3Arena? It’ll always be the Point to me...

DO you call the rugby and soccer stadium in Ballsbridge the Aviva or Lansdowne Road? What about the 3Arena, formerly The O2? Chances are that, like me, you still say Lansdowne and the Point respectively, because old habits die hard and, in a world in which naming rights last only as a long as a contract, the name can change over and over again.

Take the Hammersmith Odeon in London, which over the years has been called the Labatt’s Apollo, the Carling Apollo and the HMV Apollo, all because these companies paid to have their names associated with it, and now is the Eventim Apollo, after the venue’s German part-owners. Would you be able to keep up? Would you be bothered?

Controversy

That’s one of the reasons why I’ve been a little agnostic on this week’s controversy over the possible renaming of Cork’s Páirc Uí Chaoimh to SuperValu Park, or Páirc SuperValu, or whatever you’re having yourself. Because no matter what it says on the sign, there surely is very little chance anyone would ever say that name aloud in real life.

The only recent example I can think of in which the opposite happened is the Bord Gáis Energy Theatre in Dublin’s Docklands, because the original name, the Grand Canal Theatre, lasted only two years and hadn’t really bedded in anyway.

A decade since it became the Bord Gáis, that’s pretty much the only name anyone calls it.

There are, of course, many GAA stadiums around the country that have sold naming rights, but crucially, they have also kept their original names. There is Kingspan Breffni Park in Cavan, FBD Semple Stadium in Thurles, Chadwick’s Wexford Park, Echelon Park Aughrim in Wicklow, TEG Cusack Park in Mullingar, and so on.

The problem with the plan in Cork appears to have been that the Uí Chaoimh would have been dropped altogether, and that’s a very sensitive subject.

The stadium is named after Patrick O’Keeffe, who fought with the IRA No. 1 Brigade in the War of Independence. Later, as secretary-general of the GAA, he doubled the number of clubs around the country and, unlike the current Cork county board, set the national association on a firm financial footing.

It was inevitable in a new republic, as we were a century ago, that the names of the patriots who fought for and secured independence, many of whom died in the effort, would be commemorated on street names and buildings.

After all, much of Ireland had been named after the British aristocracy over the preceding centuries – even Lansdowne Road itself, as it happens, was named after William Petty Fitzmaurice, 1st Marquess of Lansdowne.

Post-independence, there was a flurry of renaming, not least of train stations – Ceannt in Galway after Éamonn Ceannt, Pearse and Connolly in Dublin after another two of the signatories of the Proclamation, and so on. Even there, though, they didn’t always catch on. I was born in the early Sixties, and from that day to this, I would still say I was taking the train to Amiens Street not Connolly, and often to Westland Row rather than Pearse.

My local train station in Dún Laoghaire was renamed Mallin Station in 1966, on the 50th anniversary of the Easter Rising, in honour of Michael Mallin, who was executed for his part in the rebellion. From that day to this, I have never once heard or seen anyone call it Mallin Station, either in conversation or in print – and for almost 40 years now, since the line was electrified, it has simply been Dún Laoghaire Dart station.

SuperValu had apparently offered €1million for the naming rights for three years, and it is money that the Cork county board could do with, given the €30million debt hole in which it finds itself.

That money would barely cover the interest on its borrowings, though, and it is a legitimate question to ask if changing the name for such a relatively small amount of money, in the wider scheme of things, is worth it.

Perhaps there will be a compromise, and it can be called SuperValu Páirc Uí Chaoimh, which certainly sounds more respectful than another suggestion, which is to call the main stand, currently unnamed, the O’Keeffe Stand, just as Croke Park has the Cusack and the Davin.

Campaign

For their own part, and understandably, Patrick O’Keeffe’s family are against the dilution of the impact he had on Cork (he was also a founder member of Nemo Rangers) and on the nation.

As we have seen before, notably in the campaign to preserve parts of Dublin’s Moore Street associated with the Easter Rising, families of our patriots can be vocal and effective.

In a world in which there are so many channels for brands to get their name and their values across, naming rights are part of a much wider mix that involves television, print, social media and websites, and very likely an important one.

Nonetheless, the issue remains that their seepage into everyday discourse is not guaranteed. I know lots of people, mostly much younger, who talk about going to see Leinster, or Ireland, or Taylor Swift, at the Aviva.

My generation still talks of Lansdowne Road, because that’s where we shivered on terraces in the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties watching some thrilling rugby and soccer matches, and the name is part of the heritage of those sports.

For that reason, it is unthinkable that the naming rights for Croke Park ever would go under the hammer, which is why, even though the Páirc Uí Chaoimh name dates only from 1976, I understand the affection in which it is held in Cork.

The debate goes on, though, and all that remains to be seen is the value we place on history versus what we place on commerce, and finding out if there is some halfway line acceptable to all.