HEAD 2 HEAD: YESargues Richard Gillis, who says that the battle for the soul of professional sport was lost a long time ago.
Many of those who cling to the memory of Lansdowne Road haven't been there for a while. Yes, it's the site of the oldest rugby ground in the world, and on any given Saturday afternoon, it felt like it. The rickety stands, the overflowing toilets, the food that only those with strong stomachs could contemplate - few elements of the reality will be missed. It is the idea of the place that lingers.
By 2010, when it is hoped the new stadium will be open, nothing of the old Lansdowne Road will remain. It is right that the name should be buried with it. A new 21st century stadium deserves to establish its own place in the world - there is a difference between celebrating Ireland's history and being shackled by it.
A common reading of England's visit to Croke Park earlier this year was that it signalled a desire to stop fighting old battles, telling the world that this is a proud, forward-looking nation. It is surely a sign of confidence that historical relics such as Lansdowne Road are consigned to memory - gone but not forgotten.
This process is made more difficult because, for all their macho posturing, sports fans are romantics, prone to misty-eyed nostalgia. Dull, eventless games can become classics in the retelling. The image of the terrace hard-man dissolving into tears as his team wins or loses the big game is a cliche of sports television.
Perhaps this is about clinging to the idea of shared experience. We lead increasingly atomised lives, so the sense of community that comes from attending big sports events is cherished more than ever. The job of the governing bodies, the IRFU and the FAI, is to protect this emotional equity, while ensuring that the ground gets built on time and without further recourse to taxpayers' money.
But their role goes beyond that. They must be careful not to embarrass supporters by saddling them with an ill-fitting sponsor. This is a sensitive balancing act. We shall see if they are up to it, or whether they just go with whoever offers the biggest cheque.
There is a useful parallel across the water. Attending games at the self- consciously titled New Wembley Stadium is an odd experience. The sleek, high-tech arena bears no resemblance to its predecessor, either in terms of style or atmosphere. There is no sense of the history because it is a different place. It is also worth noting that the English FA's decision to retain the Wembley name was not due to some greater affinity with the game's heritage.
They just found they could earn more money by finding several "founding partners" rather than one overriding title sponsor. Another factor, also pertinent to Lansdowne, is that would-be sponsors recognised that attempting to brand a famous old ground wouldn't work in practice.
The history of naming-rights deals suggests that only new builds work. Arsenal's Emirates Stadium is a classic example. It works because there is no legacy to overcome; there is nothing else to call it.
And any attempt to shoehorn a sponsor on to the existing name will also fail. The traditional end of season test match takes place every year at The Oval in south London. Test cricket has been played there since 1880 - the first England versus Australia match. By rights, this should be called The Brit Oval, but nobody beyond the marketing department of Brit (whoever they are), would dream of doing that. Over the past 10 years, the ground has been called the Fosters Oval and the AMP Oval, both to no avail.
The subject of money however, is a problem for many opponents of the Lansdowne Road plan. It is as if this is in some way the final straw, that by gaining financially, the governing bodies are "prostituting the name of the new Lansdowne Road as a revenue raising exercise".
Sports governing bodies such as the IRFU and FAI used to be low profile: guardians of the game's rule book and custodians of its history.
This has shifted as changes in the media environment have garnered huge sums from TV and sponsorship. As a result, they have become bloated monopolies, puffed up and pompous.
Much of the money that should flow to the bottom of the pyramid gets stuck in the middle. Ambitious plans for growth and diversification fuel spiralling head counts and huge communications departments.
The money issue is a red herring. This is not a battle for the soul of professional sport. I fear that was lost a long time ago.
Richard Gillis is cricket correspondent ofThe Irish Times and writes extensively on sport and business.
NOargues Ruairi Quinn, who says that the emotional connotation of names is more important than the revenues a sponsor would pay to own the naming rights to the new stadium.
What's in a name? How do we identify with a place? In what way do we express a sense of belonging to a family, a community or even a nation? Place names define the boundaries of where we live or come from. Uttering their names evokes memories of holidays, events from our childhood or a proclamation of home.
Connemara, Donabate and Sandymount Strand mean more to me than the names of other places on this island. I know that anyone reading this piece could also recite a litany of places that resonate with them. Memory is the container of each person's heritage and names of persons, places and events are the building blocks of that souvenir. Families and communities have shared memories, and place names are a shorthand reference to a profound experience. For many, Vinegar Hill, Banna Strand or Croagh Patrick instantly evoke more than the physical characteristics of the place as described in the guide book or displayed on the map.
Some places produce a widespread response and their mention links the nation together. The Hill of Tara or the Curragh have a national dimension.
We have detailed legislation to define and protect what we call national monuments. They are part of our national heritage. We attach the word "national" to places and buildings to underline their intrinsic importance and shared ownership. The National Museum and the National Concert Hall are so named and cared for because of their importance.
That was why the Government, of which I was a member, gave taxpayers' money to the GAA to help them redevelop Croke Park. It was part of our national heritage. In turn, the GAA for the first time in its history allowed the national rugby and soccer teams play in the stadium when there was no other national venue available.
The old Lansdowne Road has been demolished and an elegant, modern stadium is being built. When completed, it will be the national stadium for rugby, soccer and possibly some Gaelic football matches.
Such was the cost of the project that notwithstanding the professional nature of rugby and soccer, the Government gave €191 million of taxpayers' money towards the total estimated cost of €365 million. There was broad public and political support for this financial contribution. After all, the old Lansdowne Road had been the scene of many magical moments. Some had thrilled the nation at the time and will be forever remembered.
But things are totally different now, or so we are told. The world has changed and the commerce of globalisation reaches into every corner. The professionalisation of sport and its marketing through the mass media is creating new opportunities to add value or, put simply, to make more money. Such extra resources can be reinvested in the sport and its participants, thereby creating more spectacles for the viewing public.
Moreover, as that viewing public increases, the additional numbers create new advertising opportunities for commercial brands.
So what's in a name? What's really wrong with the Tesco Stadium being the new venue for national contests of rugby and soccer? We may win the Triple Crown at the Tesco Stadium, but many of us could confuse that with a grocery special offer rather than a sporting display that makes the nation proud. If maximising the new stadium's market value is the motive, then surely the highest bidder will win the day. Could we have the Ann Summers Stadium or even the Carlsberg Stadium? Who knows, or more importantly, who decides what would be the conditions attached to an annual cheque of up to €5 million for up to 15 years? Presumably, all printed material would carry the new name. Would pundits be obliged to refer only to the new sponsor's name and not where the stadium is located?
If this is the way the world is going, why don't we take it a bit farther? Could such an idea of maximising value not be taken up by the Government? Why not ask local authorities to increase their revenues by selling place names? Why not Guinness Green instead of St Stephen's Green or Coca-Cola Strand instead of the prosaic Sandymount? After all, we are told that we live in a globalised world where money is king. Added value must be created to increase revenue; that's all that really matters. The fact that we are an old nation and now a modern, affluent State seems irrelevant. There was a time when there were some things that money could not buy. I thought our national self-respect was one of them. So what's in a name: memory or money?
Ruairi Quinn TD is Labour Party spokesman on education and science.