IT'S HARD to imagine anyone casually referring to the "Aviva Stadium" in the near future, unless under contractual obligation to do so. Still, time changes everything. You don't hear people talk about heading up to "Jones's Road Stadium" these days, never mind to the "City and Suburban Racecourse". And Archbishop Croke paid nothing like €40 million for his exclusive naming rights, writes Frank McNally
No doubt Aviva will pump even more money into promoting the new name and overcoming public resistance to its use. Which is why, if I were a resident of the actual Lansdowne Road, I might now be exploring the possibility of flogging the exclusive naming rights for that too. Aviva Avenue has quite a nice ring to it. And in these troubled times, when even top bankers may have to get by on €2 million a year, one has to make money where one can.
It wouldn’t have to be Aviva Avenue, either. I don’t mean to teach Lansdowne residents how to suck eggs. But again, if I were in their shoes, I would invite tenders from the other insurance companies, if only to concentrate minds at Aviva headquarters. The competition might welcome an opportunity to queer the pitch (as it were). Thus, Axa Avenue has a nice ring too. And one could probably get used to living on Quinn Direct Boulevard, eventually, if the money was right.
Anyway, I’ll leave the Lansdowne residents’ committee to mull that over. The main point I want to make today is that, if even such a piece of hallowed ground as Lansdowne Road can be renamed for commercial ends, perhaps it’s time to abandon altogether the convention whereby public places and buildings are called after the famous dead.
More to the point I suggest that, in the desperate economic straits wherein we find ourselves, the Aviva precedent points a way forward for the Government, which presides over a vast range of treasures, many of which the private sector would love to get their names on.
Let’s start with the GPO. Its matronly façade already suffers the indignity of having to gaze across the street at a shop selling kinky knickers and adult leisure accessories with names like “The Rampant Rabbit”. How much worse can it get? Would it really hurt if we had to refer to it as the “Vodaphone GPO”, or the “GPO2 Arena“? Sure, critics would carp about desecrating the birthplace of the Republic. But the Minister for Communications could take a leaf out of the FAI/IRFU textbook by stressing how the money would go into developing that same Republic (especially at under-age level). And, after the initial storm, we’d be used to the new name before we knew it.
I suppose one might draw the line at selling new-name rights for the Dáil. The Seanad, however, is a different matter. If the so-called “upper” house can justify itself at all in these times, when our uppers is what we’re on, it will surely have to attract sponsorship. Again one thinks of the mobile phone companies – which, with their myriad offers of “unlimited talk-time”, would present the Seanad with a natural fit.
Once the GPO and the Seanad were renamed, there would be no stopping the scheme. Newgrange, the Rock of Cashel, the Cliffs of Moher: their name-plates could all be put out to hire, without affecting the attractions’ intrinsic quality. To paraphrase Shakespeare: that which we call a rose would smell as sweet — and possibly even sweeter — if someone paid us €40 million to rename it.
I could see Dublin City Council taking a lead role in the trend, having already privatised its pavements in return for 450 bicycles and a few toilets. With the same hard-nosed business sense, it could easily engineer a situation where Grafton Street became “JC Decaux Promenade” – in return for which the advertising company might agree to replace the 300 bikes that will end up in the bottom of the canal after the first week.
In fact, there is a precedent for a whole city being renamed for commercial reasons – and an Irish city at that. I refer, of course, to Londonderry, rebuilt in the early 17th century with money from the City of London and rebranded accordingly. This has not been entirely successful, it’s true.
Change happens slowly in the North and, 400 years on, the new name is still at the bedding-in stage. No doubt the city fathers originally deflected criticisms of it by saying that the money was being used to develop Derry, especially at under-age level. But the majority population continues stubbornly to use the old name. Something for the sponsors of Aviva Stadium/Lansdowne Road to think about there.
Even so, and if nothing else, a naming rights scheme for Irish towns and cities could replace the current, largely useless twinning phenomenon. In future one might be greeted at the urban limits by signs saying: “Welcome to Limerick. Presented in Association with Nivea for Men.” Hard-pressed as they are for funds, I believe many county councils would consider the outright sale of naming rights to strategic-fit companies. Cavan could team up with a British financial firm to become the “Prudential County”, for example.
Louth, sponsored by Armitage Shanks, could be the “Wee County” in more ways than one. And so on. Perhaps readers will have their own suggestions.
fmcnally@irishtimes.com