Former Munster rugby boss Rassie Erasmus could be the biggest obstacle to our World Cup hopes
We have allowed the integrity of Gaelic games to be undermined by unacceptable on-field behaviour
OF ALL the weeks to clamber on the high moral ground, I could have chosen a better one. Last Sunday I got sent off for what I consider only the second time in my career and, no, before you ask, I won’t be lodging an appeal. I got exactly what was coming to me.
It must be something in the air, because I see my old college mate Alan Brogan went down to his own version of scarlet red fever as well.
Grumpy old men at play, then? Perhaps.
I would be proud of my disciplinary record, I got sent off a third time in the 2008 Munster final but in the wrong, and I successfully appealed so I don’t count that. And I was issued a retrospective suspension against Dublin in a League game but the fact that the player I was involved with, Eoghan O’Gara, offered to give evidence on my behalf – accepting all responsibility – meant that, morally, it doesn’t count as a stain.
So that leaves me with two genuine red cards, both playing for An Ghaeltacht and coming 16 years apart. The first one I am going to excuse on the basis that I had the raging hormonal instincts of a bull calf. I will give myself a pardon.
I have been trying to give myself one for what happened last Sunday as well, but then justification is always easier to find than responsibility.
What happened? My former Kerry teammate Kieran O’Leary left his knees into the body of my clubmate Brian Ó Beaglaoich and I lashed out to ensure that I got full value for cashing in my red card. I can argue that I would not have done so had the referee dealt with it and that it was a result of frustration, but two wrongs never made a right so I am not going down that road.
I did not speak to Kieran afterwards, but I will make contact in due course and let him know it was not personal and that will be that. We will move on.
Perhaps, that is the problem with Gaelic football today, we are always moving on and never standing still long enough to let it be seen just what an awful mess our game is in.
That photograph of Seán Cavanagh last weekend might cause us to pause for a moment, but not much longer. The brawl that went viral at a club game between Stewartstown and Strabane was greeted with as much laughter as shock.
Sometimes, when those clips are grabbed by smartphones from the stands, you can hear first-hand the contrasting responses, with some confusing the chaos for entertainment.
What should really freak us out is that other sports would find utterly appalling what we see as being no worse than unfortunate. We need to start looking at this through the eyes of people who do not have the same emotional connection to the GAA.
We need to look at this through the eyes of a parent, who is weighing up what they consider to be a good sport for the mental and physical well-being of their child.
Those shuddering hits and the deep-rooted concern about concussion is turning some parents off rugby. Then they see that photograph of Cavanagh and that frenzied brawl 24 hours earlier in Omagh and when you are left with a choice of two sports, one defined by its discipline and the other defiled by lawlessness, which one are you likely to choose?
When the GAA’s reputation is dragged head-first through the muck, the temptation is to look to Croke Park to do something about it, but that’s a bit like looking out the window when what we need to do is stare in the mirror.
We like to refer to the club as being the heartbeat of our community, something that represents the very best of us. And yet do members of our community, when it is happening outside the gates of our GAA pitches, think it is acceptable to engage in mass brawls on the side of the street?
Many years ago, Manchester United took it on themselves to suspend Eric Cantona for his assault on an abusive Crystal Palace fan. What are the chances of that ever happening in the GAA? Try somewhere between slim and none.
That is at the core of the GAA’s disciplinary chaos. We leave it up to the referees, to disciplinary committees and to the rule-makers to protect the integrity of our games but we do absolutely nothing about it ourselves.
I have seen at first-hand how the game has changed for the worse and how values have been diluted and debased in the process.
When I started out, any time an opponent kicked a point off me he did not celebrate by driving a shoulder into me on the way back out and every time he kicked a wide, I did not repay him with interest by screaming my joy into his face.
That’s par for the course now and it sickens me.
The culture of the game has changed so much that the language is even different now.
When I started out a nice footballer was a compliment. It meant that whoever you were referring to was a skilled player. Today, it’s ‘ah, sure he is just a nice footballer,’ which implies that he is not a blackguard and he is no good as a soldier in our pathetic phoney wars.
Last year, in a county league game, a young fella came on to mark me and started driving into me off the ball. I said to him , “okay, if you want to dance, I will f ***** g dance, but I came here to play ball, what are you here for?”
He could have taken the head off me. Instead, he apologised for his conduct, which set me thinking. Deep down we all still want to play the game but we have allowed a hate-filled culture to dictate that only wimps want to do that and that the real glory in the game is in how far you can stretch the limits in defiling it.
And because of that Seán Cavanagh’s face is just the latest to hang in our gallery of shame.