"I know nothing about hurling... but I’m going to the GAA All-Ireland final"

As a journalist, I’m often asked to cover topics and events I’m unfamiliar with. Politics, culture, current affairs; it’s all part of the job. I would just as happily cover a book launch as I would a government scandal or traffic collision. With the right approach and thorough research, you can become an expert in an afternoon, but sport - and GAA in particular - is a different beast. 

So when I was asked to cover fan reactions at the upcoming All-Ireland final between Kilkenny and Limerick at Croke Park this Sunday, I must admit I paused. 

Sport is as much about facts as any other news, but there’s a level of opinion and emotion that I find intimidating as someone not in the know. Anyone can jot down who scored what goal, but understanding the meaning behind the figures is something else altogether. It can only be done by learning all about a sport and its rules, but also about its history, because you can’t truly know what’s happening now without knowing the context of what’s happened before. 

I remember hurls (also known as camáin, as I’ve recently learned) littered around my family home growing up. My brothers played until they received one too many whacks to the ankle, but I never asked them about hurling and they didn’t have any reason to inform me. 

My future father-in-law (FIL) - an Offaly man who loves GAA more than life itself - could barely hide his disappointment when we were introduced and he discovered that not only did I not play a traditional instrument, I also didn’t have any interest in traditional sport. 

Football? No. Hurling? No. Camogie, at least? No, though I tried to gain a morsel of approval by saying I attempted it as a child. And when I say ‘I attempted it’ I mean I was forced to participate in a try-out during PE and promptly decided I’d never hated anything more in my life. 

I know being a player and being a fan are two different things, but the two can easily be linked, particularly in childhood. Most hurling fans I’ve met have loved the game since they were kids. The love of it was fostered from an early age by a father or mother whose own parents or loved ones did the same. 

Although I can’t reasonably blame my family for this one; I liked solo sports like running and gymnastics and swimming. But despite my lack of affection for and knowledge of hurling (and team sports in general), I do like to learn new things. 

So what do I actually know about hurling? 

I know it’s played with sticks called hurls, it’s not the same as camogie, and beatings appear to be integral to the game. 

To fix my ignorance, I turned to my FIL, Seán, who informed me that my golden ticket has made me the subject of much vitriol in the local pub. I’m not surprised; I live in a tiny GAA-mad village where, in the event of a fire, the trophies would be saved before the women and children. 

When I asked Seán why hurling is so beloved, he cited a few things; the tremendous skill involved, the friendly (and sometimes unfriendly) rivalry between parishes, and the fact that it’s a source of national pride. It’s culture in motion. People have been playing it for thousands of years and it shows no signs of stopping, something we can’t say for our language. 

As someone who also tried and failed to learn Irish (I don’t know much, do I?), it made me think. By dismissing GAA due to an assumption I wouldn’t be interested, I’m also dismissing a big part of Irish culture, and as a nationalist at heart it’s starting to seem like a missed opportunity. 

Being good at something takes talent and skill and hard work, but it takes nothing to sit back and support people keeping our national culture alive. And even though that’s probably not their intention - it’s more likely just a pure love of the game - it’s still what’s happening, and that’s certainly something I can appreciate, or I can learn to at the very least. 

I don’t have time to watch the full catalog of all televised All-Ireland finals from the sixties to present (and I have a feeling they’re not on GAAGo…), so Seán directed me to what is - in his opinion - the best game of all time. The 1994 Offaly v Limerick All-Ireland hurling final, where Offaly - who were five points down against Limerick with five minutes to go - somehow went on to win the match with a few more points to boot. 

It sounded as good as any to start with, so I sat down and watched it. 

My first thoughts were ‘Jesus, this is brutal’ followed by ‘Why aren’t they wearing helmets?’ but my concerns for safety were quickly replaced by admiration for the skill and lightning fast pace. I couldn’t help but think of the handful of times I’ve been compelled to watch soccer matches and the ever-growing boredom as the clock hit 57 minutes without a goal to be seen. 

The Offaly v Limerick game was a different story. I couldn’t even pop to the kitchen for a cup of tea without missing a goal or a point. It can only be described as break-neck edge-of-the-seat action that could captivate even the most apathetic and sport-averse among us, particularly when the fans flooded the pitch and the cup was raised by a bloodied Martin Hanamy. 

I’ve been told not all matches are as extraordinary, but the constant movement and progress is apparently common for what’s become known as the fastest field sport in the world. 

I’m not a fan, I can’t call myself that. But I think I may have the makings of one.