John Fogarty: It’s not the same in the press box without wisdom of crowds

John Fogarty pens a personal letter to the GAA supporters of Ireland from those inside the gates

Kildimo Pallaskenry celebrate their victory over Mungret St Paul’s in the Limerick IHC final over the weekend. The only thing missing in the Gaelic Grounds were the cheering masses. Picture: Brendan Gleeson

Dear supporter,

We miss you. It’s almost a month since we saw you last but it feels longer. Even then you weren’t really present, were you? Sure, you were part of an exclusive minority who got a golden ticket but with so few to share the experience with, what good was it, right? Well, that is how we feel without you right now.

What we would give to have you there. To make it an occasion, to give the players the audience they so richly deserve. To be their loved ones in those moments of triumph and despair.

We’re the frauds, you see. We in the press box are just here to confirm the tree actually fell and who chopped it. You, though? You have skin in the game.

We were lost without you in UPMC Nowlan Park on Saturday. We wondered how you, if you were of a James Stephens persuasion, would have reacted to referee Owen Beehan managing to make out that one of your defenders have lifted the ball from the ground to present Shamrocks a handy equalising free near the end. It seemed a bizarre call but with nobody (bar an irate James Stephens sideline to go by) present, we gave the official the benefit of the doubt.

In the game beforehand, we asked what might you have made of Chris Kavanagh’s flooring of Mikey Butler in those closing minutes. How referee Paul Cahill, as Butler was clearly in discomfort from the foul and had to be stretchered off even though he was all but on the sideline, chose not to even caution Kavanagh.

The wisdom of crowds, it’s something we didn’t fully believe in until this damn pandemic. See, it’s not just your company we miss: it’s that you tell it like you see it. Sometimes the press box feels like an echo chamber and in these vacant days with only ourselves for guides it happens too often. We’re not saying you’re always right but neither are we. But when we agree on something the chances are we are correct.

You have a way of keeping everyone involved honest. Sometimes you do overdo it with your criticism of the referee. Let me tell you we too aren’t shy on that count but there are few better in holding officials to account. Players too, of course.

And you have an incredible ability to frame a moment. Brendan Maher’s penalty shootout miss that confirmed Borris-Ileigh’s decrowning in Tipperary last month wasn’t met with your oohs and ahhs but a stony silence followed by the cheers of the Drom and Inch players. Something so dramatic, so final would have been better told by you.

Watching TJ Reid again defy his age and at times gravity last weekend, there were no gasps of awe, nothing but our own wonder. We would love to have been able to turn to you and simply asked, “What about TJ?” Your reply might be as simple as “class” but we would have lapped it up.

As he and others stood over frees these last few weeks, your white noise would have at least drowned out the opposing benches’ attempts to put them off from the stands. You might have thrown in the odd whistle but in the safety of numbers, it wouldn’t have been so audible as for the free-taker to make out.

You know it’s 11 years this month that you were no longer allowed on the Croke Park pitch after an All-Ireland final. Boy did you take that like a trooper. You made the odd encroachment afterwards in Castlebar, Clones, and Limerick but you otherwise remained on your best behaviour. But it’s not just the pitch you’re being told to stay clear of now and it’s brutal.

We could extol the colour and irreverence you bring but for us whose livelihoods involve chronicling what happens between the white lines we prefer to compliment your knowledge. Without you, how are we supposed to notice the off-the-ball shenanigans? Where there is no HawkEye, who is going to question the legitimacy of a point? The goalkeeper? There aren’t enough of him.

You tell us we’re the lucky ones, to actually be at games. Truth be told, it’s pretty lousy without you. We know you’re watching somewhere but all that virtual stuff doesn’t do it for us. All that 16th man/person bullshit aside, you are the real thing. How we long to see you again soon.

Yours in sport,

The press box.

Distributing tickets again will be onerous

It was with trepidation more so than delight that a county board official spoke to us this past weekend about the possibility of small crowds being permitted to games.

This county executive member is one of the best GAA people around but he was actually hoping the relaxation of crowd restrictions would come in after a forthcoming county final. The return in gate receipts was not worth the hassle, he maintained.

“Can you imagine how tough that would be?” he said. “Loaves and fishes. How are you supposed to give a ticket to somebody and not another? We want supporters in but if we have to say no to so many of them it might do more harm than good.”

Counties who routinely get to All-Ireland finals know all about the difficulty in distributing tickets but this being local, this being a county final, the difficulty is more acute. It’s all well and good for boards to give a split of the tickets to the participating clubs and let their secretaries decide who should get what but everybody feels that pain. That share of tickets might be also reduced by the presence of sponsors and other board officials and with that there is flak.

For club secretaries, loyalty and commitment would usually be rewarded in such situations. Family members of players and management who are also involved with the club might also be prioritised. It will be interesting to see if children are included in these new restricted capacities. Should they be, given their chances of carrying and contracting covid is greatly lower than adults?

Expect a GAA statement today welcoming the opportunity for crowds to return to games and boards to make a little income but at the coalface there are mixed emotions.

Brogan’s book chronicles a career never as easy as he made it look

Knowing Kieran Shannon of this parish, there might have been a precondition or two before agreeing to writing Bernard Brogan’s autobiography.

Full disclosure about the inner workings of the Dublin set-up mightn’t have been on the table but complete honesty about his own experiences was likely a dealbreaker.

As it turned out, the subject matter had already been willing to make such an agreement.

And yet Brogan also provides some incredible insight into the three managers he played under.

His brother Alan is on record as saying he wouldn’t do a book for fear of breaking the sanctity of the dressing room but Bernard is able to open the door of it for us without compromising too much confidentiality.

Jim Gavin mightn’t be overly happy with “the unconscious bias” claim Brogan lobs towards him for how the player was treated towards the end of his Dublin career but if the 2010 footballer of the year had said he was happy to be a spare wheel, would we as readers have accepted it?

Brogan is often and incorrectly perceived as a player and a man who has more style than substance. It’s an injustice to a footballer who was able to switch from artist to artisan with his intricate and patient play in facing the wall that was Donegal in the 2011 All-Ireland semi-final.

That he has utilised his profile to help create a successful business should actually be lauded.

Rather than a box-ticking exercise, Brogan and Shannon have combined to produce a testament to a career that was never as easy as the player at times made it look.

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