Ta boo or nat ta boo, that was the question? Never mind the missed tackles, yellow cards or the minus 43 points scoreline, the burning question that occupied the minds of UAFC messageboard posters in recent days has been the vexed question of whether ta boo is taboo.
A supplementary aspect of this contentious messageboard set to, was the status of supporters who had the temerity to boo. In fact the euphemistically titled Knight Welding man, (or was that knife wielding maniac), was unequivocal in his desire to downgrade anyone booing to the rank of ‘unreal’ supporter or fan. Worse the proposed amendment to this was to relegate them to the status of mere spectators. This is the medieval equivalent of being put in the stocks!
Some posters pondered the effect that booing might psychologically have on the poor players who have expended every last drop of blood on the battlefield, file off in orderly retreat and endure the sound of booing. Even if it was meant for the ref, as posters not unreasonably pointed out.
To address the question that most intrigued me. – Were the professional Ulster Rugby players beset by doubt, anxiety, post traumatic stress syndrome or any other number of disorders as a result of being within earshot of booing? I had to refer to Bering Sea crab fishermen to bring some slightly oblique thinking to the subject.
Eh! I hear you say, what on earth have they to do with professional rugby players and booing? Well Discovery Channel is running a new series of a documentary which featured the captains and men who fish for crab in the Bering Sea. Billed as the most dangerous job in the world, the hyperbole this claim conveys isn’t quite justified when you consider the alternatives such as gold mining in Brazil’s unofficial open pit mines or soldiering in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Still, it is undoubtedly a highly dangerous job performed in some of the worst sea conditions anywhere in the world. The Bering Sea weather, which I jokingly refer to on occasions when it blows a purler at Ravenhill, is capricious and unforgiving. Men can, and have fallen in or been thrown off the decks of these boats as they haul in or the launch the 300 pound steel cages. Ensuing survival in icy waters can depend on the speed or reaction of their crew mates and skipper. Ten minutes in the water in normal fishing gear can mean death, whilst a survival suit can guarantee you 30 minutes predictates hypothermia and a slow death.
The rewards for fishing crab in these waters are high, with the lowly deckhands on a couple of the biggest boats earning up to 40 thousand dollars for 3 weeks work. The work though is tough, unrelenting and the survival rate in employment terms, especially for rookies, is low. Even the old hands call it quits as the long hours, (up to 36 at a stretch), with naps in between lifting strings, takes its toll on the toughest and most experienced operators. The 6 metre seas and occasional storms mean endless hours tossed around as the deck crew carry out an assortment of tasks ranging from baiting the cages to counting the crab into the hold. All the time the seas unrelenting challenge taxes even the veterans resolve.
To work on the decks is to call for the highest degree of teamwork with mistakes meaning possible death in icy waters, injury through being crushed by a swinging steel cage or the loss of revenue. Not pulling your weight is the worst of all ills that can effect morale and cause dissent amongst the crew. The captain of these boats, which make the Kilkeel trawlers look like dinghy’s, assume enormous responsibility for the safety of the crew and the onus to make money. Above all there is the camaraderie which is demonstrated in the amount of ritual banter and humour which though cruel at times, reflects the harsh conditions under which they operate. A thin skin on the decks or wheelhouse of these boats will almost certainly lead to finding yourself another means of earning a living. Few jobs earn such quick bucks at such high risk.
The parallels however oblique with the pro rugby player are substantial. A pro rugby player, when you consider the perks that go with the money are reasonably well paid at the top end of the tree. They work in a high risk environment and whilst not a death defying one, nevertheless can find themselves with a P45, cutting short what is already a short term career, suddenly due to injury, lack of performance or ability.
Physicality is an essential part of the job. Fitness and conditioning allied to careful minding of health and lifestyle is prerequisite. Whilst not necessarily a feature of Bering Sea fishermen’s job criteria the parallels in strength and fitness are there nevertheless.
To survive in the rugby environment is to lack a thin skin. There is a requirement to be able to withstand prolonged banter, canteen humour and practical jokes that primary school kids would balk at attempting for fear of ridicule.
To sum up, the Bering Sea crab fishermen and professional rugby players exist in a parallel world of physicality, rich rewards, extreme risk of injury and cruel humour.
A little booing should not dent the armour of the pro rugby player. He is little enamoured to the genteel environment that some imagine, as that environment is one in which comradeship is the glue that binds and is tested by a healthy scepticism for timidity and a large dose of rough humour.
So you wannabee a wannaboo, go right ahead in my opinion. You could even inject a little hiss into it and have an old fashioned boo with a hissy fit. Theatre audiences have been known to boo a production. They pay their money and expect a quality evening’s entertainment by return. So if it’s good enough for the toffs of the Grand old Opera House it should be socially acceptable for the Terrace toffs at derelict Ravers. Me?, I don’t boo, it’s not my game but I would admit to shouting at Issac last night to stop making a cup of tea at the back of the ruck….Oh er!!
Ta boo or nat ta boo, that isn’t a question really, more like a storm in an espresso cup.
NB: This article isn’t a plug for the Discovery Channel’s stunning documentary series, Deadliest Catch, on the lives at sea of the Bering Sea crab fishermen. On TV every Tuesday night courtesy of SKY documentaries.
Actually last week, the captain of the Cornelia Marie, injured himself during a storm. He carried on skippering in great pain and eventually started to cough up blood. Following almost tearful entreaties from the crew, which included his two sons, he finally called the hospital in Anchorage, Alaska for advice. Get yourself right in here at once bid the alarmed hospital staff after Captain Harris had described the symptons. That’s kinda difficult the boul Harris replied, I’m in the middle of the Bering Sea!!! Ho ho ho ho pass the rum!
When he finally accepted he needed help Captain Harris berthed in St. Pauls Island and took a plane to Anchorage unaided. He was later told he had a blood clot in his leg which had passed through his heart and into his lungs!!! He was last seen sitting on the edge of the bed talking on the phone to his crew, who were back at sea. Now that’s what I call tough. A little bit of booing would have made that man smile.
Corrections, comments or questions?