What's in a name?
You should be ecstatic. In fact, you should already be on ebay, trying to flog the naming rights.
You should be handing out flyers. Or dancing a jig. Or both.
Face facts: Munster rugby management don’t compete on a level playing field. It’s more like a 45-degree angle, with the men in red the ones at the getting-a-crick-in-the-neck end of the pitch.
At the rich end are the likes of Biarritz and Stade Francais, teams lucky enough to have benefactors like Marcel Martin and Max Guazzini to pay funny money to attract superstars. Even lowly Toulon could afford to pay Tana Umaga a reputed £250,000 for one season . . . and still have enough left over to make it worth Dan Luger’s while to come out of semi-retirement.
That kind of money just isn’t available to Munster. But naming rights for the new stadium could earn enough, say, to bring in a young All Black wing. Or a strapping Springbok prop.
That’s how Munster fans need to see this. Are you willing to accept Thomond as GenericProduct Park if that helps you to another day out like last May twelve months in Cardiff? If not, then be prepared to slide even further down the pecking order. An English-speaking environment was one of the few advantages Munster had over France, but that’s been overtaken by events across the water.
For instance, New Zealander Rico Gear was being touted as a possible Munster capture recently.
Have a guess at what it took to concentrate Rico’s mind on where in Europe he’d like to play?
The asking price salary-wise — just to start off level with everyone else — when it came to negotiating his signature was three hundred thousand clams. Three hundred thousand sterling clams, mind you. Not euro.
Rico, of course, has just signed for Zurich Premiership side Worcester. At his unveiling he said he was attracted to Warriors by the passionate vision Worcester coach Mike Ruddock had for the club — “alongside chairman Cecil Duckworth”, added Rico.
As well he might. Duckworth is the multi-millionaire sugar daddy paying Rico’s wages. And the wages of two other All Blacks, centre Sam Tuitupou and lock Greg Rawlinson. And Netani Talei of Fiji and Shaun Ruwers of South African.
Rico, Sam, Greg, Netani and Shaun were courted with money. Not tradition. Tell a modern professional rugby player about 1978, the fans, etc, and the answer’s likely to be simple: tradition? Where’ll I cash that? The other name on Munster’s wish list was Luke McAlister, another Kiwi. Negotiations for Luke’s services began in the neighbourhood of £400,000 (€594,000) in wages per annum.
A leafy neighbourhood.
Sale are understood to be in pole position to sign him, thanks in part to the fact that McAlister’s father Charlie played rugby league in the area 20 years ago. But also thanks in part to the fact that Charlie has been reportedly offered a coaching job with Sale. And mostly to the fact that the retirement of Jason Robinson means Sale’s accountants have room for a top earner.
If all the talk of money makes you feel a little grubby, too bad. That’s what professionalism means.
In a perfect world potential Munster signings would walk into Thomond Park and see the stands and the plaque and the grass and come over all warm and fuzzy and say it’s all about the fans before grabbing a pen and wrestling a contract away from Declan Kidney.
In the real world, potential signings can use interest from Munster as negotiating leverage with other clubs.
Renaming Thomond Park is a non-issue in many ways; you might as well wish for plain red jerseys or the foot rush to make a comeback. To compete you need quality; to get quality you need money; to get money you look at your options. Diehards may dig in and play the tradition card, but unfortunately, tradition doesn’t count in this particular pot.
Unless you consider one other option. That you could always try to build a new winning tradition at the new stadium. Whatever it’s called.
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