hurling


After an Olympic weekend of every sport known to man, some of the most thrilling football displays in treacherous conditions in Croke Park on Saturday, a spectacular hurling showcase yesterday, and after a day that started with an early rise for John Joe Joyce in the boxing, we’re still up, and still consumed by sport. It never ends.

It’s now 12:47am and we’re just after watching Padraig Harrington come from six shots behind halfway through, to win the PGA Championship. It’s a privilege to be able to share moments like this - we’ve been watching the final shots on a dodgy Asian channel called SBS Golf in a not-entirely-legal fashion - but we’re desperate to have a visual to add to the fuzzy BBC Five Live radio commentary.

Yet another wonderful moment for Padraig and for Irish sport. And with the Kilkenny victory, it makes for a great day all round. If they’re not the greatest team ever, they’re certainly not far off.

What a day, what a day.

Oh, please, oh please, let us just fall over the line…

Let us not lose to them.

Can’t sleep. Time to pray.

I’ll be Twittering tomorrow mid-rosary.

Up the Cats.

(This is the follow-on to my first blog earlier this week, which you can find here.)

So I’ve outlined the two crucial flaws with the All-Ireland Hurling Championship as it currently is:

1 - The devaluation of provincial championships
2 - The tiering system that bars most competitors from winning the main prize - the All-Ireland itself.

The unfortunate thing about what I’m about to propose is that it’ll have to concurrently take effect in the football series, but this should probably also be welcomed.

Now, I know I promised to propose something radical, and I know that the instant reaction of most readers will be to exclaim that the main part of what I’m about to propose will be to say it’s nuts, and that it would never happen. But it already has.

My proposal is thus:

To seperate the Provincial Championships from the All-Ireland series.

(more…)

Falling asleep at work. There is a weird smell of patchouli (and bittterness actually, don’t ask) around here and I swear, it’s the only thing keeping me awake. ‘Tis vile. Study fatigue is such that last night I dreamt I was sitting on the bench of the New York District Court, discussing the the Leonard v. Pepsi Co case, and reasoning with Justices Leonard and Wood about the harrier jet.

If you haven’t a clue about the background of the above case, I congratulate you on avoiding the legal profession, her evil rubble of cases, and the destruction it wreaks on your sleeping habits.

Meanwhile I’m beasting Constitutional Law (DeV- dheanfainn cinnte), even if it meant that Gav and I argue over judgments (this happened with Evidence in my finals: Mackey v. AG was nearly the end of us). Anyways, I’m doing alright thus far, but I really need to stop the 9-5-ing now, I need to case it up and do not much else. Expect a “Being an FE-1 widower… it ain’t fun” post soon from Reilly. Yesterday it got so bad I painted my nails black (to represent the fissures of my pain, man) but instead of looking like LC, aka ‘the less stupid one from The Hills’, I was dangerously emo. Get thee to thine Central Bank, boi.

So Mayo are still the bridesmaids, and Clare the whipping boys of Munster once again. How proud was I of Offaly on Saturday? Maybe I was just emotional after a day of express and implied terms in a contract but when Joe Dooley spoke at the end of the game I nearly burst into tears. If one person tells me that Leinster hurling is dead I’ll lock you in a room with nothing but the Lisbon Treaty for company and I’ll play Ann Lee’s “Two Times” over and over and over. Lesson much?

Oxegen revellers (such Metro/Hedd-eld lingo out of me) were present en masse on O’Connell St this morning, wellies on the lot of them. Ploughing Match chic, I was jealous, I won’t lie. I’m planning on living vicariously through Rick and Una’s blogs and Lili’s photees over the next few days.

Well done to Bertie on the new gig.

Eldest and middle sister are off to Paris today to storm the Bastille. Hags. I would have lovesies it. Fiends. An Taoiseach is over there today too, with Angela and all the lads. Want to be there.

I should have done the teaching. Should have done the teaching.

PS - I tried on my debs dress at the weekend and whaty-ya-know, I still fit into it! On the look out for a wedding now to give the old rig-out an airing. You can even have me at the table with the weird Laois cousins. Oh come on, we all have them…

It’s slightly ironic that if you do a Google for the phrase “hurling is in crisis”, the seventh result is a Kildare Nationalist piece from May 2006. The chances are that, in any other semi-prominent topic in the world of hurling, Kildare won’t be ranking seventh, or anywhere near it.

The piece talks about championship reform in the context of a new GAA Presidency. ‘Twas Brennan’s Auld Lad who was a month into his three-year term in HQ – the same man who had also stood up at Congress in Cavan in 1994, and bluntly stated that “hurling was in crisis”. For those of us not old enough to remember the specifities of each hurling season, perhaps the only indicator that the previous years were particularly poor is the fact that Wikipedia doesn’t seem to remember anything about either of the ‘92 or ‘93 seasons. The world, in hindsight, doesn’t seemed to have stopped turning soon afterwards, but I’ll trust Nickey’s reading. Hurling, we should take it, was in crisis at that time.

Fast forward fourteen years and if things have changed, it can only have been for the worse.

Most counties seem to lose now - but, then again, most of them often did. But a misplaced criticism amongst most is that, despite a tiered system, we still get a series of total mismatches. Hurling, though, has always had this see-saw attribute: a team winning a game well can just pull away with relative ease; a quality we forget about all too often in a country where football is much more a dominance in our way of thinking. The notion that someone can catch a kick-out and score from the spot is foreign to football, but a staple skill in hurling. Scores come from everywhere. Hurling exploits it.

Nevertheless though, thinking back over the decades, the real romance of the GAA Championships lay in the notion that winner took all. Counties played their neighbours, in tense local cauldrons, and prove local superiority before departing for the Big Smoke of Croker to test your metal/mettle (delete as appropriate) with the champions of the other regions. The champion of All-Ireland was just that - the best the country had to offer, after gladitorial and deathly competition.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not an opponent of a back-door system. Good teams have bad days, and should be allowed to. Bad teams deserve more than one chance to shine. But there are two inherent things wrong with it:

1 - They devalue the Provincial championships. Being the best in your area means shag all now when regardless of the outcome when everyone taking part becomes part of the All-Ireland series anyway.

2 - Tiering. I’m sorry. I know the advantages of the tiered system; I know it lets teams of similar standards play each other on a more regular basis and helps foster development, but let’s face it, there are an unacceptable amount of mismatches in all three tiers. What’s more, hurling finds it difficult to attract fringe teams and seem competitive enough already, without actually having a system where only a third of the counties can actually win the All-Ireland in the first place.

While there’s a certain merit to the way the current backdoor system has turned out in hurling – the eight teams left are certainly teams of real quality, and would almost unanimously be the average pundit’s choices, the way in which this octet has been derived is what seems to be capable of improvement.

That’s my tuppence anyway – and my proposal for fixing it will come later this week. If you’re interested, be sure to subscribe to the RSS.

“Radical options are what Brennan has asked for”, said Tuesday’s Indo. Nickey, brace yourself.

Edit: Part 2 now online; you’ll find it here.