Makings Of A Tipperary Hurling Star

Makings Of A Tipperary Hurling Star
[Short Story From Poet & Author Tom Ryan].

In the ‘Watery Mall’, when Tipperary prepare to take to the field, in an inter-county encounter, the fever and the sweat and commotion that builds up in the area a week before the game, is akin to the lads of the Curragh Command preparing for an invasion from Mars at a minute’s notice. All earthly matters are inconsequential then, the game is the thing.

For at least a week in advance the boys of the old brigade in Thurles and district (in another country they would have won Purple Hearts for devotion above and beyond the call of duty), discuss the game in a manner to suggest that anything less than victory will result in such immediate and terrible war and want in the county, that no man has ever seen or heard; whence this feverish love of the caman of Cuchulainn?

In County Tipperary victory is victory to be taken with a pinch of salt, but defeat has the same effect as ten bad doses of the hard stuff, on the bodeily system. Defeat signals the end of the world, for hurling is our world, and we measure the worth of a man, at all times, by his prowess in pucking a ball into the net or preventing another man from doing the same, depending on his position on the field. Although many a player is said to have got confused on that issue.

Contrary to popular notion babies in Tipperary are NOT born with a mini-caman in their mouths. I would dispel that highfalutin’ notion immediately. But it is generally conceded that the pacing and panting father-to-be in the maternity hospital is known to bolster his courage and confidence, on the big day by squeezing a tan ball in his fist (the left one, as in hurling, unless a ciotog).

The baby’s christening shawl is said to be of a blue and gold hue in certain parishes of great fidelity to the game. Blue and Gold are the primary colours in Tipperary, and many a Premier County Man gave half his breath for them in junior games, suit-length tournaments, county and inter county championships and in friendlies that are not as sociable as made out.

In Tipperary educational circles, while the parents are the first educators and teachers and many a parent takes up the training of the hurler-to-be from the age of one year and four months, nevertheless, it is consensus opinion that the Christian Brothers school field and the parish hurling grounds will serve the young fellow’s educational requirements best. Hence, after a brief period of poking a ball around the convent school yard in Junior and Senior Infants, the ‘Star–To-Be‘ graduates to the National School inter-class leagues and thence to the inter-schools tournaments, where he is subjected to his first major test as a man.

As a member of the under 10 team he will be expected to earn his first medal for the school, like his father before him. Failure to win this medal could ensure that the wee fella’s supplies of videos, crisps or Mars Bars and lemonade are frozen for a week to restore his sense of priorities. For it is always the television or the computer games that are apportioned blame for defeat; and very far from the telly the wee lad’s father was reared, his innocent assured.

From an early age the ‘Star-To-Be’ is taught the Tipperary anthem – “Sliabh-na-mBan,” and encouraged to read the GAA columns in the “Tipperary Star”, which paper’s reporters will have a decided say in the matter of whether he will, in later years, be a county prospect or just another mere mortal; like you and me.

Many a youngster will at some future time earn glory, not in the Stock Exchange or in ambassadorial circles, but in the blue and gold colours on the green battle ground in Croke Park, Dublin on some Sunday in September. For ‘tis to that goal that the hurler’s life has been directed since he uttered his first word “ta” (abbreviation for tan ball). If the little fella fails to make the county colours he is certainly not exempt from duty to the blue and gold and he will be expected to stoutly and solemnly stand by the colours on all hurling occasions and to “folly the boys” that have been honoured by the selectors.

When he weds, his wife will be expected, especially if she comes from a non-hurling county, to dutifully wrap up his ham and eggs and lettuce sandwiches on the night before a big game and to get ‘Hubbie’ up for first Mass on the morning of a big match, which same ‘Hubbie’ has been playing and replaying in his local hostelry the night before.

Hurling is in the blood and bones of us Tipperary “Stonethrowers” and it would be better by far if a Tipp man married a hurling county lassie. Otherwise, divorce is a possibility in a marriage where one partner is not conversant with the caman (latter Irish for hurl).
My missus, who hailed from a football parish in Dublin laughed when I told her that our marriage and hurling were to be joint and equal partners. Early on she had been sounding out Tipp topics; for friends observed her on numerous occasions, in the vicinity of Semple Stadium; and guess the colours of her new hat!