“Don’t talk to me about abuse.”

IF you wanted to get an insight into some of the peculiarities of human nature all you had to do was to stand inside the famous “blue door” at the back of the old stand at Semple Stadium, Thurles.

Let us imagine the scene. It is the day of the ticket-only big match. Inside the packed ground there is a high-voltage hum of excitement and anticipation. There is hardly a single seat or vantage point left in the stands and terraces by half time in the minor match. The very last tickets have been sold.

Outside the blue door certain individuals stand watchfully. This is the most important point of entry to the entire stadium. It is there for anyone who has a special reason to gain entry without paying. Through it pass the teams, along with managers, mentors and selectors, physiotherapists and humble bottle carriers. So also do the important and indeed the self-important who wear the ‘maor’ badge of authority.

The significance of the doorway is emphasised by the fact that above it is a limestone lintel with the words ‘Geata ‘84’ carved on it, in commemoration of the founding of the GAA in Thurles in the year 1884.

An extraordinary battle of wits is under way. Outside there are those who really have no special right of entry but are nevertheless determined to get in free of charge. They see it as a challenge. They will resort to any stratagem to achieve that end. In addition, there are some others who simply feel entitled to be admitted without going through the turnstyles like everyone else.

These determined people watch the legitimate being admitted through Geata ‘84, sometimes with visible resentment. Some move towards the door whenever it opens. They may try to slip in on the heels of a ‘maor’, almost holding his coattails as a sign of authenticity. Others knock with all kinds of excuses why they should be allowed to go through.

The man who has to unenviable task of acting as guardian of Geata ’84 is a small, robust man with crinkly white hair. He stands on the inside of the door and responds to knocks by opening it cautiously. This is ‘Kinger’ Maher. To be beside him on the day of a jam-packed big match is to see how one of the unsung heroes of the GAA handles difficult choices with both tact and resolve.

There is an urgent rap. The door is opened to reveal a man in a wheelchair who obviously cannot gain entrance through the turnstyles. Fair enough. But no less than four faithful colleagues have their hands somewhere on the frame of wheelchair to denote their concern for the disabled person. “Kinger” looks at these “assistants” with less than approval but lets them all in; he is not going to get into an argument with the custodians of the wheelchair.

Now another knock. A man dressed in a business suit is there, carrying what looks like a doctor’s black medical case. He mutters something about ‘medical officer’ and pushes his way past. Later, that same man can be seen sitting comfortably at the sideline, tie undone, taking sandwiches and flask from the ‘medical’ case.

Outside, there are those who would like nothing better than to be able to boast afterwards at the bar of Hayes’s Hotel: “Oh Jaysus, we got in for nothing. We pretended we were with the Moycarkey Pipe Band.” “Some of those outside have any amount of money, “explains ‘Kinger’. “ Drink, food, hotels, travel – cost is nothing to them. But they won’t part with the price of a ticket. Nothing will do them but to get in free.”

He says that the most difficult cases of all are former hurlers who feel that they have given so much to the game over past years that they now deserve to get in without paying. The problem is that he knows many of them well and it is embarrassing for both. He lets the persistent ones in with a resigned shake of his head.

He knows all the ploys. A fellow knocks at the door, with hurley in hand. This apparently is the favourite hurl of one of the key players, who left it behind on the bus. It must be given to the player personally, in the dressing room. Kinger is doubtful but he lets him through. “It could be a trick but I can’t refuse him - just in case,” he says.

For all his tolerance, he will not let in everyone who has an excuse. Inevitably there are unfriendly exchanges. “You have to be able to put up with abuse in this job,” he says, in his fast Thurles accent. But he can stand his ground if he is pushed hard enough. He comes from a famous family, the ‘Whitehead’ Mahers; they hurled with Thurles Sarfields and were players who were not easily intimidated. More than that, ‘Kinger’ soldiered in the Korean war, survived shot and shell and the most appalling conditions as a prisoner-of-war. So he is not too bothered by verbal brickbats flung in his direction.

The keeper of Geata ’84 passed away on the 11th April this year. There was a minute’s silence in tribute to him before the quarter finals of the hurling league in Semple Stadium on Sunday April 14th. If there is a heaven, as we all hope, this decent man would not have to resort to any ploys to gain admittance through the Pearly Gates.

More entertaining articles from The Squinting Eye...
The Squinting Eye # 3: A Hurling Mystery Solved
The Squinting Eye # 2: Pass the Blessed Ball for God’s Sake!
The Squinting Eye # 1: The Front Teeth Are Gone …