By
Seamus Morris

How must it feel? All those years of preparation, of blood, sweat and tears; countless nights spent on dirty, sweat stained pitches when you could have been participating in some other, more sociable activities. What’s it all about?

In today’s commercially driven world, where money is the end goal in most pursuits, it appears that the lot of the GAA player, more particularly at intercounty level, is at odds with the general trend of things. Why, in God’s name, do they do it? Ridicule is heaped upon many of them; even those who appear to have reached the very pinnacle of their sport are subjected to a tirade of abuse that most professional sportsmen would find unbearable. What’s it all for?

The GAA has always maintained that its games are purely amateur, played for the love of the sport, not the lure of money. Yet in the history of the Association, more particularly in recent times, there has been a contradiction of sorts taking place. The amateur ethos may still be adhered to on the pitch, yet off it, professionalism is hurtling through the GAA at a tremendous rate. The GAA has managed to simultaneously evolve into a ‘professional amateur’ organisation, with the result that a collision of ideologies can surely not be far off.

In the last twenty years the GAA has become sexier, more commercially viable. During that period, attendances have risen, new teams have made the breakthrough into the big time, and media interest has increased substantially. On the pitch, players have taken a massive leap in terms of preparation and fitness, while off it, the GAA has spotted the commercial opportunities and grasped them. The disparity cannot continue.

On Sunday in Croke Park, both Mayo and Kerry will do battle for the Sam Maguire, the biggest prize in Irish sport. Forget about FAI Cup Finals, AIL League finals, Irish Derbies or any other occasion in the Irish sporting calendar; this is the day - the day when close on 80,000 people will take their place and watch, relishing the chance to bear witness to this most sacred of sporting occasions. The stage will be set, presentation will be spectacular, planned down to a tee.

The venue... Croke Park is one of the modern wonders of the sporting arenas in Europe. When finalised, close on 82,500 people will be accommodated, the majority seated, the rest hosted on one of the most modern terraces in the world. The stadium screams modernity, professionalism, excellence. To the uninitiated, this place hosts contests played by full time, paid athletes. The reality is somewhat different.

Currently our top intercounty stars are not making a living from their main pursuit in life. They train three, possibly four nights a week, in some instances for up to ten months of the year. From January and February onwards they are playing matches almost continually, be it challenge, league or championship. Their lives are dominated by either hurling or football, social occasions are usurped by the need to fully prepare themselves for their sport… a hermet-like existence awaits them for as long as they remain in competitive action.

Through this turbulent training and playing programme, our heroes have to somehow fit in the realities of everyday life, such as earning a living. Monday morning, post major championship match, does not entail a relaxing dip in the pool to ease muscles, or a gentle massage by the physio to loosen those aching joints. Nah, rather it entails getting up and enduring the same, monotonous nine to five routine as the majority of the country, struggling to eke out a living as the pace of life increases. Be it spending the day in an office, or walking the beat, or maybe even baling the hay, our top hurlers and footballers become just like us once they leave the field of battle.

So how does this make them feel? When they have left the coliseum that is Croke Park, tasted defeat or victory in front of 80,000 people, been ridiculed or acclaimed, they enter the world of the mere mortal. One minute they are gods, performing feats of bravado on a massive stage, entertaining and exciting thousands of people…for what? What is the payback, even in victory, for our top stars? Is it worth enduring being called a “fu**ing wa**er” by 40,000 people, just because you are adroit at hitting a sliothar over the bar or kicking a ball into the net? Is it worth having your private life strewn all over the Sunday papers on the morning of an All Ireland Final, used as a foil in their attempt to increase sales? When you know that your family, in the stands, are going through agony as you are dragged through the gutter for seventy minutes, ridiculed by people who don’t even know you, the real you, just so they can vent their spleen – is it worth it?

When it’s done, and you have either won or lost, can you, the top GAA star, truly say the mud, sweat, blood, tears, abuse, agony, pain, loss of income, loss of social time, loss of a life; can you truly say that it was worth it? Do you not look around at your surroundings, that beautiful 80,000 capacity Croke Park, and think “I helped build this, and what thanks do I get?” Is it not high time that the bullshit of giving free gear, of giving players pittances for appearing in advertisements, was done away with? Why should the GAA, on the one hand, use these players to build a stadium, fill it to its rafters, yet simultaneously treat them with utter contempt?

Stories abound of players being told to leave the lounge in Croke Park after games, barely having time to get a drink. Stories fly of players not being able to get tickets for big games, whilst other, fairweather “fans”, get their yearly fix of the big event.

So what is it to be? Croke Park was not just built by bricks and mortar. It was the sweat and blood of those players, from Dublin to Derry, Clare to Donegal, who built it. Whilst the scene on Jones’ Road changed, and changed spectacularly, the players were left to stagnate, only slowly making progress in the intervening years. Cork hurlers had to go on strike to get what should have been basic facilities put in place. Players spoke of loss of income, of unfathomable training regimes. Yet the GAA world watched on.

The GPA became a byword for greed in the eyes of many; diehards spoke of selfishness, that the Association wasn’t founded for mercenary means. Rubbish.

The GAA in 1884 was an animal so different from today that it is a different species. Back then games were not as competitive, organised or skilful. Today, it has entered a level of athleticism that even a decade ago was unknown. Look back at the finals of yore that are regurgitated on RTE and TG4 and compare them to today’s… There is no comparison. They are slower, less skilful, and in a way, more innocent. It’s time that people in power realised this and rewarded players accordingly.

On Sunday, when the ball is thrown in, think of what those players from Mayo and Kerry have sacrificed to get to this level. For seventy minutes, they will grace the centre stage, become the focus of attention for a nation, and then disappear from our conscience, back to their homes, their families, their everyday mundane lives. When it is all over, and they are free from the shackles of a competitive season, they will surely sit back, and win or lose, ask themselves “What was it all for?”

Do you know?