Totally Irish, Vol. 1

Totally Irish, Preface

Since we’ve been living here in Ireland I’ve been wanting to write about, well...living in Ireland. Because it’s different here. Like really different. (when I say “different” I mean different from Oregon, USA because that’s where we're from) Before we moved over here we thought “how different can it be?” We’ve both traveled a bit, lived in a country where the language was foreign, and consider ourselves pretty open-minded, worldly people...so we’ve experienced “different” and we just weren’t expecting much of it from this adventure. We were wrong. It’s difficult for me to explain the differences in one, succinct, little blog post...so I’m not going to try. (Besides, I need stuff to write about.) Instead I think I’ll just write a little story every once in a while about something that I think is “Totally Irish”. Please know that I am not a Sociologist, Psychologist, Irish Historian or even very smart, so if I start throwing opinions (or even facts) around...well, take ‘em with a grain of salt. And I would welcome anybody that knows anything about what I’m writing about to comment...nicely, of course. So, here goes...

Totally Irish, Vol. I, Hurling

Hurling is totally Irish. There’s a few other folks that play games that look kind of like it but, whatever dude, it’s Irish. If you have a chance, treat yourself to the movie “The Wind That Shakes the Barley”. It’s a wonderful movie and there's an old-school game of hurling in the opening scene.

They say hurling is arguably the fastest team field sport...but I have no idea what this means. What I can tell you about this game is that there are loads of lads (15 per team) out on the pitch (that’s what the field is called) all carrying big sticks (hurleys) and whacking at a little ball about the size of a baseball (the sliotar, pronounced sli-her). They can kick the ball (usually a last-ditch effort), smack it with their hand (but not throw it), whack it with the hurly, or, my favorite, running down the field balancing/bouncing it on the end of the hurly....very cool. As you can imagine, it’s pretty dangerous, what with whacking the sticks and all, but helmets are optional and some lads choose not to wear them. I hear broken teeth are common. Oh, and the refs? They stand on either side of the end zone and wear lab coats. Lab coats?! It’s very scientific dontcha’ know.

So, Floyd and I went to our first hurling match this afternoon and it was a blow-out. The teams were playing up to the Christy Ring Cup and we were supporting our home team, the Lily Whites of County Kildare (Go Lilies!!), and they were completely shut down by the County Antrim Saffrons (I know, I know, but believe me, you would not walk up to these fellas and start picking on their team name). Final score was 2-21 to 0-06 (you figure it out).

You know how the Irish have this reputation of being fond of the drink. Well, there was no alcohol there...at least not that we could see (other than the beers that we brought but didn’t drink because it was obviously not cool). It was very family-oriented. Loads of kiddies. Now I just can’t imagine going to a baseball game and not having a hot dog and a Bud. Sports and alcohol, man. They just go together. I seriously doubt that every hurling match is as sober as this one was...but it was interesting...and nice.

There was great team spirit without getting nasty. Nobody was bitchin’ at each other and nobody was bitchin’ at the refs. In fact, there was one obviously bad call and the fella in front of us turned around and said, very calmly, “Now that was an unusual call...” Unusual?! That’s a far cry from the American parent shrieking and foaming at the mouth at their kids’ soccer match. “Unusual” is probably not the word they’d be searching for.

Hurling has been around a very long time…there are some references to it all the way back to around 400 AD. It’s a common man’s game and it always has been. Even today, while being an Irish obsession, it’s still strictly amateur…meaning none of these lads gets paid. It is played purely for the fun and passion of the sport. When the game is over the lads go raise a pint together then go back to their regular jobs the next day. There is no glamour, no posse, no ‘tude. And because they’re playing for pride, and not money, they play honorably, which means they’re not out there whacking each other with those sticks. But pride also means they’re playing with all they got, so look out for that stick (remember the broken teeth?).

As this fella Tom Galvin wrote, “Hurling is a great game, not just because it is a great game by itself, but because it seems to illustrate the best of Irish culture -- its folksy character, its work-hard and play-hard virtues, and its community-based values.” Here here….

So after the match we came home and watched Tiger win the British Open and Floyd (Landis) take the yellow jersey in the Tour de France. USA #1!! Oh, wait....that was so. NOT. totally Irish.