The famine of our own making

THIS is a confusing time to be Irish. Digesting Ireland’s World Cup loss last Saturday morning to Australia, the international reaction led to a sense of satisfaction, a sense of pride that we are finally being accorded a little real respect on the big stage.

I don’t.

Due to the extension of what is now a very full GAA calendar, what with the All-Ireland qualifiers in both hurling and football, the rise and rise of camogie and ladies football, the strength of the club scene, I haven’t been writing a lot on rugby lately.

As a fan however, I have been staying current with events provincial, national and international, have continued to pontificate, though on a stage more local, but more vocal.

In those discussions, in the week leading up to the Australia game, I was one of the few who insisted that we had every chance of winning, that man-for-man 1 to 15, Ireland had the better side.

I believed that then, I believe it even more now. So I’m not happy, not at all happy, not nearly happy, not even the least possible bit happy, that we lost by just one point.

On the final whistle, far from being consoled by the fact that we had put up such a superb display, I was almost distraught. When, when, oh God please, when will Ireland finally make a sporting breakthrough to the world stage?

We have suffered through the misfortunes of Eamonn Coughlan, shared his double Olympic despair in years when he was clearly the best, suffered the same despair in latter years with Sonia O’Sullivan.

Over the years, we have seen our national soccer team, various oarsmen in different disciplines, assorted other teams and individuals, go to the brink, and blink. How long more, how much more?

I’ll tell you how long more - for as long as you, and all our expert commentators, believe that we’re just not good enough, that we’re just not big enough, that our numbers are too small, our ambitions too big, for as long as our national and negative inferiority complex continues to stifle our natural positive exuberance and talent, we’ll never win the big one.

Coming into this World Cup, I felt we had a great chance of winning it. Here’s the kind of logic I was using. In the previous twelve months we had hammered Wales and Scotland a number of times, we had beaten England, France, Australia, Argentina, and should have taken South Africa and New Zealand.

That puts us up there with the best, and in a tournament of this nature, gives us every chance.

Here’s the kind of logic used by too many others, the RTÉ panellists, and the experienced rugby commentators in all media.

Ireland had big wins, but they also had big losses, so we can’t win the World Cup. Wait, you say, didn’t England, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, France, also have big losses? Yeah, but they’re England, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, France, we’re only poor little Ireland.

The logic heard soon after we lost to Australia is typical. If France beat us, they have every chance of winning the World Cup; if we beat France, we don’t. Why? Because we’re only Ireland, small gallant little old Ireland.

To those who cite our limited numbers, who cite limits at all, I have one word. Newtownshandrum. Half a parish down the road from me here, Newtown have contested seven Cork county hurling finals at adult level in the last eight years, and won six - from a total population of about 800, man, woman, and child.

In any one year in their only national school, they might average six boys, all of whom would be expected to play hurling.

Are they beaten before they start? Do they hide behind their paltry numbers, excuse for defeat ready-made before a ball is struck in anger? Do they hell. That disadvantage is turned on its head, is used to give them focus, an incentive to work harder, to reach greater and greater heights. And they do.

Look at Australia and New Zealand, look at their world-leading sporting achievements in sports across the board, with populations not massively exceeding our own.

Time to cut the bullshit lads, time for us to stop over-dosing on the hype coming in from across the water about this English team, from the Southern Hemisphere about the All-Blacks, Springboks, and Wallabies.

Wood and O’Driscoll are not the only two world-class players on the Irish side; we still have O’Connell, Hayes, Stringer, O’Gara, and Horgan in harness out there, and not one of them would let themselves down in a World XV.

We can beat France. We can beat New Zealand/South Africa, we can beat England/Australia. We can still win this World Cup. And Newtown can win the club All-Ireland.