Rugger-heads blur the lines between fan and follower

AS I stood getting dressed at the swimming pool last Wednesday morning it finally dawned on me what it is about rugby that I abhor so much. Don’t get the wrong idea.

I wasn’t in a grouchy mood. Following an early start, 50 hard laps (all front crawl too – thank you), and 15 leisurely minutes in the sauna, I was in fine kilter.

Then I started listening to the conversation between the two men behind me.

‘Are you going to the game at the weekend?’, one asked. The pronunciation of game as ‘gayim’ provided all the information I required. They were middle-class businessmen and the ‘gayim’ in question was the Six Nations clash between Ireland and Italy in Rome.

They could also be described as Protestant and Unionist, but such classifications aren’t really true. I have made it my business to study this section of northern society.

Strictly speaking these men hold no allegiance to crown or creed. Their only loyalty is to the economy. If they were better off under Enda Kenny, then they’d vote Fine Gael, though they’d probably draw the line at Gerry.

You will never find them marching behind bands or joining protest movements. Generally speaking, they display all the passion of a dead fish, and only get really excited about once or twice a year.

You get the picture. So the conversation continued. ‘I’m not going,’ answered the man who was sitting behind me. ‘It’s the first time in six years. We just decided to give it a miss.’

Again, the response is typical. Entry to this strata of the rugger fraternity requires that all members are forbidden from ever saying anything which betrays a chink of emotion or the tiniest shard of personal information.

Obviously, what the man really meant to say: ‘It’s the worst recession in living memory. I’m not as flush as I used to be, so there’s no bloody way I’m going to Rome on a jolly.’ Emboldened by the news that his acquaintance wasn’t in rude financial health, the other man revealed that he would be making the trip.

I sneaked a peek. Well-tailored, grey woollen coat. Blue pin-stripe suit. Polished black shoes. Magnificent head of immaculately coiffured silver hair. Not content at ticking every box, he ticked a few more. Topping off the dapper ensemble was a silk cravat. It was a bit ridiculous — but I liked it.

‘The Cravat’ was going to Rome. He booked his tickets the day the fixtures were announced. “But still, they weren’t that cheap, €160 for the two of us,” he said. His failure to reveal the airline carrier suggests it was easyjet or, God forbid, Ryanair. The old snobbery prevented him from saying.

“Yes. We just thought we’d give it a miss this year. It’s the first time in six years,” chimed ‘Skinto McFlinto’, his response rapidly in danger of becoming a chant.

But ‘The Cravat’ was on a roll. “Marvellous city, Rome,” he said. “It’s hard to believe it’s so compact, so easy to get around.”

Unable to form a joint-conversation about travel plans for the weekend, ‘Six Years’ was forced to draw on his previous experiences.

“They’re so friendly,” he said of the home fans. “They bring such enthusiasm to it.” And on, and on, they wittered. When ‘The Cravat’ initiated the conversation, I had just starting drying myself. By the time I was fully dressed and leaving, it struck me that these two so-called rugby fans had never once mentioned the game.

They had discussed the price of flights, the joys of Rome, and the hospitality of the Italians, but the actual game, and Ireland’s injury crisis, didn’t register on their horizon. And therein lies my greatest problem with rugby. I like the game. Any sport that carries the risk of severe physical injury will always get my vote. It’s the type of people who follow the sport that are the problem. I realise that not all rugby fans are like the aforementioned duo, but few other sports have such a high proportion of people who enjoy the occasion more than the game.

Consider the conversation just described to the thousands of animated discussions that would have taken place last week on the eve of the National League. When I rang home during the week, I was able to get the ‘word on the street’ on the Derry and Tyrone game.

When men gathered in Maghera, they didn’t dwell on peripheral banalities. There were worries about the defence. ‘Curly’ wasn’t sure that Derry had a defender to mark Sean Cavanagh. Others agreed.

However, the anxiety about the defence was offset by the optimism over the forward line. By all accounts Paddy Bradley was flying and training twice a day. No doubts, the street corners of Tralee and Skibbereen also hosted dozens of similar discussions in the build-up to Sunday’s derby between Kerry and Cork.

No detail would be considered too small or irrelevant. But now consider the media coverage which rugby and Gaelic football fans received over the weekend.

The irony is laughable. Rugby supporters, many of them more interested in talking about tiramisus than triple crowns, enjoyed a superb service in print and television. Meanwhile, the superb game between Armagh and Dublin was on a subscription channel while TG4’s couple of cameras did their valiant best to capture the action from Kerry and Cork while RTE’s highlights package was deplorable.

What it would be to have the type of comprehensive, intelligent, and informed television coverage which the rugby set take for granted. Still, the Gaels from Derry and Cork will not complain, at least not this week. Sunday’s results will have put a glow in their gut which ‘The Cravat’ and ‘Six Years’ will never know.

Contact: [e-mail]