I have a terrible confession. It's a confession that I know no self-respecting Irishman should make publicly without first giving corrective therapy a chance. But I've kept it bottled up long enough already, so here goes. The embarrassing fact is: I am indifferent to hurling, writes Frank McNally
Don't get me wrong. I know hurling is Ireland's ancient national sport. I accept as a matter of fact that it is the world's greatest field game. I would even support a constitutional amendment to make this claim explicit, eg: "Article 1: The Irish nation hereby affirms its inalienable, indefeasible and sovereign right to choose its own form of government blah blah blah . . . and states that, by the way, hurling is the world's greatest field game." I agree that by comparison with hurling, Gaelic football - to which I am the opposite of indifferent - is a game fit only for muck savages. It is a barely-codified form of faction fighting, the historic justification for which was to remove the violence from the streets of our towns and villages and confine it to pitches. I accept that Fionn and the Fianna did not play Gaelic football in any recognisable form.
I know that hurling people are the true Irish and that those of us who can't play are genetically flawed. In the Border national school I attended, a brother from Galway once made heroic efforts to turn us into hurlers. But while we could usually throw the ball in the air with one hand and swing the stick with the other, the requirement to do so in such a co-ordinated way that the stick would hit the ball was quite beyond us.
I felt sorry for that brother (although probably not as sorry as he felt for us). Just as I used to feel sorry for Kilkenny people when they were forced to participate in the All-Ireland football championship, even though the game was clearly beneath them. And just as today, although it may seem an impertinence on my part, I feel sorry for the entire hurling community, which appears to be in deep crisis.
As I hope is now clear, being indifferent to hurling doesn't mean I don't admire it, in a detached kind of way. While I will never share their passion, I enjoy nothing better than to listen to real hurling men discuss the game as they do, debating finer points that escape the likes of me. On such occasions, I know I am in the presence of my cultural superiors. So it grieves me even more to see them depressed about hurling's current state, and, in particular, its lack of competition. I gather there is some small uncertainty whether Cork or Kilkenny will win the All-Ireland in any year. Everything else is now a foregone conclusion.
Which is the key to my modest proposal for hurling reform. I am of course apologetic about even suggesting it. But when you're too close to something, as hurling aficionados are, you sometimes cannot see the obvious. And what is obvious to me is that the only way forward for hurling is to stop keeping scores.
It's a radical plan, I know, but here's the thinking. Real aficionados (don't be coy - you know who you are) see hurling as not so much a game as an art form. Victory matters, but the style of victory matters more. Match results increasingly support this view. In most inter-county games, there is no doubt about the outcome. If you're a Kilkenny team, your real rivals are probably not on the pitch. Your real rivals are past Kilkenny teams, the only issue being whether you will ever stand comparison with them.
The relevant parallel is bullfighting. Although widely regarded as a blood-sport, it is not considered a sport at all by its followers. Bullfights are reviewed on the arts pages of Spanish newspapers, and why not? The result of the fight is preordained: the bull will die. Occasionally he will take the matador with him, but his destination remains unchanged. Most days the only variables are the degree of grace and courage shown by the bullfighter as he performs the prescribed "passes", and the economy with which he completes the kill.
So it is with hurling. The Corks and Kilkennys must also perform their "passes" as gracefully as possible, before demonstrating efficiency in the slaughter. Once in a generation there are upsets, as with bullfighting. In the latter, very occasionally a bull will depart from the script: goring the matador, leaping the perimeter fence, and running amok among the crowd. Its bravery may be so remarkable that it is allowed to retire alive. The hurling equivalent was Clare in 1995. But such cases will always be rare.
Under my system, hurling teams would still express their superiority by scoring goals and points. It's just that nobody would be so vulgar as to keep count. Sports reporters would be replaced at matches by critics, who would later file reviews.
Match "winners" would be decided by public acclaim, although a panel of certified hurling purists would retain a casting vote, in case the crowd was swayed by emotion.
It is, as I say, a modest proposal. Having offered it to the ongoing debate, I back away humbly. Hurling people should feel free to treat me with the contempt I deserve.