SkStu
20/09/2009, 4:26 PM
:ball::ball::ball:
superb piece by Eamon Sweeney (posted on the bohs mb). I had to post it here for like minded individuals. If there are any other good pieces in the print or online media about supporting your local club they could be put in this thread too.
http://www.independent.ie/sport/soccer/the-love-that-dare-not-speak-its-name-1891592.html
From the Sunday Indo
The love that dare not speak its name
By Eamonn Sweeney
Sunday September 20 2009
I fell in love again last week. We've had our ups and downs and there have been times when I've wondered if it's worth the trouble. There have been disappointments, arguments and trial separations. But I've never been able to make the final break. The memories of the good times kept me going.
And on Tuesday night I was reminded why we've stuck together all those years. It's because this relationship has given me some of the best times of my life and because it can still provide the same fireworks as it did when I was a younger man. Logic doesn't apply when you're talking about love. A man in love has no choice. Most fans of what I will always, with apologies to eircom, call the League of Ireland are motivated by love. Domestic soccer has few casual fans because it rarely picks up enough momentum to set a bandwagon rolling. It demands not just your love but your faith, your hope and your charity.
Being a League of Ireland fan is like being a member of some small creed whose adherents make amends for their lack of numbers by fervency and dedication. Its grounds are perhaps the equivalents of those small town gospel halls where members of the Christian Brethren continue to practice their faith, their belief in the truth of what has been revealed to them not one whit lessened by the greater numbers attending other churches.
Sometimes that faith gets rewarded spectacularly, as it did on Tuesday night when I went to The Showgrounds and saw Sligo Rovers beat Bohemians 2-1 in an FAI Cup quarter-final replay. It was a magical night, not least because of the football played by Bohs, for my money the best team the league has seen for a decade. In the first half, with the marvellous double act of Joseph Ndo and Killian Brennan pulling the strings, they outclassed Rovers and should have led by more than 1-0 at the break.
Bohemians are a tribute to the instincts of their manager Pat Fenlon, who passed the ball beautifully as a player and insists that his charges try to follow his lead. Sligo's manager Paul Cook, a man with over 500 appearances in the Football League, is cut from the same cloth. Outclassed they may have been but Sligo tried to make their way back into the game by playing skilful football. Fortune favoured this act of bravery, a flowing move from their own half ended with Conor O'Grady equalising and soon afterwards winger Eoin Doyle struck a great winner. There were miracle escapes, mazy dribbles, last-ditch clearances, juddering tackles, all the stuff you'd need for a perfect night's entertainment. In the end, the league returns your love. It doesn't let you down.
At the same time as I was watching Sligo, the fans of Sporting Fingal saw their team shock Shamrock Rovers, Waterford United travelled to Dublin and knocked out St Pat's and Bray Wanderers made their way into the last four by disposing of Longford Town. Yet fewer Irish football 'fans' saw those matches than saw the more or less pointless, and rather dull, televised Champions League match between Manchester United and Besiktas. The couch potato majority were the big losers on the night.
Love of League of Ireland is the love that dare not speak its name. Or, at the very least, the love that's not supposed to. In these enlightened liberal times, you can parade through the streets in leather hot pants, you can set up home with whoever you want to, you can even confess to voting for Martin Cullen and nobody will bat an eyelid. Mention that you'd prefer to travel to The Showgrounds, Oriel Park or Turners Cross to watch your local team instead of to a pub with a big screen and Bulmers on draught to watch teams from cities you couldn't find on a map, however, and you're treated with the same kind of suspicion encountered by roving Jehovah's Witnesses in 1940s Ireland.
It's not enough for the League of Ireland merely to be ignored, there also seems to be a desire to serially deride it, to sneer at its fans, to recommend that it be liquidated altogether, perhaps so it can be replaced by some newly minted plutocrat-owned franchise which could enter the hallowed world of English soccer. In the Tiger era, this chorus of disapproval reached a crescendo. The League of Ireland was an embarrassment, perhaps because it's hard to imagine anything less Nouveau Riche. Though, in truth, it wasn't very Oldveau Riche either.
Like hare coursing and **** fighting, the very existence of League of Ireland soccer is treated as a personal affront by a sizeable number of people. It is execrated by the barstool Premier League devotee and the GAA supremacist alike.
Perhaps that's because a great many GAA supremacists are also barstool Premier League devotees. It never fails to surprise me that so many men who will wax lyrical till the cows have not only come home but got dressed up and gone out for the evening about the wonders of the little GAA club will also proclaim ad nauseam their attachment to an English soccer team.
Yet, while no one would deny the authenticity at the heart of Gaelic games fandom, there is something deeply shallow about the affection of Irish sports fans for English soccer teams. A minority of men and women spend a lot of time and money making the journey across the water to follow their favourite teams. But I find it difficult to take seriously support for a team based on totally arbitrary criteria.
Why, after all, does the man from Mitchelstown support Manchester United, the lad from Listowel love Liverpool, the chap from Callan cheer for Chelsea? Generally because they noticed that this team won more often than others, or were supported by most of the boys in the class or had a nice-looking geansai. You don't, as the saying goes, choose your club, you inherit it. But while that's true of Gaelic games or League of Ireland soccer, the opposite is true of Irish Premier League fans. They do choose their club and they try to choose one that wins. It's probably an enjoyable pastime but there's nothing genuine about it. Just how shallow this support is was brought home to me when I read an article about the magnificent Irish support apparently enjoyed by Liverpool. The writer informed us that Colm Cooper was "a die-hard Liverpool fan . . . whose big ambition is to one day visit Anfield."
Colm Cooper might be my favourite Gaelic footballer but I'm inclined to doubt the depth of his passion for Liverpool. Getting to Anfield from Killarney is not, after all, like setting out to conquer Mount Everest or walk to the South Pole. I'd be just as sceptical if a man told me he was a die-hard music fan whose big ambition was to one day go to a gig. There are plenty of Irish soccer 'fans' out there whose dedication is of the same order.
By contrast, supporting your local League of Ireland club is a genuine, a good, an honest and a decent thing in a world bedevilled by hype and sophistry. Above all, it is something real. As real as love.
thephotograph@hotmail.com
- Eamonn Sweeney
superb piece by Eamon Sweeney (posted on the bohs mb). I had to post it here for like minded individuals. If there are any other good pieces in the print or online media about supporting your local club they could be put in this thread too.
http://www.independent.ie/sport/soccer/the-love-that-dare-not-speak-its-name-1891592.html
From the Sunday Indo
The love that dare not speak its name
By Eamonn Sweeney
Sunday September 20 2009
I fell in love again last week. We've had our ups and downs and there have been times when I've wondered if it's worth the trouble. There have been disappointments, arguments and trial separations. But I've never been able to make the final break. The memories of the good times kept me going.
And on Tuesday night I was reminded why we've stuck together all those years. It's because this relationship has given me some of the best times of my life and because it can still provide the same fireworks as it did when I was a younger man. Logic doesn't apply when you're talking about love. A man in love has no choice. Most fans of what I will always, with apologies to eircom, call the League of Ireland are motivated by love. Domestic soccer has few casual fans because it rarely picks up enough momentum to set a bandwagon rolling. It demands not just your love but your faith, your hope and your charity.
Being a League of Ireland fan is like being a member of some small creed whose adherents make amends for their lack of numbers by fervency and dedication. Its grounds are perhaps the equivalents of those small town gospel halls where members of the Christian Brethren continue to practice their faith, their belief in the truth of what has been revealed to them not one whit lessened by the greater numbers attending other churches.
Sometimes that faith gets rewarded spectacularly, as it did on Tuesday night when I went to The Showgrounds and saw Sligo Rovers beat Bohemians 2-1 in an FAI Cup quarter-final replay. It was a magical night, not least because of the football played by Bohs, for my money the best team the league has seen for a decade. In the first half, with the marvellous double act of Joseph Ndo and Killian Brennan pulling the strings, they outclassed Rovers and should have led by more than 1-0 at the break.
Bohemians are a tribute to the instincts of their manager Pat Fenlon, who passed the ball beautifully as a player and insists that his charges try to follow his lead. Sligo's manager Paul Cook, a man with over 500 appearances in the Football League, is cut from the same cloth. Outclassed they may have been but Sligo tried to make their way back into the game by playing skilful football. Fortune favoured this act of bravery, a flowing move from their own half ended with Conor O'Grady equalising and soon afterwards winger Eoin Doyle struck a great winner. There were miracle escapes, mazy dribbles, last-ditch clearances, juddering tackles, all the stuff you'd need for a perfect night's entertainment. In the end, the league returns your love. It doesn't let you down.
At the same time as I was watching Sligo, the fans of Sporting Fingal saw their team shock Shamrock Rovers, Waterford United travelled to Dublin and knocked out St Pat's and Bray Wanderers made their way into the last four by disposing of Longford Town. Yet fewer Irish football 'fans' saw those matches than saw the more or less pointless, and rather dull, televised Champions League match between Manchester United and Besiktas. The couch potato majority were the big losers on the night.
Love of League of Ireland is the love that dare not speak its name. Or, at the very least, the love that's not supposed to. In these enlightened liberal times, you can parade through the streets in leather hot pants, you can set up home with whoever you want to, you can even confess to voting for Martin Cullen and nobody will bat an eyelid. Mention that you'd prefer to travel to The Showgrounds, Oriel Park or Turners Cross to watch your local team instead of to a pub with a big screen and Bulmers on draught to watch teams from cities you couldn't find on a map, however, and you're treated with the same kind of suspicion encountered by roving Jehovah's Witnesses in 1940s Ireland.
It's not enough for the League of Ireland merely to be ignored, there also seems to be a desire to serially deride it, to sneer at its fans, to recommend that it be liquidated altogether, perhaps so it can be replaced by some newly minted plutocrat-owned franchise which could enter the hallowed world of English soccer. In the Tiger era, this chorus of disapproval reached a crescendo. The League of Ireland was an embarrassment, perhaps because it's hard to imagine anything less Nouveau Riche. Though, in truth, it wasn't very Oldveau Riche either.
Like hare coursing and **** fighting, the very existence of League of Ireland soccer is treated as a personal affront by a sizeable number of people. It is execrated by the barstool Premier League devotee and the GAA supremacist alike.
Perhaps that's because a great many GAA supremacists are also barstool Premier League devotees. It never fails to surprise me that so many men who will wax lyrical till the cows have not only come home but got dressed up and gone out for the evening about the wonders of the little GAA club will also proclaim ad nauseam their attachment to an English soccer team.
Yet, while no one would deny the authenticity at the heart of Gaelic games fandom, there is something deeply shallow about the affection of Irish sports fans for English soccer teams. A minority of men and women spend a lot of time and money making the journey across the water to follow their favourite teams. But I find it difficult to take seriously support for a team based on totally arbitrary criteria.
Why, after all, does the man from Mitchelstown support Manchester United, the lad from Listowel love Liverpool, the chap from Callan cheer for Chelsea? Generally because they noticed that this team won more often than others, or were supported by most of the boys in the class or had a nice-looking geansai. You don't, as the saying goes, choose your club, you inherit it. But while that's true of Gaelic games or League of Ireland soccer, the opposite is true of Irish Premier League fans. They do choose their club and they try to choose one that wins. It's probably an enjoyable pastime but there's nothing genuine about it. Just how shallow this support is was brought home to me when I read an article about the magnificent Irish support apparently enjoyed by Liverpool. The writer informed us that Colm Cooper was "a die-hard Liverpool fan . . . whose big ambition is to one day visit Anfield."
Colm Cooper might be my favourite Gaelic footballer but I'm inclined to doubt the depth of his passion for Liverpool. Getting to Anfield from Killarney is not, after all, like setting out to conquer Mount Everest or walk to the South Pole. I'd be just as sceptical if a man told me he was a die-hard music fan whose big ambition was to one day go to a gig. There are plenty of Irish soccer 'fans' out there whose dedication is of the same order.
By contrast, supporting your local League of Ireland club is a genuine, a good, an honest and a decent thing in a world bedevilled by hype and sophistry. Above all, it is something real. As real as love.
thephotograph@hotmail.com
- Eamonn Sweeney