In Search of Joy: Empty Fields, Full Hearts
A couple years back , I remember watching a very well produced video from the GAA, that celebrated an event that to be honest, I had never heard of. During the war of Independence, a day of national defiance was held, against a policy of enforced conscription to the join the British war effort in WW1. It was called ‘Gaelic Sunday’ when in flaunting the restrictions from Crown forces, over 300 games of football and hurling were held across the Island.
Watching the video, I was reminded of a visit from the about to be Director General Páraic Duffy to our club in Warrenpoint. I remember sitting there, open mouthed, when he claimed that there was nothing more that could be done in Northern Ireland to increase the playing base of the games outside of its traditional Catholic Nationalist base. All possible avenues to build bridges to the Unionist community had been exhausted ‘we are doing FAR more than anyone else’. With a new club in East Belfast, a number of high profile GAA baptisms for Arlene Foster, Linda Irvine and others, not to mention the huge development efforts undertaken by Ulster Rugby and the IFA, those comments from Duffy seem as foolish now as they did to me then.
The cloth capped players in that video, jumping over dry stone walls with their hurleys concealed, have now been followed with a memorable commemoration of the Bloody Sunday massacre in Croke Park. And quite incredibly, as you might have seen in about 25 Whatsapps you received, the provincial finalists of the Football Championship echo exactly those of 1920, with particular symbolism for Tipperary of course.
Their slain player Michael Hogan and his eponymous stand in Croke Park has led Hogan to become the best known surname in GAA, arguably above even Cusack, Maguire and McCarthy.
A sombre and respectful week of commemoration with excellent contributions from the Abbey Theatre and the team at Radio 1 culminated in the incredible and improbable semi-final pairings. Aine Lawlor on the Friday tried to encourage a “this is a strange All Ireland weekend” angle but the interviewee couldn’t hide her joy. The Postmistress spoke of her elation and the excitement in Cavan about being in the All Ireland semi final. While Tipperary suffered at Mayo’s hand, having the opportunity to lay a wreath at the spot where Hogan last took his breath, was an incredible moment for that Tipperary team.
The event that falls under this decade of remembrance, again deepened our understanding of the events of that weekend; the actions of Collins that precipitated the slaughter on Jones’ Road, as well as knowing of the other names that deceased that day.
To me, it was a reminder of the complicated linkages that are stitched in the fabric of the GAA, the warp of war and weft of renewal, and how they resonate so loudly with the events during this most turbulent of decades of Irish history.
Jessie Owens. Tommy Smith and John Carlos. The poppy-less James McClean. Shut up and dribble. Kneel, don’t kneel, then kneel again but get booed. If its true that you shouldn’t mix politics and sport, then we’re not doing a very good job of it.
The perception that both are pure, distinct bodies is of course untrue; beware of any elected representative telling you to ‘stop politicising the issue’. Politics is the sombre, organisation of society defined by the principles and laws of the land. Sports, is the recreation of the people, a distraction to be enjoyed without the botheration of ideologies, parties and philosophies.
Nice try. There is politics in everything. Even marble racing. And of all the sports bodies on the Island, the GAA is beyond question the most political of them all. It is inherent in its nature. Borne from the anger of a post famine Ireland, the GAA is the sporting embodiment of the Gaelic Revival; the living, sweating, panting beast that was born from the Phoenix Bird that beat its wings on O’Connell Street.
The GAA has moved with great political astuteness through the Covid 19 pandemic. Along with deft manoeuvers to mobilise its members to aid with a covid community response, GAA chiefs have ensured that throughout the year, they have crafted guidelines that do not make distinctions between its playing base in the North or South. It is unashamedly a 32 county operation, operating in a futuristic ‘agreed Ireland’, as Seamus Mallon once put it. There is little doubt, the hands and arms of Ireland these days, are those of the GAA.
Was it all worth it? We won’t know the answer to this for a long time. Undoubetdly the celebrations that followed some victories this year were thoughtles and inconcsiderate. Foolish gatherings in pubs and houses detracted from a monumental effort to keep people safe, and keep players playing. As to the ‘if it was worth it’, I have an answer myself, and I found it in the faces of the young players I coach, and the relief on their parent’s faces, when some avenue of activity and method of release became available.
But then I have both my parents with me still, even if its only to wave to from the garden. Many this year don’t.
In the confetti, among the masks and the social distancing was joy. This titles won this year merit no asterisk. Indeed, the strangeness and unique pressures that 2020 created, mean that these triumphs in the rolls of honour may be listed in bold. The cumulative inches that decided the titles, may in the fullness of time prove to be the hardest yards of all.
If we ever needed it, the proof of the magic elixir that sport contains has been once again unveiled. It is joy. Joy in the victory of the underdog. Joy in the honour of competing. Joy in the act of playing. A Kildare hurling team triumphing in Croke park. A Cavan team again lifting up a once proud tribe. A Northern Ireland women’s team breaking boundaries. Teams, coming together to do what they do; play, play anything. 2020 has seen numerous upsets that have brought true, pure joy to fans in desperate need of hope.
We maybe don’t deserve it. That these athletes have gone on stage, risking their health, their lives and that of their families, has been a bargain that we struck with more than a sneaking sense of guilt. We signed this covenant with the convenient thoughts of a player base that willingly consented with this death deal. In reality, this has been more about us, than them.
The empty stadiums have been at times eerie, and surreal. But cast your mind back to those barren months of March and April. We are glad of those empty stands. We will be back there soon enough.
And Joy has been found. Hopefully its has been found by those who need the distraction from a daily burden, from a black and white despairing existence.
When it was nowhere else, sport brought Joy to the World.
