WordSmith: My penny's worth of football thoughts
In his popular WordSmith column, Gerard Smith got to thinking about football lately, and what keeps the fans coming back
Everywhere I looked, they were there. I first saw them in the morning, in the Centra at Drumalee. Later, while sitting in the market square enjoying the intermittent sunshine, I saw more. While heading for lunch with friends to an eatery on the Dublin road, I saw legions: men, women, and children, all united by a common denominator – the colours green and yellow.
Not being a follower of football, I wasn’t aware of the match being played in Breffni Park that Sunday (yep, I often live under a rock, especially if it means hiding from football). But, when I noticed the influx of Donegal fans, I decided to come out from under my bushel and become a football pundit, of sorts.
So, I sauntered here and there to soak-up all the theatre and fashion of football-fandom that was flooding into Cavan Town. My attention was caught by one of the unsung main-players on big match days: a merch-man. And yes, there are merch-women selling merchandise, yet on this match day I saw only men. They carried over each shoulder great swathes of woollen plaits: blue and white to the left, green and yellow to the right. And this man’s left shoulder grew heavy with unsold Cavan plaits, while the green and yellow sold fast. I wondered where the Cavan fans were?
The Donegal fans were visible, marching through Cavan Town enroute to Breffni Park like people on a preordained victory parade. One young fan stood out, for she wore her yellow/green plait tied around her forehead, giving her a fashionably retro, like the cool girl from a 1980s pop video.
Older female fans wore their fan-plaits around their necks, like resplendent chains of office. And the lads, they wore their colours topped off by branded bucket-hats; I was reminded of OASIS fans wonderwall-ing towards Croke Park this coming August. Perhaps I was too invested in the onslaught of green and yellow. But no, in retrospect, I wasn’t aware of the blue and white.
What I was aware of was the merch-men were not selling many blue and white plaits. Perhaps the Cavan fans felt what was coming and didn’t want to dress for a drubbing?
I stopped at the approach to the park, and looked up at my old home. Back in the day, when I was a reclusive lad, I’d watch the fans marching up the broad road and turn into Breffni Park from the window of Mam and Dad’s bedroom in our home at Jubilee Terrace. From that vantage point you could watch the match, albeit with a restricted view. That said, you heard all the drama and saw much of the match without buying a ticket or worrying about parking.
I recall one massive match that Mam tried to coerce me into going, “Come on son, it’ll get you out of the house,” she implored. When I shook my head, she shook hers and left me to my oddness. But then after all, why would I go? For I had my own corporate box in Mam and Dad’s bedroom. I can still hear the euphoric roar of Cavan’s win that day. Afterwards, I felt low level shame that I wasn’t part of it – I’d ignored my tribe in triumph. Cavan had won the Ulster Championship final, and instead of joining in the revelry, I was being awkwardly shy; hiding in the safety of solitude.
Then one recent afternoon in May I found myself standing in the middle of Breffni Park. Alone in the middle of the pitch felt daunting; yet for the players I’m sure it’s exhilarating.
I was on my way to ‘The Breffni Gallery’ a small museum space situated above one of the tunnels off the pitch. I’m a huge fan of all things history and really enjoyed this well curated capsule of Cavan’s GAA story.
On my way out I was stopped by a familiar looking lad. A large photograph perfectly captured the joy of winning fandom in a group of young lads from the past. Yet my eye was drawn to the corner of the photo, where a young lad sat. In him I recognised myself as a boy. Amongst the triumphant cheering of his peers he looks pensive, alone in the solitude of his thoughts; I smiled in recognition and said, “Come on lad, give us a penny for them.”
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A graveyard brought back to life