"I love Cork so much that if I caught one of their hurlers in bed with my missus, I'd tiptoe downstairs and make him a cup of tea." The quote, attributed to actor Joe Lynch, is indicative of the passion with which many regard the national game. Tomorrow will see whether or not the men of Cork need to stock up on Barry's. Their team are hoping to beat Kilkenny and win a third consecutive All-Ireland Hurling Final, writes Michael Parsons
Cork hurlers, though, would be more likely to prefer tea from a flask al-fresco while laying the blanket on the ground for "your missus" rather than nipping upstairs. The Banks Of My Own Lovely Lee - the Rebel County's anthem - refers to the "green mossy banks" found "down the Mardyke" where "the maid with her lover the wild daisies pressed".
Hurlers do like their rivers. If you're in a pub in Co Kilkenny tonight, brace yourself for a caterwaul as lads on their fifth "drop of Power's", who haven't sung in public since belting out Faith of our Fathers at the Eucharistic Congress, get all maudlin and attempt The Rose of Mooncoin. This is another achingly nostalgic ballad recalling an idyllic youth by a river. But here, at least, the female "interest" had a name. Yep, "Molly" was the young lady with whom the broth of a boy once "joined" on "green banks" overlooking "waters so sweet". And that sound in the background? Why, it's the sound of "the lark's merry song". Life before the discotheque, eh?
Sadly, there's no mollycoddling by the banks of the Suir these days. Now you might have thought that hard chaws from a county where ambidextrous men can simultaneously brand cattle and practise poc fada before breakfast would only have eyes for camogie queens.
But, in tests, five out of 15 Cats preferred Angelina. That's not another new brand from Whiskas. Ms Jolie is, in fact, a Hollywood movie star, and much admired, apparently, by Kilkenny hurlers. A survey in a local newspaper found that one-third of the county's Under-21 team selected the winner of American People magazine's "most beautiful" poll as their "dream date". Other women who featured included "J-Lo" (an American "celebrity" whose "look" - buttocks as protuberant as MacGillycuddy's Reeks - is reputedly à la mode); Keira Knightley (a British actress who played Lizzie Bennet in a "re-make" (tut) of Pride And Prejudice); and Kelly Osbourne (a sloe-eyed Goth with a foul tongue - who's a chip off her blockhead parents).
Not one of the lads named an Irish woman.
No wonder the Galway boys who met Kilkenny in last year's Under-21 All-Ireland final were thoroughly disgusted and defended Cathleen Ni Houliháin's honour by trouncing the black-and-amber squad. If you watched coverage of the match you might have noticed a startling incident in which a Galway player actually kicked a Kilkennyman in the backside - right in front of the TG4 cameras! Now, while such behaviour is most certainly not to be encouraged, it was interesting to note that the referee took no action. Perhaps he turned a blind eye - for dear old Molly's sake.
But, of course, the lads are only going through a phase and will soon grow to appreciate the kind of Irish woman who will be at Croke Park tomorrow to stand by her man.
Forget the English WAGS (tabloidese for footballers' "wives and girlfriends") who sullied the waters at Baden-Baden earlier this summer with their vulgar, conspicuous shopping and vacant faces framed by hair extensions and hooped Albert Square earrings.
Think instead Valkyrie dressed by Dunne's and not Dolce, with (naturally) rosy cheeks cheering anonymously amidst an 82,000-strong crowd.
In general, it's rare for the private thoughts of hurlers - on any subject other than the game - to appear in the media. Occasionally, under duress, they'll reveal to a Sunday newspaper who they'd like to have at their "ideal" dinner party. A composite guest list might feature Christy Ring, Jimmy Cagney, Buzz Aldrin, Padre Pio, DJ Carey, Cassius Clay and Michael Collins. Oh, and Countess Marckievicz or maybe Maggie Riordan. Just to do the washing-up, mind. Luckily, hurlers don't "do" dinner parties.
One of the glories of the GAA is the relative absence of the pestilential cult of "celebrity" surrounding its players. By tradition, after feats worthy of Cuchulainn, these extraordinary men quietly and modestly slip back into the anonymity of rural life. The next time you pass a guard or a young fellow on a tractor or an engineer on a building site or a student at Waterford "Regional" - just think - you may have just met - though you won't know it - one of what an advertising campaign called "Giants, not men".
Does anyone now recall the squalid commercial soccer tournament - that laughable "festival of sport" - which ended in Berlin last July and is memorable only for the risible yobbery of two "prettyboys" who had presumably fallen out over who was doing the next modelling assignment for Calvin Klein underpants?
There will be more skill, talent, honour, sheer excitement and Sturm und Drang in 70 minutes at Croke Park tomorrow than was seen during the whole sorry month of Deutschland 2006.
Watching the All-Ireland Hurling Final is like watching a performance of Der Ring Des Nibelungen on the slopes of Mount Olympus and quite unlike the opera buffa to be staged in Stuttgart this evening.
Oh, and the winners won't expect to feature in next week's HELLO! magazine lounging in Ibiza with tattooed glamour models on whom the Sun has set. Nor will the losers need counselling.
Zidane and Materazzi, Rooney and "Becks" and their legion of medallion-wearing, ear-studded "premier-league" clones aren't fit to clean the boots of "merchant Prince " Sean Óg Ó hAilpín or "King" Henry Shefflin.
And as for Angelina, "J-Lo", Keira and Kelly? A frosty morning snagging turnips would soon sort them out.