McCLEAN HAS EARNED THE RIGHT TO BE HEARD
THESE accounts are shared in a spirit of enlightenment. It is important to apply that caveat, as too many in journalism lapse into helplessness and selfpity when confronted by the obstacles serried before contemporary sportspeople. So the following examples are not
cris de coeur but rather explanatory notes that will hopefully serve to illustrate what an authentically interesting and singular figure James McClean is in Irish sport.
The Derryman has taken predictably heavy criticism for objecting to the nature of some of the fury directed at the Ireland team since the thrashing they took from Denmark on Tuesday night.
It was not in the least surprising to see McClean stand up for himself or his teammates, though, because he has an honourable record in doing what he believes to be right — as this month reminds us every year.
First, though, it is worth instancing examples of other Irish sporting figures and how their real views are withheld or obscured in a culture where the projection of a carefully tailored image trumps just about everything else.
Some years ago, before Kilkenny played an All-Ireland Under 21 final, one of their players was presented for interview along with someone from the opposing team. These are young men, often still in their teens or at most not long out of them, and it would be unfair to expect fluency or strident views.
However, the subject on this day was particularly reticent and in an attempt to move the conversation on to lighter ground, he was asked about Brian Cody, under whom he played as part of the senior side.
At mention of the great man’s name, the young Kilkenny star visibly blanched and did not say a thing. In fact, rather than words he communicated his refusal to even address the Cody topic by waving his hands, like an umpire urgently signalling a wide. His reaction spoke to the ascetic circumstances in which Cody built the outstanding sporting culture of modern Ireland: talk was discouraged. Action was all that mattered.
That code persisted for two decades, and was only recently breached by the autobiography of Jackie Tyrrell. But it was also indicative of an environment in which sportspeople will avoid an opinion or statement that has not first been carefully rinsed.
The second example is also from the Gaelic games sphere, and relates to the Dublin footballers. Some years ago, a colleague asked a player on PR duty if he would fill in a questionnaire of the kind that asks for ideal dinner dates, favourite movies, and other gently diverting queries.
The player readily obliged, but when the form was eventually returned, some answers had been crossed out or amended by a media handler.
When an amateur sportsperson cannot be trusted to freely share their favourite food or desert island discs, a stark but accurate impression of the prevailing thinking can be formed.
Kilkenny and Dublin are two of the most successful teams in the history of Irish sport, and their advocates will argue they represent themselves through excellence on the playing field.
That is certainly true, but beyond their supporters, the impression of both groups is of bland, ruthless movements with whom people struggled to make a connection.
James McClean, conversely, is the most opinionated member of a hapless side still smarting from the mother of all beatings they took five days ago.
Many who have objected to his defence of the national team against some of the wilder criticism directed at them, feel McClean’s right to self-defence has been compromised because Ireland failed against Denmark.
But players can both fail and have an opinion, and no figure in Irish soccer has earned that right more than McClean.
He has now taken over from Jon Walters as the most inspiring figure available to Martin O’Neill, and his importance will only grow as Walters and others slip into retirement in the coming months.
In objecting to certain comments as ‘bang out of order’, McClean opened himself to a fresh barrage, but the barbs of disgruntled soccer fans is as nothing compared to the abuse he receives every November.
This is the time of year when modern Britain is seized by a poppy fervour, and a public figure not wearing one faces the wrath of a kind of nationalism that seeks to make England small and shrunken.
McClean refuses to succumb nonetheless, and is now a reliable figure of hate as a result. The courage to speak out is nothing new to him, but he should be commended for it.
Saying nothing is the easy way out. He chooses otherwise.