Michael Moynihan: Keep up analysis of Corkness. We like to be talked about

Cork's Mark Coleman dejected after the All-Ireland SHC final loss to Limerick at Croke Park. Photo by Piaras Ó Mídheach/Sportsfile

Many years ago, when we were trying to grow our hair like Morrissey — Stephen, not Tom — and sneak into the cinema to see Excalibur, The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy series was a big hit with the intellectuals amongst us.

One of the books in that series features the inhabitants of Krikkit, a planet cut off by a mysterious cloud and inhabited by a people who can’t comprehend that other civilisations exist until the momentous day they emerge from that cloud and see the enormous variety of the surrounding galaxies. And say to themselves, ‘It’ll have to go.’

Yes, this is about Cork. And what you think about Cork, whether you’re of Cork or not.

The analogies with the people of Krikkit can’t quite be sustained, of course. If Cork people emerged from a mysterious cloud near Ballyvourney, Newtownshandrum, and Youghal Bridge to encounter alien cultures for the first time, the reaction would be different. ‘Leave them off, the poor creatures.’

Irrespective of the various results of the last week, the analysis of the Cork sporting mind has entered a new level recently, with a good deal of chin-stroking and pondering of what this means, or what that means. The mouldering term ‘Corkness’ has been raised from the crypt and uttered with many a sad shake of the head. I have even heard ‘Cork are back’ used as an expression. With a straight face.

The reality is that Cork people don’t need outside validation when it comes to sport. It’s as simple as that.

Like those fictional Krikkiters in Douglas Adams’ book, Cork accepts its own internal standards and judges accordingly. People sometimes joke about Leesiders referring to the Cork county hurling final as the ‘Little All-Ireland’; they don’t realise that there’s a constituency in Cork who refer to the All-Ireland proper as the ‘Big County Final’ (though rarely with a straight face, admittedly).

That doesn’t mean Cork people are completely unaware of outside forces. I can recall a multiple All-Ireland winner offering a lukewarm agreement when I described another county as competitive in both codes (“Well, if you like,”). One of that player’s contemporaries was polite when I referred to a county which had challenged his Cork team.

“I suppose they could be a handful,” was as far as he could go with his description.

There are probably non-Cork people who see arrogance in those comments. I’d be more inclined to see frank description delivered with good manners (the same players had no compunction about games in which they and their team had been “destroyed, absolutely destroyed” by other sides).

Recent dissections of the Cork sporting mind probably owe something to one of the great Irish pastimes: trying to understand what Roy Keane is thinking.

The man from Mayfield has been subjected to more pop psychology than any other figure in Irish life, often with hilarious results. Particularly as all of those analyses would have been superfluous if the writers ever met a member of the Northern Harriers from the 60s, or of Glen Rovers from the 50s — the outlook and attitude of such personalities would have given the key to understanding Keane and a good few more like him, but that in turn would have robbed many a sports psychologist of an opportunity to heat up a bowl of snake oil.

On a serious note, keep up the inquiring. Cork people like to be talked about, and like to talk about what people are talking about when it comes to Cork. Nothing can quite replicate the sensation of being in Cork, though. Last week we had goats running wild through the streets, though I don’t believe any of them attacked our robot trees or joined forces with the walrus wrecking boats offshore.

My question to you, curious outsider, is this: what does that mean for the mindset of Cork sportspeople?

Tipperary’s search for a sponsor

Even as one season turns, a new season begins. A pal was on to me from Tipperary — full of sincere good wishes about how Cork were going, delivered through gritted teeth — but he raised interesting questions about sponsorship and endorsements and so forth in the world of the GAA.

He pointed out, for instance, deals such as Sports Direct and AIG were unusual in that they were with foreign firms at a time when most counties went with a local firm. Made sense, I said, given the importance of local identity — the GAA is built on local connection, why wouldn’t you go with a local business in a kind of virtuous cycle?

Ah, said my man, but what kind of turnover would a local firm need to have in order to put their hands on the kind of disposable income needed for inter-county sponsorship?

At the mention of the word ‘turnover’ I got dizzy, thinking of cúrsaí tráchtála in school long ago, and tried to end the conversation pointing out it wasn’t a concern of Tipp anyway, given their deal with Teneo. That deal is up this year, he said, where are we going to get another sponsor?

As we were talking I recalled the horse truck ahead of me on the motorway up to Dublin. “Coolmore?”

I’ll get back to you, he said.

I’m still waiting for the call.

Shop for the programme

From the Department of That’s So Obvious, Why Didn’t We Think Of It Sooner — the decision to stock All-Ireland hurling final programmes at Centra stores in Cork and Limerick.

Granted, there may be a few hold-outs adhering to a strict policy of programme retention as proof of attendance at the obscurest games imaginable, but most observers in those counties would welcome a chance to get their hands on the programme.

It’s a chance to have your own small slice of history, not to mention the fact that it’s an overt incitement to fish out a biro — never a pen — and make your own notes and scores as the game progresses. The season may not lend itself to the old waxed jacket you rely upon for protection at the league games of early spring, but even as you hunker down at home you can now avail of one of the main accoutrements of a big match. Just make sure that biro has enough ink, given the service it has given already.

Catherine Ryan Howard offers thrilling dip into lockdown

I know the whole lockdown experience is something most of us are trying to forget rather than hold forever in our minds, but I can recommend one account of that period which will entertain you, at least.

Catherine Ryan Howard’s 56 Days is an unsettling thriller about a couple who move in together before the pandemic really hits, with quite the twist (or two).

Earlier this week she featured in these pages in an interview which gave a bracing, common-sense perspective on the writing life that was almost as entertaining as her book.

You can track that interview down and enjoy it alongside the book, which will unnerve you. In an entertaining way.

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