greatbleddyman wrote:OK off topic a bit but this can be extended to the print media too. So many of the GAA pundits give the impression they hate football. Handpassing is blight on the game, Soloing is blight on the game defending is a blight on the game. They seem to just not enjoy football. What other sport is so self hating? It drives me mad.
The one that drives me to distraction, is "All this hand passing - they should call it handball not football". Do you think American Football and Rugby Football are beating themselves up that their sport dosn't do what it says on the tin.
Sports evolve, go in cycles. Either embrace the game for what it is or piss off.
Auld lads harking back to some sort of halcyion past that incidentally GAA gold on TG4 suggests to me didn't exist.
Days when lads would hop down off their tractor/factory/trawler/pulpit/cement mixer Saturday afternoon, cycle to Dublin, drink 8 pints of porter (and by God there was ating and drinking in the stuff them times). Get mass twice the next morning, have their boots and flat cap blessed by Canon Murphy (togging out at wing forward).
The object of the game to my eyes, was first and foremost to break your opponent's jaw. After that it was to stop your opponent touching the ball. If by any chance you ended up with the ball in your possession it seems from TG4 that it was either heated or infused with the smallpox bacillus because the object of the exercise was to ballon it as far an high and far from yourself as you could. In an ideal world this was in the general direction of the opponents goal. I gather that the point of this was to use the cold climes of the upper atmosphere to either extinguish the fire or kill the small pox germs. In no circumstances were you to pass to your team mates. It was unmanly to do so, it inferred a certain effiminacy in your team mates, as if you suggested that he could not fight for the ball himself and needed your good graces to hand it to him.
There's a man of 90-odd who sits at the end of the bar in our local and it's like you taped him. Generations have kneeled in front of him to listen to his heroic tales. I'm that biteen older now so I smile and hold the tongue. I can't help noticing, though, that there seems to have been vast improvements in the quality of the football he played since he stopped playing it. He seems to have won an ungodly amount of games with a beguiling craft that one deity alone could not have bestowed upon a mortal, the type of craft that - alas - is nary to be found in these mundane, unenlightened times. It's confusing to me as my Grandfather, God rest him, in the nearest swerve he ever made towards a foul blow once told me that the same Laoch was "faith, a mighty man to have on the bench".