SURELY the ideal solution to a potential Munster-Leinster European Cup clash at Croke Park would be to hold it as curtain-raiser to the National Hurling League Final scheduled for the same weekend, writes Frank McNally
Yes, the games could be played separately, on Saturday and Sunday. But having the rugby tie as a warm-up for the hurling – on the face of it a radical idea – would represent a historic compromise between economic exigencies and the honour of the GAA.
The income lost from a separate hurling final, which might only attract 20,000-30,000 anyway, could be partly offset by increasing admission prices for the double bill (it’s well-known that Munster rugby fans will pay anything to watch their team). And whatever shortfall remained would surely be an acceptable price for the GAA.
After all, not even the association’s most hardline members could object to a situation where one of the most glamorous occasions in rugby history was cast as a kind of minor match before a game between the senior hurlers of, say, Kilkenny and Tipp.
The beauty of the arrangement is that what could be a humiliating juxtaposition – rugby’s ability to fill Croke Park on a weekend when the GAA couldn’t – would become a PR triumph. All right, it would be even more humiliating if the rugby crowd exited en masse after the first match, leaving Croker deserted for an exhibition of the supposed national game.
But that is the plan’s genius. No Munster fan would dare leave before the hurling and thereby risk the province’s popular image as the tabernacle of the Irish soul. Most Leinster fans would have to stand their ground too, rather than be outflanked.
Maybe even Ross O’Carroll Kelly would think twice before departing to a chorus of “Cheerio, Cheerio, Cheerio” sung in Cork accents.
I predict the entire attendance would conspire in my scenario. To the bemusement of the international media, 30 hurlers would bound on to the pitch even as the rugby players walked off, and the “main” match would also be played before a capacity 82,000 crowd, all of them afraid to leave early. From a GAA viewpoint, the word “showcase” would hardly be adequate to describe the occasion.
HAVING presented the stadium with this cunning plan, I’ll be expecting a free ticket for the big game(s). The question is: who will I support in the rugby? This is a difficult one.
Born in Ulster, I’m technically neutral. But the Munster legend crosses all boundaries and I enjoy it as well as the next man. Certainly the kamikaze-like commitment of the province’s second string against the All Blacks was the most thrilling 80 minutes of television I can remember.
On the other hand, I have lived in Dublin – which is nominally in Leinster – long enough to qualify for naturalisation. Plus there’s the question of my now regular companion at sports events, who already carries a Leinster passport.
At nine, my son Patrick is just old enough to understand that he is one of God’s chosen people: a Dub. He has also begun to realise that his father is a member of a weird millenarian sect that believes Monaghan will one day win the All-Ireland (an event presaged by the second coming of Nudie Hughes). In fact, he still accompanies me to the prayer meetings, so far without objection.
But, in fairness, I also believe in exposing the child to other faiths. So, along with attending the odd Dublin game, for his sake, I bring him to soccer and rugby matches too. And as part of this education, I took him to the RDS last weekend for the Leinster-Edinburgh game, during which I had a strangely emotional experience.
Fearing for my soul in the heartland of Dublin 4, I took the precaution of wearing my old “South Ulster Senior Football League” anorak. This was a prize in a table quiz some years ago, and I believe it has protective properties (rain exclusion not among them). Nevertheless, I found myself quickly seduced by the RDS event. The atmosphere was friendly. The home side’s performance was spirited. And although the man on the PA kept insisting that the players in blue were “YOUR Leinster team”, which was a bit presumptuous, it was hard not to warm to their efforts.
The crucial moment, however, came in the second half. It had begun to rain heavily and my son and I were in an uncovered stand. With the insane optimism to which members of my sect are vulnerable, I had assumed the clear skies under which we left the house would continue indefinitely. Now we were being drowned and I felt like a bad father.
Then – lo! – a man came through the crowd carrying a hold-all. At first I thought he was selling choc-ices. If this were Clones, he would have been. But he wasn’t selling anything.
He was handing out raincoats! Cheap plastic covers in the home colours, but functional. Thus it was that we watched the rest of the game dry, peering out through small apertures in blue-tinted tents, which must have trumped the protective powers of my anorak. Suddenly, and for the first time ever, I cared about a team called Leinster.
Of course, I had to take the raincoat off afterwards and the emotion quickly evaporated. Even so, the experience was a revelation. Come the Munster-Leinster game in Croker, if it does, I may well have to support the home team (which will be officially playing “away”). I have no idea who I’ll cheer for in the main game.