Feeding the Multitudes

*updated post from last year for the week that’s in it!

“If Liam McCarthy’s coming home, so am I!”, proclaims the sister. You’re under pressure now. The wheels are in motion for an impromptu return from Oz and the fatted calf isn’t going to cut it for this Prodigal Rebel. Flights have been paid for, busses booked, accommodation secured. The golden ticket however, remains the elusive final piece of this cross-continental jigsaw. For years, the scavenge for All Ireland final tickets has been a traditional facet of the GAA’s autumn, and more recently its summer. For those lucky enough to still be involved, it is a ritual which only adds to the sense of occasion surrounding the biggest day in Ireland’s sporting calendar; an unpredictable and complex prelude to the pageantry of the big day itself. It is also, of course, a fucking nightmare.

I’m sure all GAA club officers in Cork will concur that, at present, they are both the most popular and least popular men and women in their respective communities. Pillars of the community or parish pariahs, depending on who you ask. Jesus was a great man (to borrow a line from the great Mícheál) and he may have worked wonders with the loaves and fishes but you can bet he’s damn glad that Nazareth never made it to a final. And let me tell you, he’d have had a much easier time convincing the masses of his divinity if he was able to come up trumps with a pair of Lower Cusacks.

The ticket scramble is, and always will be, the game before the game. Try and explain how it all goes down to that apocryphal American. You know the story; the holidaymaker that we’re told is brought to a hurling game only to be bedazzled by the spectacle, shocked by the savagery, brought to tears when told that these poor garsúns risk life and limb for nothing more than the love of one’s county. And how does one procure a ticket for the showpiece event, he might ask excitedly. Oh well, you tell him in hushed tones. A smattering of tickets are sprinkled all around the country, stashed away in every parish from Boolavogue to Buncrana. To get one, you utter gravely, you must know someone. You must rekindle old friendships, break bread with estranged relatives, build bridges with old foes. The Yank weeps at the mysticism and romanticism of it all. You refrain from telling him that if you work for one of the sponsors, you should pick one up handy enough.

Just don’t tell anyone that you picked one up handy whatever you do. Those people are personae non gratae. And there’ll be plenty of them about too, you can rest assured. Think of them as Grandpa Joe from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Sure, he wouldn’t get up off his arse for weeks previous but wasn’t he all bells and whistles then when he got a ticket to HQ for the main event. The truth of the matter, though, is that since the introduction of the season ticket a few years back, there can be far less pearl-clutching. If you do indeed go to all the games, are of an optimistic disposition and think that your lads will go all the way to the big house in July, well then, the option is there for you. So, give Joe Duffy and the Facebook message boards a rest please.

The ticketing system may be far from ideal. The vast majority of the 20,000 or so that are distributed to neutral counties will eventually find their way to a good home so the whole rigmarole can seem unnecessarily convoluted. But there is a laudable egalitarianism at play here too. God knows, the GAA have played their part in pulling the ladder up on enough counties to ensure that participation in All-Ireland finals will only ever be experienced by the elite few, so the current distribution system at least safeguards the big day from being gatekept completely. Still though, we’re from Cork so egalitarianism be damned! But just how Cork are you is the question?

You see, here’s the rub. The more Cork you are, the less chance you have of beating the system. Your ancestral lineage doesn’t travel further north than the Commons Road? Tough luck then pal. You better try and work your way up the ranks in Allianz or AIB or some other faceless commercial partner. Now, you didn’t hear it from me but being too Cork can actually be detrimental here. Come All-Ireland final day, a mixed heritage is no bad thing and can in fact greatly increase your chances of getting up to Dublin. As a personal aside here, I’ve a mother from Clare (sshh) and thankfully, their early-season collapse has opened up that particular avenue this year, a front that was unfortunately walled off to outside advancements last year, as it was in 2013. (And let me tell you, the horror of those two finals have ensured that any pride I had in my Banner roots has been well and truly beaten out of me).

There is another way to go about this, if you do happen to find yourself hamstrung by the confined reaches of your pedigreed Corkness. Going out with a girl from Fermanagh may come with certain logistical quandaries for fifty weeks of the year but this is where the hard yards and added mileage might begin to pay off. I used to play under 12s or whatever for Enniskillen Gaels, surely I’m entitled to something? she enquires. Absolutely, it’s worth a shot. And make sure to tell them that I’ll reciprocate the favour whenever Fermanagh have their day in the sun, you say with a nod and a wink. Now, don’t for a second think that I’m advocating for arranged marriages here, or anything of the sort. I’m just saying. It looks as though Pat Ryan’s boys will be around for a while so this may well become an annual predicament. So you know, if you do find yourself at a loose end, maybe just think about playing the long game. I mean, you’re either a devoted Rebel or you’re not.

Anyway, we’re a good bit out still, no need to panic yet. Either way, these are first world problems. Top tier hurling problems. Problems that most of the country would only love to have inflicted upon them. Problems we couldn’t possibly have envisaged on that long traipse home from the Gaelic Grounds back in May.

So, Up the Rebels!

Up to Croke Park!

…and Upper Hogan will do fine thanks.