Hurling, community and pride: A newcomer's championship baptism at Páirc Uí Chaoimh
BIG HOUSE: Fans stream into Pairc Ui Chaoimh. Pic: INPHO/Morgan Treacy
For the love of the game, for the love of our parish, for the love of our county.
To witness Cork play Limerick on Sunday at Páirc Ui Chaoimh as my first-ever live hurling match, and to see the Rebel players make our county proud, made me fall further in love with this beautiful country that I get to call my home.
What started as a conversation at a Christmas party with my sports desk colleagues grew legs and wings when they asked me to write a piece about watching hurling live, something I’d never done before.
It was a running joke with my colleagues that I needed to see Cork play for the ‘love of the game’ to earn that most special of things: the ‘Cork Passport’. Plans to get me down to the Páirc, or even to a smaller match, fell through multiple times until this weekend finally worked.
Being an immigrant who comes from a country where soccer and cricket are well-paid professional sports, I did not understand why Ireland had unpaid players for the GAA who often leave the pitch battered, bloodied and bruised - playing only for the love of the game, and for their county. If I were being asked to run across the field as I balance a ball on a hurley while six big lads chased me with their hurleys - trying to get the sliothar by either whacking your arm, legs or back - , I would politely decline.
But seeing this game, round two in the Munster Hurling Championship live, made me understand that it was not about playing a sport, it was playing for the pride of your county - our county, our community, and living a game which has been a part of our nation for over 3,000 years.
My walk down to the Páirc was filled with a sea of red, empty pint glasses left on the side of the streets, a man selling your classic red and white bands, and of course, An Taoiseach walking alongside his own community.
I had never been to the Páirc for a gig, let alone a match, but I followed the crowd - wearing my Beamish jersey, which was released prior to the All-Ireland hurling final last year. I felt displaced in the sea of red. I did not realise there was a certain type of dress code, and I felt my Doc Marten sandals and black skirt did not really go with the vibe of blue jeans and blood-red Cork jerseys.
But I stood tall, even though I am under five feet, and made my way through the crowd, which was an amalgamation of green and red. I met my colleague who was doing the match report for the game, and off we went to the press box, which had the best view of the field, high up in the stand.
In a sea of over 43,000 people, eagerly waiting to witness the biggest rivalry of the season, this small Sri Lankan journalist - who has a Cork accent - sat down, thanking the weather gods for good weather and the GAA gods that she could see this match in the best way possible.
In came the players, and our national anthem started to play. There was silence except for the crowd singing before screams and chants rose from the crowd.
The game was the most violent, injury-filled, chaotic, loud, exhilarating 75 minutes of my life. Four minutes in, one Cork player was out with an injury, and then they all started dropping like flies, one after the other. Hurleys were crashing into each other, the sound of the clash of the ash travelling across the field. Schemozzles started to break out on the pitch. Cian Lynch was sent off with a red card. By comparison, cricket would usually be a little bit calmer on the field, with less violence and chaos.
But what never stopped was the roaring of the crowd as they saw their players play with passion, fire and assurance. There was no hesitation; as soon as a red jersey started running with the ball, six lads would chase after him, and the roars went up again. You could see it in their formation, you could see it in the way they played for their county - Cork had it all, and they were going to win.
The best part of this afternoon was not just hearing the hurley hit the ball three-quarters down the field; it was the roars from the people of Cork when Shane Barrett got that first goal, and again after Alan Connolly’s second.
It was pure to see young children, possibly at their first match with either their grandparents or their parents, roaring and rejoicing with their family, saying they would like to be the next Cork GAA hurler. It was pure to be one of the 43,000 people leaving an atmosphere that was full of celebrations, pints and curry chips and feel pride in my bones.
It was pure to see young lads stop former manager Pat Ryan and ask him to take a photo of them while they held up their hurleys. It was pure to see the joy erupt from everyone’s faces as they made the trip back down into the city for pints and celebrations. It was pure to run into a friend you had not seen in six years, who supports Limerick, and say, “Cork deserved to win.” It was pure Cork being among the crowd of 43,000 and chanting “Rebels, Rebels, Rebels”. It was pure Cork to remember that hurling is played for the love of the game, for the love of the parish, for the love of our county.
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