by
Norman Freeman

Ritual Clash of the Ash

Believe it or not, but some good has come out of that dreadful row at the Laois hurling final between Castletown and Camross. It beamed a spotlight on a traditional activity that has been part and parcel of the hurling scene, namely ‘sprocking’.

Sprocking, as it is known in those parts, sometimes occurs when selectors, mentors, bottle carriers and even managers from rival sides get into rows on the sidelines. They are carrying spare hurleys. One word leads to another and then the combatants try to intimidate one another by brandishing the hurleys. Sometimes they swing the hurley to scare their opponent; other times they swing it to keep him at a distance. That is what sprocking is all about.

The threatening hurleys are not intended to inflict injury. They can be shaken menacingly in the face of the disliked person. The hurley can be poked towards the body of the rival to give timbered emphasis to some point being made verbally.

The trouble is that sometimes things get out of hand and someone gets a gashed head or bruised ribs. Then it’s all over the media. If someone has caught it on TV camera or video the incident is shown again and again; a fellow in soiled runners and tracksuit bottoms felling a red-faced man in a crumpled brown suit. Both clubs become embroiled. There are rows at rancorous meetings of the county board. Legal actions are threatened. The whole hurling scene is brought into disrepute.

For that reason, a group of people got together in the Montague Hotel just outside Portlaoise to draw up a set of regulations governing the practice of ‘sprocking’. The feeling was that it should be made more civilised in the same way as bare-knuckle boxing was given respectability by the use of boxing gloves and adherence to the Queensbury rules.

From now on, those mentors and bottle carriers who have become addicted to sprocking will be able to practise their skills in an enclosed area, of much the same dimensions as a boxing ring. Under the rules, contestants must give an undertaking that there has to be no intention of landing a blow on the noggin of the opponent.

What is allowed is that the hurley can be poked forward and swung. Blows can be parried. The hurley can be twirled this way and that, with the holder prancing and feinting, just like fencers with rapiers at the Olympic games. And protective hand-gear can be worn..

The objective, under the refined rules, is to damage or even smash the hurley of the opponent rather than raise a lump on his cloigeann or to skin his knuckles. The hurleys being used must not have bands or tapes on them. What the spectators will look forward to is hearing the clash of the ash seeing it being splintered, with broken pieces of hurley flying all round.

At the end of three minutes the referee blows his whistle. He then enters the ring to see whose hurley has come off the worst.

Actually, there is nothing really new about this. In medieval times men carried long staves and were adept at using them both for attack and defence. Stave contests were the highlight of medieval tournaments. Combatants became expert at rapid poking. A favourite gambit was to bring the butt of the stave down hard on the toes of the opponent. When he doubled up in pain he got a good whack on the back of the neck.

The Montague meeting also drew up rules of eligibility. Only genuine managers, mentors, bottle men would be allowed to go forward to defend the honour of the team and the little village.

One contentious matter was the question of who was entitled to nominate the sprocker. After a heated debate it was decided that only the members of the senior hurling panel would have the right.
What made some delegates uneasy was that this right could well be used by players to revenge themselves on those particular men on the sideline who was always castigating them. These are the fellows who are going about roaring and shouting. What is meant to be encouragement easily descends into abusive criticism.
“Will you watch your man, for fuck’s sake.”,
“Come on John, get stuck in. What are you afraid of?”

It could end up with the players laughing and cheering to see their own nominee being bested, back-pedalling round the ring, being pursued by the swinging hurl of his opponent. This would be a great source of hilarity. You could imagine them shouting with great glee.
“Get stuck in, you cowardly bollix,”
“Come on out of that, don’t be holding back”

Just imagine the scene! A major inter-county hurling game in Portlaoise. Big crowd. All the usual cheering and encouragement. Referee blows his whistle for half- time. As soon as the two teams are at the doors of the dressing rooms six or seven fellows in tracksuits come racing out into the centre of the pitch. Into the damp ground they press four sticks at four corners. They then speedily string thin lengths of plastic ribbon between the sticks.

Then, over the public address system comes the announcement that Mick So-and-So and Paddy So- and-So are to confront one another, hurley in hand for a three-minute bout of sprocking.

To roars of delight from the crowd, two overweight men of advanced middle age come trundling onto the pitch. The referee calls the players to the centre of the ring, reminding them of the rules and then saying “OK – let’s have a good sporting contest.” Then he leaps to safety out of the ring, blows his whistle and, with a huge roar from the spectators, the sprocking match begins.