sharp decline. Students will be trying to stay out of the sun, not frazzle their mind too much on the playstation and generally try and stay out of harms way.
As you prepare to pack your bag the day of the match, your focus has narrowed. All that occupies your thoughts are getting your game right; beating your man and supporting your teammates in their tasks. Big guy, small guy...fast or slow...tricky or direct. You will be hatching a plan for each, running through the different scenarios you may find yourself in. Your parents will have lived through the mood swings that come with the week of Championship and be very glad to see you out the door.
Over in the field lads will be spread in different pockets, some serious, some more relaxed. Everyone will be eager to get their hands on the ball. Again, you can sense the focus and steely determination that grips the group. Often they will be called into the dressing room for a brief chat and to name the team. Some will be disappointed that they haven't got the nod, others elated. Once the job is done, all will filter out, bottle of water in hand, to fill the cars and head to the venue.
Sometimes you will arrive to a curtain raiser so maybe the warm-up is at a nearby pitch. The team goes through its warm-up rituals as silence descends on the group. The occasional yelp of encouragement can be heard from those who can't contain it. The handling and striking is fine tuned, the confidence in the touch rubber stamped. Back to the main venue and there is still time to kill. Players will peer out at the preceeding game from windows and door steps. Inside the dressing room you hear balls rebounding of the shower room walls, muscles getting the final slaps in a rub down, rolls of tape unravelling and the can of deep heat doing its thing. This is probably the toughest moment as players become concerned about the gap between the warm-up and the throw in, about any imperfections in the pitch or unfavourable weather conditions.
Then the seconds tick down and you are huddled together, alone for the final time with your teammates and the captain's voice for company. He drills in his message, the players knit tightly together. The referee's impatient whistle is the signal to break open the door and release the men and the unmistakable clatter of studs on concrete and approval of the crowd.
The next hour or so will swing from end to end on the playing field and in the emotional stakes. There will be balls won and lost, great acts of bravery and uncharacteristic errors. When the final whistle goes, all those acts will be summed up and on the balance sheet there will be one winner. For those, the gate to the autumn has crept open further. For the losers, they will lie on the idled field wallowing in defeat. Their summer is over. Many months in the doldrums await until they can relaunch their assault. Its a totally devastating feeling. There will be an irreplacable hole to fill through the new year.
I watched a selection of these scenes unfold this week as I ventured home for a few days. In this case, I was watching my old teammates fall to defeat and I can feel the disappointment that must run through them. As I walked out of the ground my eye was drawn to the gap in the dressing room door and my ear tuned into the silence which engulfed the room. Its a morbid place to be. It is of little consolation to them that they are lucky just to be able to contest the battles. The time will come when they are not and that will leave a greater hole than any defeat.
You can be sure that the build-up won't go without hitch. Suspensions and injury concerns can let doubt creep in if not managed properly. There will be lads not togged at the final sessions as they buy some recovery time. For every one of them there will be a couple more sweating on their places. Assuming you have navigated past or through back doors the enormity of the consequences of defeat preys on your mind. It would bring a shuddering halt to your summer, whilst victory could potentially catapult you to the places of your dreams.
In the preceeding days you will look after yourself like a professional. Sleep, hydration, diet all to the fore. Anything interfering with your pattern will be scoffed at. The productivity of those at work will take a sharp decline. Students will be trying to stay out of the sun, not frazzle their mind too much on the playstation and generally try and stay out of harms way.
As you prepare to pack your bag the day of the match, your focus has narrowed. All that occupies your thoughts are getting your game right; beating your man and supporting your teammates in their tasks. Big guy, small guy...fast or slow...tricky or direct. You will be hatching a plan for each, running through the different scenarios you may find yourself in. Your parents will have lived through the mood swings that come with the week of Championship and be very glad to see you out the door.
Over in the field lads will be spread in different pockets, some serious, some more relaxed. Everyone will be eager to get their hands on the ball. Again, you can sense the focus and steely determination that grips the group. Often they will be called into the dressing room for a brief chat and to name the team. Some will be disappointed that they haven't got the nod, others elated. Once the job is done, all will filter out, bottle of water in hand, to fill the cars and head to the venue.
Sometimes you will arrive to a curtain raiser so maybe the warm-up is at a nearby pitch. The team goes through its warm-up rituals as silence descends on the group. The occasional yelp of encouragement can be heard from those who can't contain it. The handling and striking is fine tuned, the confidence in the touch rubber stamped. Back to the main venue and there is still time to kill. Players will peer out at the preceeding game from windows and door steps. Inside the dressing room you hear balls rebounding of the shower room walls, muscles getting the final slaps in a rub down, rolls of tape unravelling and the can of deep heat doing its thing. This is probably the toughest moment as players become concerned about the gap between the warm-up and the throw in, about any imperfections in the pitch or unfavourable weather conditions.
Then the seconds tick down and you are huddled together, alone for the final time with your teammates and the captain's voice for company. He drills in his message, the players knit tightly together. The referee's impatient whistle is the signal to break open the door and release the men and the unmistakable clatter of studs on concrete and approval of the crowd.
The next hour or so will swing from end to end on the playing field and in the emotional stakes. There will be balls won and lost, great acts of bravery and uncharacteristic errors. When the final whistle goes, all those acts will be summed up and on the balance sheet there will be one winner. For those, the gate to the autumn has crept open further. For the losers, they will lie on the idled field wallowing in defeat. Their summer is over. Many months in the doldrums await until they can relaunch their assault. Its a totally devastating feeling. There will be an irreplacable hole to fill through the new year.
I watched a selection of these scenes unfold this week as I ventured home for a few days. In this case, I was watching my old teammates fall to defeat and I can feel the disappointment that must run through them. As I walked out of the ground my eye was drawn to the gap in the dressing room door and my ear tuned into the silence which engulfed the room. Its a morbid place to be. It is of little consolation to them that they are lucky just to be able to contest the battles. The time will come when they are not and that will leave a greater hole than any defeat.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Express Yourself
One of the Irish man’s less endearing traits is the one whereby he is emotionally inept. The Irish man struggles in areas where his counterparts further south thrive. He can’t use words like passion or beauty. He can’t sip a glass of wine and sit looking into a woman’s eyes for lengthy silent moments. Nor can he easily (or soberly) tell a woman how beautiful she is or how her radiant smile lights up his every day.
Towards his friends he is guarded, hiding emotion at the pit of his very being. He is wary of the ribbing he will get if he breaks from the fashion norms of brown shoes, jeans and Tommy shirt. To hide his own insecurities, he will seek out the less mainstream to be the butt of his jokes, scoffing at their willingness to show feeling or break from Gaelic social norms.
Maybe, this is why a large section of G.A.A. fans are voicing their displeasure with the behaviour of Eoin Kelly, John Mullane, Dan the Man & Co lately. You know the picture. Knees slightly bent, leaning slightly back and pumping their fists into the air with emotion sweeping across their face and veins bulging. The Waterford fans stand and roar back their approval. It’s a scene you can commonly associate with the trio and their colleagues in recent years. As common as the badge grabbing and kissing we see as they bear down on the Town End in Thurles or The Hill further North.
Those opposed to the gesticulation will cite an ever growing trend to adopt unwanted practices which are laden in the games of our foes across the sea. A hint of diving has approached our shores as has the encouragement to referees to dish out appropriate punishment for misdemeanours. It’s felt this dampens the purity of our games and is a road we dare not travel.
Showmanship is rife in the world of soccer and is viewed with glee by the receiving fans. Personally I detest it and see it as merely another avenue to boost a player’s advertising appeal and popularity. The examples are in no short supply. Wayne Rooney, boyhood diehard Everton fan. Within a month of arriving at Old Trafford he was kissing his new badge after scoring against Fenerbache. Ronaldo has fulfilled a boyhood dream by joining Madrid and took a nice new packet with it. Robbie Fowler is known to celebrate his goals by sniffing white lines on the Anfield pitch. What do these actions mean? Are the individuals credible?
Manchester United fans, from Ireland, London and maybe even Manchester, see Rooney’s gesture as an expression of pride in the new clobber and their knees shake as he woos them. In this sense, I can understand why our Members look on with suspicion when the mavericks from the South-East reel away and erupt in emotion.
I love it though. When Setanta rounded Lohan in 2004, eventually shook off his shackles before rattling the net in Thurles, he charged the terrace whilst nearly ripping the geansai off himself with the clench of his rebel crest. It was a moment when he became one with the Cork fans. Just like when Mullane or Donaghy spin away after raising another flag.
Why is it different? Because it is genuine. It is highly likely that Mullane will catch the eye of a friend or club man when he looks to the stand. His emotion is returned with interest. He is expressing his pride in where he’s from, the fans are expressing their pride in where they are from. They’ll be there when their team collapse in the qualifiers and they’ll be there when they climb The Hogan. Like a marriage, the path will not always be smooth but the vow stands; Till death do us part.
So I say enjoy the moments. The GPA are coming and who knows where their march will bring our games. For now, the emotion is pure, the connection is solid. So I say, let the Irish male have the opportunity to express himself.
Towards his friends he is guarded, hiding emotion at the pit of his very being. He is wary of the ribbing he will get if he breaks from the fashion norms of brown shoes, jeans and Tommy shirt. To hide his own insecurities, he will seek out the less mainstream to be the butt of his jokes, scoffing at their willingness to show feeling or break from Gaelic social norms.
Maybe, this is why a large section of G.A.A. fans are voicing their displeasure with the behaviour of Eoin Kelly, John Mullane, Dan the Man & Co lately. You know the picture. Knees slightly bent, leaning slightly back and pumping their fists into the air with emotion sweeping across their face and veins bulging. The Waterford fans stand and roar back their approval. It’s a scene you can commonly associate with the trio and their colleagues in recent years. As common as the badge grabbing and kissing we see as they bear down on the Town End in Thurles or The Hill further North.
Those opposed to the gesticulation will cite an ever growing trend to adopt unwanted practices which are laden in the games of our foes across the sea. A hint of diving has approached our shores as has the encouragement to referees to dish out appropriate punishment for misdemeanours. It’s felt this dampens the purity of our games and is a road we dare not travel.
Showmanship is rife in the world of soccer and is viewed with glee by the receiving fans. Personally I detest it and see it as merely another avenue to boost a player’s advertising appeal and popularity. The examples are in no short supply. Wayne Rooney, boyhood diehard Everton fan. Within a month of arriving at Old Trafford he was kissing his new badge after scoring against Fenerbache. Ronaldo has fulfilled a boyhood dream by joining Madrid and took a nice new packet with it. Robbie Fowler is known to celebrate his goals by sniffing white lines on the Anfield pitch. What do these actions mean? Are the individuals credible?
Manchester United fans, from Ireland, London and maybe even Manchester, see Rooney’s gesture as an expression of pride in the new clobber and their knees shake as he woos them. In this sense, I can understand why our Members look on with suspicion when the mavericks from the South-East reel away and erupt in emotion.
I love it though. When Setanta rounded Lohan in 2004, eventually shook off his shackles before rattling the net in Thurles, he charged the terrace whilst nearly ripping the geansai off himself with the clench of his rebel crest. It was a moment when he became one with the Cork fans. Just like when Mullane or Donaghy spin away after raising another flag.
Why is it different? Because it is genuine. It is highly likely that Mullane will catch the eye of a friend or club man when he looks to the stand. His emotion is returned with interest. He is expressing his pride in where he’s from, the fans are expressing their pride in where they are from. They’ll be there when their team collapse in the qualifiers and they’ll be there when they climb The Hogan. Like a marriage, the path will not always be smooth but the vow stands; Till death do us part.
So I say enjoy the moments. The GPA are coming and who knows where their march will bring our games. For now, the emotion is pure, the connection is solid. So I say, let the Irish male have the opportunity to express himself.
From Zurich With Love
Rochey, Crusher, Hough, Dominic, Emmett, myself, Eoin, Daire, Yann, Muirits, Seamus, Bull. Maybe one or two more. We were all absent for one reason or another so it’s a credit to the club that we could muster a team to get up at 5am last Saturday and drive 8 hours to Zurich to play that same day.
Whilst the Championship was all but in the bag, there was the morale issue of fulfilling fixtures and respecting our hosts Zurich. So that lads travelled as 11 with Denzer being a late call up to the side.
First up were the hosts Zurich and the lads took all the frustration of sitting in the car out on them. It was a whitewash and as Lux had beaten them in the other group game it was decided to play the final straight away instead of asking the two sides to face off twice.
It was tight enough final by all accounts but the Belgian lads had enough in the tank to win 1-8 to 1-2. I've little detail of the matches as no official report has been penned at this point. However, the highlights which i did hear mentioned were the 1-1 scored by Denzer, Conor and Keary's massive defensive performances and a dominating performance by Eoghan Kelly, who was inexplicably denied the Player of the Tournament award.
Its 4/4 now this year, the last 5 if you include the last tournament last year. We've one outing left in Den Hague in September when we will officially be crowned European Champions for the first time in our clubs five year history. We'll go down there with the goal of completing the grand slam! Its something never been done in either code and would be a great way to finish the year for the most talented team we've had.
If any of the lads are reading this, please feel free to add your report. Adrian already did in the previous instalment.
Whilst the Championship was all but in the bag, there was the morale issue of fulfilling fixtures and respecting our hosts Zurich. So that lads travelled as 11 with Denzer being a late call up to the side.
First up were the hosts Zurich and the lads took all the frustration of sitting in the car out on them. It was a whitewash and as Lux had beaten them in the other group game it was decided to play the final straight away instead of asking the two sides to face off twice.
It was tight enough final by all accounts but the Belgian lads had enough in the tank to win 1-8 to 1-2. I've little detail of the matches as no official report has been penned at this point. However, the highlights which i did hear mentioned were the 1-1 scored by Denzer, Conor and Keary's massive defensive performances and a dominating performance by Eoghan Kelly, who was inexplicably denied the Player of the Tournament award.
Its 4/4 now this year, the last 5 if you include the last tournament last year. We've one outing left in Den Hague in September when we will officially be crowned European Champions for the first time in our clubs five year history. We'll go down there with the goal of completing the grand slam! Its something never been done in either code and would be a great way to finish the year for the most talented team we've had.
If any of the lads are reading this, please feel free to add your report. Adrian already did in the previous instalment.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
European Hurling Championship - Zurich - Round 4
Ten hurlers, plus Denis (!) and the injured Crusher left Brussels at 6am this morning to drive eight hours and play a tournament at 15h in Zurich. Considering I am writing this, you would be correct to assume I am not there. The back problems have been hounding me for a couple of months so I've temporarily decommissioned myself to try and solve it. Its rare I have taken such a decision but the enjoyment goes out of it when you are injured so better rest and be ready for Munich.
The Championship will be confirmed to reside in Belgium for the winter after todays round, no matter where we finish. Disappointingly Den Haag have not travelled nor have Paris. To their credit, Luxembourg have pulled a team together and basically saved the tournament.
Our team is decimated so its hard to say how they will do. They should have enough hurlers to rattle it but you never know how such a long trip will affect them. We want to win all five tournaments this year so its important in that sense. I'll be waiting impatiently by the phone for the afternoon.
The Championship will be confirmed to reside in Belgium for the winter after todays round, no matter where we finish. Disappointingly Den Haag have not travelled nor have Paris. To their credit, Luxembourg have pulled a team together and basically saved the tournament.
Our team is decimated so its hard to say how they will do. They should have enough hurlers to rattle it but you never know how such a long trip will affect them. We want to win all five tournaments this year so its important in that sense. I'll be waiting impatiently by the phone for the afternoon.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Striking Difference
The last few years in inter-county G.A.A. have been characterised by player strikes and revolts. The Cork Hurlers....and Footballers, the Offaly Footballers and Waterford Hurlers, to give a few examples. All would cite lack of quality training, preparation, respect etc. Its a nasty trend, one which hasn't been mirrored by the men on the other side of the line.
Why don't managers strike? We hear plenty of stories of players going AWOL, drinking, breaching team rules etc. The manager invests massive amounts of time thinking about his teams preparation. Imagine how long he would last if he went missing or continuously arrived late? What if he came to training more concerned with discussing the carry-over hangover from the night before or shooting the breeze with the boys? He'd be gone within a week. Players love to share their opinion, will more often be critical than positive and spend far too little time on self-reflection.
Managers generally put up with it though. Its rare enough you will hear fellas walking out mid season. They've given the team a committment and have to see it through. Or maybe not.
In 2001, my father took over the Hurlers in Kinsale. It was a time when football was riding high and underage hurling was bang in the middle of a period of neglect. There was a sprinking of older lads like Paul Forde. Kenny O'Regan and Lyndon Kiely's group produced barely a handful. My 1999 Minor team, coached by my brother provided myself, Joe O'Callaghan, Donal Murphy, the Wrights, Barry Gray, Aonghus Bolster and others.
We played in the West Cork league and played over 30 matches that year. Hurling got inside fellas and numbers grew to the point where we could have full pitch training matches. We won the league before bowing out by a point in the Championship quarter final to Valley Rovers. We lost that game by a point on a miserable night in Ballinhassig. I went to catch a ball I should have batted at the beginning of the second half and it ended up in the roof of the net. It is one of two times I'd say i was inconsolable after a game, the other being a County Championship game in 1998 against Fermoy.
I remember being in the dressing room with the brother on one side and Brian Murphy on the other, feeling I had left them and the rest of the lads down. We hurled enough that year to evoke that emotion, something which hadn't happened in previous years.
Within a month or so of the start of the 2002 season, Dad walked. I was fairly pissed off with him at the time. I'd never have been one to miss training and whilst I didn't like being up their with five or six other lads, my youthful enthusiasim kept me going. He'd had it though. His job would have kept him as busy, if not busier, than anyone on the team. He'd given his share and more back over the years. I presume his attitude was, why bother, if they aren't going to meet me half way then I'm gone.
I don't think the penny ever quite dropped with the players and I'm not sure did they really care. I continued to be annoyed for a while but in recent years I can totally understand his choice and totally respect that he had the conviction to pack up. We all have personal lives and an abundance of choice when it comes to how to spend our spare time. The player's job is simple. Turn up, concentrate and put in the physical effort required. The manager on the other hand, has to keep 20-40 men stimulated and enthusiastic. Its a massive investment of thought and time. Maybe the auld fella started a trend a little ahead of his time.
Why don't managers strike? We hear plenty of stories of players going AWOL, drinking, breaching team rules etc. The manager invests massive amounts of time thinking about his teams preparation. Imagine how long he would last if he went missing or continuously arrived late? What if he came to training more concerned with discussing the carry-over hangover from the night before or shooting the breeze with the boys? He'd be gone within a week. Players love to share their opinion, will more often be critical than positive and spend far too little time on self-reflection.
Managers generally put up with it though. Its rare enough you will hear fellas walking out mid season. They've given the team a committment and have to see it through. Or maybe not.
In 2001, my father took over the Hurlers in Kinsale. It was a time when football was riding high and underage hurling was bang in the middle of a period of neglect. There was a sprinking of older lads like Paul Forde. Kenny O'Regan and Lyndon Kiely's group produced barely a handful. My 1999 Minor team, coached by my brother provided myself, Joe O'Callaghan, Donal Murphy, the Wrights, Barry Gray, Aonghus Bolster and others.
We played in the West Cork league and played over 30 matches that year. Hurling got inside fellas and numbers grew to the point where we could have full pitch training matches. We won the league before bowing out by a point in the Championship quarter final to Valley Rovers. We lost that game by a point on a miserable night in Ballinhassig. I went to catch a ball I should have batted at the beginning of the second half and it ended up in the roof of the net. It is one of two times I'd say i was inconsolable after a game, the other being a County Championship game in 1998 against Fermoy.
I remember being in the dressing room with the brother on one side and Brian Murphy on the other, feeling I had left them and the rest of the lads down. We hurled enough that year to evoke that emotion, something which hadn't happened in previous years.
Within a month or so of the start of the 2002 season, Dad walked. I was fairly pissed off with him at the time. I'd never have been one to miss training and whilst I didn't like being up their with five or six other lads, my youthful enthusiasim kept me going. He'd had it though. His job would have kept him as busy, if not busier, than anyone on the team. He'd given his share and more back over the years. I presume his attitude was, why bother, if they aren't going to meet me half way then I'm gone.
I don't think the penny ever quite dropped with the players and I'm not sure did they really care. I continued to be annoyed for a while but in recent years I can totally understand his choice and totally respect that he had the conviction to pack up. We all have personal lives and an abundance of choice when it comes to how to spend our spare time. The player's job is simple. Turn up, concentrate and put in the physical effort required. The manager on the other hand, has to keep 20-40 men stimulated and enthusiastic. Its a massive investment of thought and time. Maybe the auld fella started a trend a little ahead of his time.
Happy Independance Day
A small part of me always feels the need to celebrate America's birthday on each 4th of July. The slight sense of attachment of the occasion comes from the a stint in Indianapolis, Indiana between 1989 and 1992. Dad was working for an American pharmaceutical company and he was sent over to HQ on a temporary assignment.
By chance, my mother's sister had married an American and they had just moved from Boston to 'Indy' as the locals call it. It made the transition much easier for us as they had two children, Brian and Jenny, who were slightly younger than us.
In many ways, America is a great country to live in because there is so much opportunity and the cost of living is reasonable. We travelled west to San Fran, north into Canada, east to Washington and down south to Orlando and Sarasota. It was a great experience.
We were also exposed to different sports and I played a bit of soccer in a park league. The most enjoyable sporting experience was basketball though. Even though i was tiny, i was still able to find a slot as a guard and loved every minute. Basketball is very tactical and even at the age of 9 or 10 it’s a game dictated by various plays. Everyone knows their role and is expected to execute the play according to the coach's instruction.
'Practice' was always great. You'd run through the plays, have a bit of shooting practice and then a 'scrimmage'!! I completely bought into it and appreciated that everyone knew their role. Of course you didn't just go around in a straight jacket, if the defence countered your play then there would be the need for a bit of flair or creativity to beat the shot clock.
I was lucky that when I was there that it was the era of the 1992 Olympic Dream Team. I got to see Jordan, Barkley, Reggie, Bird etc in full flight, live at Market Square Arena. G.A.A. players would benefit from a stint on the hard court. They could improve their handling, peripheral vision, selflessness, agility and a host of other things.
Of course, even when in the US, GAA was never far away. We used to puck around in the local park to the bemusement of locals; their reactions a lot like what we see in Brussels when we train. It was a great era of Cork G.A.A. around that period, the highlight being the double in 1990. We were in Chicago the weekend of the hurling with a few other Irish. I remember the football more vividly though. Myself and Dad set off around 5am from Indy, equipped with all the essentials you would need to go to Thurles or anywhere else.
I think it was €20 to get in and we took our seats in a dark room in Gaelic Park in Chicago. The screen was blank at first, then there was volume and with the tweaking of a couple of more wires we had a picture, which was greeted by a great cheer. Within a half an hour of the final whistle, we were celebrating in Pizza Hit. Bizarre.
Whilst it was a great experience living abroad, we were happy to come home. I continuously remind Dad that he took me away in my formative GAA years. To compound it, within a year he shipped me off to boarding school. Whatever way you dress it up, it was a protestant boarding school, which made matters worse. A story for another day..
By chance, my mother's sister had married an American and they had just moved from Boston to 'Indy' as the locals call it. It made the transition much easier for us as they had two children, Brian and Jenny, who were slightly younger than us.
In many ways, America is a great country to live in because there is so much opportunity and the cost of living is reasonable. We travelled west to San Fran, north into Canada, east to Washington and down south to Orlando and Sarasota. It was a great experience.
We were also exposed to different sports and I played a bit of soccer in a park league. The most enjoyable sporting experience was basketball though. Even though i was tiny, i was still able to find a slot as a guard and loved every minute. Basketball is very tactical and even at the age of 9 or 10 it’s a game dictated by various plays. Everyone knows their role and is expected to execute the play according to the coach's instruction.
'Practice' was always great. You'd run through the plays, have a bit of shooting practice and then a 'scrimmage'!! I completely bought into it and appreciated that everyone knew their role. Of course you didn't just go around in a straight jacket, if the defence countered your play then there would be the need for a bit of flair or creativity to beat the shot clock.
I was lucky that when I was there that it was the era of the 1992 Olympic Dream Team. I got to see Jordan, Barkley, Reggie, Bird etc in full flight, live at Market Square Arena. G.A.A. players would benefit from a stint on the hard court. They could improve their handling, peripheral vision, selflessness, agility and a host of other things.
Of course, even when in the US, GAA was never far away. We used to puck around in the local park to the bemusement of locals; their reactions a lot like what we see in Brussels when we train. It was a great era of Cork G.A.A. around that period, the highlight being the double in 1990. We were in Chicago the weekend of the hurling with a few other Irish. I remember the football more vividly though. Myself and Dad set off around 5am from Indy, equipped with all the essentials you would need to go to Thurles or anywhere else.
I think it was €20 to get in and we took our seats in a dark room in Gaelic Park in Chicago. The screen was blank at first, then there was volume and with the tweaking of a couple of more wires we had a picture, which was greeted by a great cheer. Within a half an hour of the final whistle, we were celebrating in Pizza Hit. Bizarre.
Whilst it was a great experience living abroad, we were happy to come home. I continuously remind Dad that he took me away in my formative GAA years. To compound it, within a year he shipped me off to boarding school. Whatever way you dress it up, it was a protestant boarding school, which made matters worse. A story for another day..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)