Old habits die hard

ODD intros to hurling articles, No 87 in a series: This year is the centenary of John Wayne’s birth.

No, this isn’t a desperate effort to equate the counties in the hunt for Liam McCarthy to various films in the Wayne canon. Almost every county could be cast in the lead role for The Searchers, maybe, but who’d want to be cast as The Quiet Man? Who would you see as The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance? The, er, Barbarian and the Geisha?

There’s still a reason for drawing your attention to that anniversary — call it certain parallels between perceptions of the hurling championship and Wayne’s movie legacy. Although his films are still applauded for their visual beauty, many critics are less comfortable with the actor’s narrow choice of roles, a reluctance to stretch his repertoire, not to mention those reactionary political views.

A small, insular cast performing in a stunning visual setting? Well, we won’t belabour the point. We’ll come back to John Wayne later.

The first order of business is not to go down on our bended knees and thank Waterford. Neither is it to pat Dublin metaphorically on the head for holding Kilkenny to an early-league draw. Nope, top of the agenda is this incontestable fact, endorsed particularly by last season’s exchanges: hurling has finally grown up tactically.

Cork’s running game/support game/running-and-support game and the efforts to counteract it have nailed the coffin lid firmly and finally on the spontaneous game. When Aidan Fogarty drifted back the field and away from the Cork full-back line last September, freeing other Kilkenny men to clog the channels in midfield, it was part of a process that has been creeping into hurling for some time. Factor in Anthony Daly’s withdrawal of Alan Markham from his forward line in the 2004 All-Ireland semi-final against Kilkenny to sweep behind his half-backs, and Dan Shanahan’s rotation from wing-forward to full-forward in Waterford’s terrific run that same summer, and the drift towards strategic use of field positions becomes apparent.

That this should finally have happened is no great surprise, but the lack of attention being paid to it should raise an eyebrow. Hurling has changed immensely in the last five years because no inter-county manager can now afford to send his team out to play independently without being cognisant of the likely alignment of the opposition — and planning accordingly.

That’s not what you’ll hear, of course. The coyness of an election candidate talking about his funding has nothing on inter-county managers and tactics.

One will tell you with a bat of his eyelashes that he doesn’t actually believe in tactics; another will hide behind a fan and say his team doesn’t have a pre-conceived plan; yet another will giggle like a Southern belle and say his lads just go out to play their positions. Fiddle-de-dee, as Scarlett O’Hara used to say.

Lads, the 50,000 people in Thurles have eyes like the rest of us. They can see what’s going on. Talking about it doesn’t make it a sin.

What everyone seems obsessed with talking about instead is how bad it is for the game that Cork and Kilkenny are prime candidates to pop up in Croke Park this September again. Right. It has to be bad for the game if two superbly skilled teams meet at the climax of the championship; God only knows what kind of horrid beastliness that will lead to. Down with this sort of thing, etc.

What’s bad for the game is endless fiddling with championships and qualifier systems which delay club competitions for months on end; the number of county boards which are, in effect, hurling prevention committees; the fact that Galway, to pick a not-at-all-random example, won’t compete in Leinster.

What’s not bad for the game at all is the fact that some counties take it seriously. Kilkenny and Cork have that attitude and reap the rewards accordingly. Both counties play good hurling — fast, skilful, accomplished and confident. How can that be bad for the game? It might be bad for competition, but that’s not the same as being bad for hurling. Other sports have long periods of domination by one or two teams and the sky hasn’t fallen in. Let’s not get distracted.

As for the nuts and bolts of the season lolling in front of us, we’re looking forward to a few of the following sights.

Tony Considine’s Clare arriving in Thurles with nothing to lose — and a point or two to prove. Cork unveiling one or two young forwards, particularly a kid whose older brother has made the last decade extremely uncomfortable for attackers trespassing on his patch at full-back. Tipperary unveiling a full-forward line with not one, but two Kellys in it; that’s more than enough to put a bead of sweat on any ‘keeper’s forehead.

Limerick to get their heads right and sustain 70 minutes — on more than one Sunday. Waterford to keep on keeping on; by making life nail-biting for their fans, they’re making it pretty enjoyable for the rest of us. Ger Loughnane to spring a surprise with his line-up, though now he’s shown his hand with Damien Hayes at midfield, what’s he going to deal from the bottom of the deck? Wexford to pass up the spirit of ‘98 for the spirit of ‘96 — John Meyler will make them competitive, but they need to be calm as well. Offaly to progress: they need Joe Bergin to keep putting that hand up, but he needs support. Dublin to take a step or two in the summer rather than a great leap forward in the spring — and to find out how hard that is.

At the end . . . well, maybe Waterford winning the league is a good omen. The Searchers looked for years but they found the little girl in the end, all grown-up: Ken McGrath for the John Wayne role, then, and Brick Walsh instead of Jeffrey Hunter.

Don’t forget, this is the best part. It’s all before you. The countdown to a championship Sunday begins the previous Sunday when you realise where you’ll be in seven days’ time. That means what it’s always meant.

The teams being picked on Tuesday night. The chance encounter with one of the players at a service station, and the nervous thumbs-up. The slagging from your work colleagues on Friday. The Saturday-morning perusal of the papers; the Saturday-night phone calls about late-breaking injury worries. The Sunday-morning arrangements for lifts, tickets, sandwiches. Beeping the horn at opposition cars. Beeping the horn at your fellow supporters’ cars. The Square. Barry’s Hotel. The Garda outriders for the team bus. The heat. The seat. The minor match. The teams coming out. You’re not up for it?

That’ll be the day.