Eimear Ryan: Like it or not, diving is now part of the fabric of the GAA

This is part of GAA culture now along with amateurism and community spirit and hats, flags, and headbands. So where do we go from here?

Wed, 15 Dec, 2021 - 16:55

Eimear Ryan

I was among a rake of GAA fans who sat down in front of the telly on Sunday afternoon, looking forward to an unseasonal feast of hurling. Ballygunner and Loughmore-Castleiney in the Munster club semi-final, with a star billing including Pauric Mahony, Dessie Hutchinson, the McGraths and Stephen O’Keeffe. Not a bad line-up for the depths of December.

As tantalising as the fixture was, the reality was a bit of a mixed bag. At times it was far more than we deserved from winter hurling, Dessie Hutchinson in particular seeming immune to the elements. In parts, it really whetted the appetite for the 2022 Munster championship. But as the conditions worsened and the players tired, it got messy: the ref’s decision-making became confusing, and the crowd grew audibly aggravated.

When there are multiple red cards, the energy goes out of a game. When the red cards are highly suspect, the heart goes out of it. I got up from the couch with an uneasy feeling – and judging from the Twitter response, I was far from alone in this.

Over the 60 minutes, Loughmore’s remarkable 19 weeks on the trot began to show, and Ballygunner were probably the better, more consistent team. But the two red cards, as well as the simulation from the Ballygunner players, turned off many viewers. As David Connors (@peterswellman) of the Tuam Herald succinctly put it: ‘Ballygunner not exactly endearing themselves to the neutral.’

To be fair, a lot of us neutrals had a Loughmore bias, having been swept up in the story of their county double after the heartache of last year. ‘Loughmore-Castleiney’s epic journey ended by clinical Ballygunner’, read a headline the next day. Hand on heart, I initially misread it as ‘cynical’. Even Ballygunner supporters might have wished it had played out differently. Players will be happy just to get over the line, but fans have a more romantic perspective: they want heroism from their players as well as victory.

We need to talk about diving. I don’t think that it comes naturally to players of team sports. At the risk of sounding terribly naïve, I think that sportspeople have an in-built sense of fair play, developed over years of competing, winning, and losing.

Overriding this fair-play instinct isn’t straightforward, but it can be done by changing the narrative. It takes a strange psychology to decide that diving is Good, Actually, but it’s not impossible.

One thing that always crosses my mind after seeing antics like that is – how do they look at themselves in the mirror afterwards? But of course, it’s all about how you spin it. There could be a manager telling them what a great job they did for the club, even what a great sacrifice they made, turning themselves into a target of social media ire. Taking one for the team.

We’ve all seen a page from this playbook before; it just may not have been televised and immediately commented about on social media. For example, I was once on the sideline for a camogie match when an attempt was made by the opposition to have one of our best players sent off. Without warning, a player went down; her teammates complained loudly to the referee; their management ran onto the field, furious; even the goalie came storming up the pitch. It was beautifully choreographed, but thankfully, it didn’t work. But when the Ballygunner players ran over to the umpire after Loughmore’s penalty that never was, I immediately thought of that long-ago camogie incident.

I never feel great about blaming the officials in these situations either – they’re human beings in a pressurised situation making a call in the moment, often while being psychologically manipulated. No ref wants to be accused of ignoring a real injury or letting a dirty dig go unpunished. It’s probably easier to sanction a player for hitting a wrong stroke than to accuse them of cheating. And let’s not forget that their job is incredibly difficult. Part of why diving works is that, from a distance, it looks genuine.

Simulation also flourishes because, aside from the ire of spectators, there isn’t really any drawback or deterrent. And once you create a culture in a dressing-room that social media noise doesn’t matter, that the crowd’s disapproval doesn’t matter, that all that matters is the team and the win – then, everything is on the table.

We can blame – as Twitter did – the officials for making bad decisions, or the players for simulating, or the management for encouraging it. We can even blame the Premier League. But ultimately, this is part of GAA culture now, whether we like it or not – part of the fabric of the game, along with amateurism and community spirit and hats, flags, and headbands. So where do we go from here?

One solution is the often-cited video ref: sealed in a booth somewhere, safe from any undue influence from the players or the crowd, with a more objective overall view than the officials on the pitch and crucially, with instant replay. This won’t be practical at club level, but perhaps could be trialled in the league and rolled out for intercounty games at least.

Or maybe a simpler solution still. Should players rolling around on the floor be required, like players with bloodied jerseys, to leave the field of play for a set amount of time for examination and treatment? Players want to play. If diving means they have to leave the field, they’d think twice about it; and if the injury is genuine, it’s probably prudent that they are safely removed to have it looked at.

Major League Soccer provides another option. If simulation is caught on camera, it is only fair that the player sent off might win their appeal and be able to play the next day. But what of the player who deceived the ref? In the MLS, there’s an independent disciplinary committee devoted to reviewing player simulation, which hands out bans and fines retroactively. Will a player still dive if it means he might not play the next match? A strange psychology has gotten us into this position; maybe reverse-psychology can get us out again.