GAA For Beginners

On the Hill

I am from Wicklow. The last time I wore a Wicklow jersey, it was to County Colours Night in UCD (big up Ag Soc) and the running commentary throughout the night was “Well sure at least you’re getting a wear out of it.” My county do not tend to do well at GAA. Maybe it’s just as well. “Up the Garden!” doesn’t seem to have quite the same ring to it as “Up the Banner!” or “C’mon the Kingdom!”

However, with it seeming like the county’s star might be on the rise it’s time for me to become someone who understands GAA.

On Sunday, a friend of mine from Tralee took me to Croke Park, in a sort of charitable act, to see Round 3 of the Qualifiers (I only know that that’s what it was because it says so on the ticket). Being from Wicklow and going to a Kerry match is essentially like getting moved from Foundation Irish to the Honours class with no warning whatsoever. No matter how delighted I was to be among the chaps who knew what they were doing, I still lacked dreadfully in understanding.

We walked up to Croker from O’Connell Street, myself dubious about remembering the way – and then realising that there were a sea of GAA jerseys ahead, ripe for the following. Not that the Kerry Maid couldn’t have got me there safely anyway.

By the Spire we went, KM commenting: “They’ll all meet up there now. There’ll be a load of Kerry people on mobile phones saying “what are you wearing?” “A Kerry jersey” “What are you wearing?” “Oh, a Kerry jersey”.” Sure enough, the base of the spire looked like Shrek in the sunset, green and gold to beat the band. Incidentally, I was very quickly informed that the Kerry colours do not involve ‘yellow’ and I won’t make that mistake twice.

It’s amazing how one city can hold landmarks that mean completely different things to different people. For the Kerry Maid it was Barry’s Hotel and the Gresham that brought back memories of matches past. I finally found something I recognised as we passed by Belvedere College. I mentioned that I’d been there for debates and was swiftly told to shut up, I was not among debating people.

On Mountjoy Square we stopped at one of stalls and I was decked out in a Kerry hat and a headband. It was like going into Witness Protection – all the time I felt that I was probably going to be recognised by someone who knew who I really was. On down towards Hill 16 we went and I commented that it was nice of Kerry to adopt me, because I would otherwise never see a team I supported in Croke Park. “Shush!” I was told, amid the fear that any second I would be done for impersonation…of a Kerry fan.

I recounted my previous visits to Croker as we moved through the turnstiles, herself probably wondering what she had let herself in for. My last trip had been as a co-chairperson for Dail na nOg a few years back, the time before that the Special Olympics Closing Ceremony. The question about how many points were equal to a goal probably came as no surprise.

I didn’t understand what was going on below on the pitch for one second and complained incessantly about the threat of rain. Why on earth were we on Hill 16 with all those lovely empty seats in the stands straight across from us? I can confirm for you now that the preservation of the Hill was campaigned for, that it’s a privilege to sit there as that’s where the real fans go and where the banter is, and that empty seats should never be described as ‘lovely’.

It rained at the beginning of Kildare/Fermanagh but then cleared off quite well. I thought I was going to be a failure as a GAA fan when the only excitement I could muster during that game was when I picked up WiFi on my phone, but I’m reliably informed that Michael Cusack himself would have been bored by it…though I will still take the shame of being the sort of person who sat quietly cross-legged and read the programme from cover to cover while the people around me roared abuse at their countrymen, punched the air and stamped the ground.

Kerry/Monaghan was a whole different ballgame (har har). With the Kerry Maid having taken over custody of the Kerry hat to protect from rain, I had the headband tied up in a bow around my ponytail. I wore my Mac in a Sack, my friend Eoin’s utterances of “Ha, Sack in a Mac!” every time I wear it not quite yet having put me off. Making a bow out of my headband probably gave me away quick smart if the utterances of “Do they not segregate the seating, no? Why are there Monaghan fans up here?” hadn’t already. I proved a better fan for Kerry/Monaghan. Actually wanting a particular side to win helped a lot. I mastered the head flick from pitch to screen for the close up shots and learned how to roar “Ahhh, ref!”

I’ll never understand people who roar things that the ears of the intended will never hear. All around me, folk yelled out names and encouraged better play, coaxed improvement or levelled abuse at shoddy sportsmanship, never expecting that Tommy or Darragh would hear them, but still roaring nonetheless. Passion is a beautiful thing to witness. There are thousands upon thousands of people out there who recognise a county by their GAA strip the way I’d know the abbreviations on a car reg. They recognise each player from several yards back in the stands. They call out by name when someone has the ball. It’s all just impressive.

The Monaghan boys beside us were attractive young fellas but sure t’would never have worked out. How would we have raised the children?

At times I really got into it. As one of the Kerry lads repeatedly kicked wide of the goal I wondered if there were two blokes from Krakow in the Canal Stand fearing for their lives, full sure that he was trying to get the ball between them (it’s a slow burner). I attempted to shout to this effect but soon learned that all comments at matches must be pithy and quick. Beside me, the Kerry Maid took to yelling as gaelige as the intensity grew.

At half time we sat on the Hill which had dried out nicely and watched the Artane Music School Band (“It’s not the Artane Boy’s Band – there’s girls in it” – KM). I lamented the lack of a flask of tea and few sandwiches wrapped in tinfoil, which I’m told make for the real GAA experience, so Herself went off and came back with Coke and chocolate. I munched contentedly through the second half like a sweet-toothed six-year-old.

And so, to the Top Five Things I Learned:

- If you are out supporting your team and there’s a match on before theirs you pick a side and support them. There will be no complacency.

- One does not get a taxi to Croke Park, one walks to Croke Park.

- You do not comment that headbands and hats are handy because you can take them off if your team lose. You wear all items proudly, no matter the outcome.

- Teams do not in fact change ends at halftime so that the spectators get a good view of their boys, wherever their seats are. I thought it was a very nice gesture, but apparently it is something to do with wind.

- Showcase Rounders matches are more interesting than rain, but less interesting than checking the Programme for typos, which is how I passed the time.

On the walk back toward town there was many a Monaghan jersey worn proudly, and it gave rise to the idea that I ought to buy myself some new Wicklow colours and become a proper fan, who cares about the county no matter how they fare. While I’m grateful for the Kerry adoption, it was always going to be like Annie and Daddy Warbucks, never fully understanding whether the silverware should be admired or fenced.

I like the GAA, I do.