Subscription only
Just landed from the States into Dublin on Sunday night to hear the cab driver talking about a national crisis as some Cats had been just beaten by some Tribesmen, leaving me not sure whether to be concerned about the racist undertones. Or call the ISPCA given the news about potential animal battery of a feline kind. With the radio clattering away in the back ground it was clear this was a crisis as these Cats had not lost a final since 2004. It looked like it was more doom and gloom.
As the traffic slowed in the driving rain the facts sorted themselves as the driver explained it was a hurling final that had been played in Croke Park – a stadium where 31 people had died in 1920 after being shot by the Black and Tans. At which point it seemed opportune to stop talking as none if it seemed to be English. Definitely was not politically correct as at best these so called Black and Tans should have been referred to as either African Americans. Or Native Americans.
Clearly the Bloody Sunday bit was obvious and no need for explanations there.
The last question, supposedly the conversation closer, was just a throw away remark about the Cats coming back next year to settle things. Not unlike what Andy Murray would have to do when he lost to Roger Federer – a match being played about the same time as the Cats game.
No, shrieked the cabbie, they would be playing the quarterfinal in a couple of weeks time and were still favourites to win the cup.
Well blow me down, I surely was in the land of make believe if that was the case which set my mind racing. There was no other sport where getting knocked out a tournament in a final allowed a team or individual to get a second bite of the cherry – unless the game was replayed, the opponents were suspended or some other unusual circumstance. Not with GAA continued the cab driver, who have a system in place it seems that being knocked out at the early stages still allows a second bite at the championship later in the season.
Bit like a jack in the box and seemed to defy logic to me.
More than the nicknames for Kilkenny, which when I asked how the name Cats came about, the answer was that it was only of a number of Names – The Marble County or The Noresiders. Neither of which gave answer to my original question. Leaving me fearful to ask about the Tribesmen as I was bound not to understand it.
Although US sports have play-offs and Wild Cards in the NFL and Major League baseball, the final stages usually come as a result of round robin leagues lasting a long season and allow the best losers a chance of the play-offs. But once it gets down to the nitty-gritty of NBA Conference finals, Stanley Cup Finals or MLB World Series it's all about who wins the most games out of a total of seven.
All pretty simple.
Which got me thinking that this GAA game should call be called something like the World Series rather than just the Championship as it is pretty unique, rather incredulous, and should be marketed that way. Seemingly no-one else in the world plays the sport, it’s mostly restricted to Ireland, even if there are some limited teams in London and New York, and has a touch of make believe.
The last thought I had was about whether it a very physical game? Surely a small leather ball, and a wooden flat stick being wielded in the air all played at speed had the potential for violence.
To which my in house adopted expert answered, as we arrived at my downtown hotel, something to the effect of “Not really…”
Then when I reached over the seat to pay the fare a newspaper thrown on the passenger seat caught my eye, as it had players in sporting action wielding wooden implements and wearing helmets with face guards. At which point I decided to ask no further questions and decide the first thing to do when the book stores opened was buy a local dictionary.
My first forty-five minutes in Ireland had proved the local tribesmen were a very different cat - and also spoke a different language.
That’s when I discovered it was the land of euphemisms.
Soft day, thank God.
Sorry for your troubles.
I’m grand, thanks.
I must have had a bad pint last night.
He’s fond of a drop.
He’s a great man for the drink.
I knew him when he didn’t have an arse in his trousers.
That’ll soften his cough.
I have to see a man about a dog.
He digs with the other foot.
The nerves are at her.
He’s a bit touched.
She’s away with the fairies.
He’s gone to a better place.
The Troubles.
The Emergency.
...and the cats will probably get the cream.
@Irish_Euphemism
No comments:
Post a Comment