Is Gavin fit to lead Dubs?
This is not about Connolly, this is all about the blue jersey
POOR Jim Gavin. What else can we say about the man? After his outburst last Sunday, that represented more of a one-man raid on the good names of Colm O’Rourke and Pat Spillane and their roles as analysts on The Sunday
Game, it’s probably best to deal with the Dublin football manager in a tenderly fashion.
Poor, poor Jim — he goes and takes out the ‘good names’ of two of the most decorated and distinguished of footballers, accusing them of ‘bile’ and ‘malevolence’, in a desperate attempt to uphold the ‘good name’ of Diarmuid Connolly.
Yes, Diarmuid Connolly, ladies and gentlemen.
One of the most ill-disciplined footballers in the country who has brought mighty doses of dishonour to the Dublin jersey on the football field and also far away from it.
And in defence of that same footballer, Gavin and his his management team are prepared to go on strike and not talk to RTÉ for some time. Though given Gavin’s absolute seriousness, a hunger strike could just as easily be right around the corner.
So we need to tread carefully with Jim from here on in this summer. The poor man even reminded us last Sunday that we are living in the ‘Republic’, as if that made any difference in this whole foolish kettle of fish. The Republic of where... Gabon, Venezuela... Ireland?
He did not tell us which Republic he was referring to, but he did give the firm impression that in the ‘Republic of his Own Mind’ the likes of O’Rourke and Spillane should have handkerchiefs stuffed into their mouths.
We want to love the Dublin team, and when we watch them on days like last Sunday, when they swept Westmeath off the field, we do. The reigning All-Ireland champions are a wonder.
And they may be the creation of Gavin in a large part, but this team deserves better. Last Sunday evening we all realised that this Dublin team deserves better than Gavin. They need a true leader. A man who can stand tall in front of the whole country and truly be the near-perfect representative of a nearperfect team. That, rather than someone who stands so small, serves
up gibberish, and leaves us thinking... God Help Us
And even more significantly... God Help Him.
The most remarkable leaders of men and women, occasionally, are different to the rest of us.
The great Declan Kidney, perhaps the most brilliant coach this country has produced in modern sporting times, occasionally left us puzzled with what he had to say for himself before and after games. But Kidney, just as often, also left us bolted upright in our seats. For starters, the jersey worn by any of his teams, from Pres Cork to Dolphin to Munster to Ireland, was sacrosanct.
He never believed that any man owned a jersey.
‘It is yours for that afternoon, and that is your chance,’ spoke Kidney in the hours after Ireland had triumped over Wales and brought home a first Grand Slam in 2009 after a 61 years wait.
‘You leave your DNA in it, and it is what you leave that matters. Hopefully, these lads have filled it, so come our next match in May whoever plays will feel the onus is on them.’
On that heightened emotional day it would have been understood if Kidney worshipped the men who wore the green jerseys, and not the piece of cloth itself. But to O’Connell, O’Driscoll, O’Gara, to everyone of them on that mesmerising day came a reminder from their coach to measure exactly what they had put just put into their jerseys. And Kidney was dead right. It’s about the jersey more than the man, always.
Gavin wore the Dublin jersey, but I forget whether it was No.13 or No.15 because he was a bit of a non-entity as a Dublin footballer. He just came and went. He scored one point in Dublin’s one-point win over Tyrone in the 1995 All-Ireland final, but don’t get sucked in by that simple piece of maths, because in truth he was amongst the also-rans
when choosing the Dublin footballers who actually earned that long awaited victory. Is it possible Gavin doesn’t know or appreciate how incredible an article of clothing the Dublin jersey was and still is to this day?
Dublin’s blue is the most famous and cherished jersey in the history of the GAA, football or hurling. It’s more recognisable and valuable to the association as a brand than Kerry’s green and gold, or Kilkenny black and amber and Tipperary blue and gold.
Part of that is because of the city and its huge number of people, but also it’s because of the blood and sweat of the men who wore that blue. And partly, also, because so many other counties, in desperation and vengeance, have continually wished that jersey to meet with defeat.
The Dublin jersey is hoisted above all others.
The Dublin jersey is like no other and, secretly, very secretly I know... but I believe every other footballer in the country would
not say ‘No’ to wearing it just once in his lifetime.
This is not about Diarmuid Connolly anymore. It’s about the blue No.12 jersey and the No.14 jersey that Connolly has been fortunate to be handed in the dressing-room more than any other number in his Dublin career.
The No.12 has Dave Hickey’s and Ciaran Duff’s DNA in it, and some mightier men who came before them. Hickey and Duff were no angels, granted, but both served that jersey rather than be served by the jersey.
The No.14 jersey is made from the DNA of Kevin Heffernan and Jimmy Keaveney, and is now being served by Barney Rock’s son, Dean – both Barney and Dean lucky to have both been given that opportunity in life.
Every Dublin jersey tells its own incredible story.
It is unfortunate if that is not understood by Gavin and his gang of helpers, and it is unforgivable that they would stand that jersey down — put it out of sight of their own supporters and football fans in awe all around the country — in order to hopelessly defend the name of one amongst them, whether that name is good, bad or indifferent.