Watched a programme the other week about the remains of gladiator skeletons found in York and why historians were revising their view of how gladiator contests were conducted in Roman times. Although few people die these days playing or participating in sport it has nevertheless parallels with the ancient Roman contest. The most striking is the behaviour of spectators, in the way we exhibit partisan expressions of support in one team or other, display elements of primeval attitude in baying for retribution, go to the sporting arena as if going to the Coliseum and adopt postures of approval or disdain for the participating combatants, contestants. Little has changed I say, in the arena of contests. Perhaps the safety of participants has been improved and the life expectancy of the average sports person has dramatically increased since the days of gladiator contests but our attitude to competition remains. We expect a winner, for one to dominate the other, for a triumph.
The Ghana/Australia world cup football game featured a clash of heads near the end. While the stricken Ghana player lay bleeding and his team-mate desperately called for help, the game went on. A few minutes later and the bloodied player was being carried from the field of play by stretcher bearers at pace. The hapless fellow probably had one of his most uncomfortable journeys ever, across a football field, bouncing uncontrollably as though in a storm tossed ship rather than a rickety stretcher. The parallels with the Roman gladiator contests and the dragging of dead and wounded combatants from the field of play could not have been more symbolic than at this moment.
Rugby is more gladiatorial than most sports, with the various elements of confrontation, the element of danger in many aspects of the game and the prospect of a contest most of the time. On the pitch there is those little head to head confrontations between players that only the two participants are fully aware of. There is combined contest that is the scrum, at least was before the IRB mucked about, the contest at the line-out where the jumper ably supported by his team-mates contests the catching of the ball and of course there is the head on collisions of car crash proportions involving flesh on flesh. Throw in the temperament of the contestants and the potential is there to evoke the gladiatorial contest of ancient times. Nobody intentionally goes out to kill of course but there is always that visceral element of danger inherent in bodies slamming into each other in the name of sport. Don’t throw me to the Lions but I like that element of physical confrontation. No one likes to get hurt of course but injuries are very much part of the game.
When you next watch a rugby match, remind yourself of the primeval instinct that makes humans want to physically blatter each other and for other humans to want to go and watch it. Unless of course the IRB decide that it may be pertinent for the game not to have any parallels with the ancient and combative times of yore. Let’s hope not.
I Created a Frankenstein and I Don’t Like the Results
Meanwhile chief soccer gladiator correspondent, Jim ‘man for all seasons’ Gracey was in bemoaning mood in the Sunday Life. Having attended the opening of the Tollymore outdoor centre, Jim drew parallels twixt zippy outdoor centre and the decaying doom laden edifice that is Windsor Park. He wondered aloud how the IFA couldn’t get their act together and partake of good tidings offered by Nelson ‘creationist’ McCausland and his hardy department of Culture and Arts. Fred Flintstone, aka Raymond Kennedy was prime target for Jim’s trusty darts, citing Fred’s double standards in how he came to power on the back of his predecessor’s globe-trotting before finding out belatedly that globe-trotting on the soccer junket market was all part of the kettle of fish.
As Jim rattled on about the injustice of the blazer’s behaviour, did he ever stop to wonder how these guys gained their kudos and did Jim have any part to play in it. Why, yes he did, as soccer correspondent and editor of the Sunday Life’s 13 plus pages (and that’s just the off season), of local soccer he surely had a big hand in creating the dinosaurs that run the local football scene. Why he’s given them the maximum coverage at the expense of other sports. Rugby has by and large ploughed it’s own furrow and continues to flourish in a manner that has little to do with Jim Gracey and the Sunday Life. Perhaps he ought to get another perspective on sport in the province and visit Ravenhill where he just might see some world class sportsmen plying their trade under the Ulster rugby banner. Alternatively stay away, as he might spot something to give further ammunition with his, ‘they have it, why can’t we attitude’. Indeedy, he actually managed to mention how well Ravenhill looked. I don’t think he has visited us yet by the sound of it.
Rorotura Roundabout
Hugh Farrelly’s description of Ireland’s location for the Maori match reminded me of my first ever trip to Northern France on a motorcycle in the late 70’s. The first we were encamped near a small French town whose name now escapes me, but having cooked a meal on our little camping Gaz stoves we decided to sample some local hospitality in the town’s pub/cafe. Imagine our surprise to find the place, (the town that is), locked up at 8 o’clock at night. I had sympathy for Mr. Farrelly and his media colleagues when they went looking for some local hospitality in downtown Rorotura and found only the deadly silence of closed doors and shutters up. Isaac Boss, acting as local Sherpa, joined the Irish press corp from just up the road was able to find the thirsty journos what Hugh generously described as a shebeen. Hugo would surely describe it as a drinking establishment that stayed open later than all the other ones in Rorotura.
Nice piece of bridge building by Isaac with the journos ahead of moving down to the centre of Irish rugby and the media in D4. It was interesting to read the various viewpoints being offered by the various Irish based media following Ireland’s defeat from the jaw’s of victory against the Maori last Friday. Tony Ward was rating Henry’s performance highly, whilst others commended Murphy and so on. Each paper had its own favourites, but for dear old Peter O’Reilly in the Sunday Times, it was faint praise and Andrew Trimble was not exactly top of his hit parade. Hugh Farrelly in the Independent today, by contrast, was fulsome in his comments on the winger.
On Munsterfans the debate raged on the Ireland team selection with Ronan and Jennings getting some hard press from their respective supporters and detractors in equal measure. Oddly the remaining member of Saturday’s back row team, Chris Henry wasn’t mentioned during the debate which was a back handed compliment. Proxy comments about the back row’s demise at the hands of the accomplished Australians ensured he wasn’t entirely forgotten. I personally hope he has a great game and cements his standing, pardon the pun, in the Ireland squad for the World Cup. He doesn’t deserve any less.
Exploration of a Culinary Diet Less Ordinary
I ruminated last week on Dan’s diet and his attempts to sneak meat behind the backs of the Irish management whilst revealing to most and sundry by twitter, his efforts at culinary deception. I speculated that as a keen barbecuist, the secret of Dan’s pace for such a big chap was down to eating meat! This week I learned he has been quaffing amounts, as yet unspecified, of rhubarb crumble. In an effort to keep up with him I have eschewed the barbecue for large slices of apple pie. Dewi has offered me helpings of sausage and bacon butties should I put in an appearance at the eagle Bar on Saturday. It is a moot point that this will assist me in my quest to run as fast as Dan Tuohy.
Should point out that big Ed O’D was running as fast as Dan last weekend. In fact Ed was in two places at once for much of the match against the Maori The Kiwi commentators clearly found Tuohy a bit chewy and just settled for O’Donoghue until late on in the game. Should clarify my quest to run as fast as Dan is a long way off my objective in that I am at walking pace, but definitely getting pacey at the walking. Helpful suggestions on how to get me moving faster would be appreciated.
Death of Ruck ‘n Roll
“I have just seen the future of rock ‘n roll and its Bruce Springsteen”, pronounced a music critic away back then when music had melody and rock was real. Well I think I’ve just seen the apparent death of the ruck and it could be real. The Irish have adapted well to the new laws which generally involve stringing your defenders across the pitch and don’t bother to contest a ruck or what now passes for a ruck. One bright shining star in an otherwise gloomy prognosis on the state of the Union game is that Dan Touhy during the AB game, exposed the fallacy that you defend the ruck lightly when he ran over the top and scored a try. This will have had the Southern Hemisphere coaches sitting up and taking notice for the SH players are programmed now to keep running laterally at ruck time towards a defensive station in the line. What Dan did was cut across that by running straight ahead and hopefully struck a blow for the validity of the ruck in rugby union.
I’m off to London to see the sights, drink in the culture and hopefully return a much more rounded person. Perhaps all the walking I intend to do will make me less round but things may be a little quiet on here from me unless I can get the laptop across in which case I will attempt to update you on my travels on a regular basis.
Corrections, comments or questions?