KEY POINTS:
Now dere's a foine t'ing; faith and begorrah and all those other things that Irishmen never say.
Vince Hogan's excoriating column ("All Blacks aura can't mask their own failings", Irish Independent, November 10) is a wonderful example of self-flagellation and blame-shifting.
We know, all of us, that
the Irish are among the world's most charming and hospitable people with a hugely developed sense of fun. We should be so good.
But Vince, apparently, can't stomach the "bullying gene" in our rugby and the All Blacks' "robotic nature" off the field when they are not being brutes on it. He also has a good laugh every time we fall flat on our faces in the World Cup. Quite right, Vince, we're starting to laugh at it ourselves and it's only taken 20 years...
He's also right in his jibe that New Zealanders tend to be a bit dour and adversarial in our sport _ even if it smacks of the frustration of a man whose rugby team, though brave, are ordinary on the world stage.
But the Irish are always ready for a party even though they win bugger-all. Nothing. Zero. Nil. Zip. Nada. What Kelly shot at. If there was a World Cup of partying, the Irish would win it every year, falling flat
on their faces too but for different reasons.
Vince's piece shouldn't be taken too seriously, just like those last few sentences. His was a nice piece of writing and genuinely funny in parts and he makes some valid points. See, I told you that throat-slitting gesture in Kapa o pango was a lapse in taste and would be taken wrongly...
But there are a couple of sections where Vince's humour gets a bit, well, like a man who's had too much Guinness and is looking for a good place to park his bile.
New Zealanders should be religious about their rugby, he says, "because it's pretty much all they've got. Take golfer Michael Campbell out of the equation and exactly what else do they bring to mainstream sport on the global stage?"
Gee, I dunno, Vince. Heard of Peter Snell? Or Murray Halberg? Peter Blake, maybe? Richard Hadlee? Danyon Loader? John Walker? Ian Ferguson? Our legion of world champion and Olympic medallist rowers? I'm struggling to recall a great America's Cup Irishman. Or a great Irish cricketer. Or world-class Irish rugby players once you get off the fingers of one hand; or a great Irish Olympian. Oh, that's right. Michelle
Smith. Ah, yes, three gold medals and a bronze in Atlanta 1996 _ all still intact even though she was banned for four years over a drugs test, effectively ending her career.
In a moment of high comedy, Smith sat on the toilet, wearing a bulky sweater while drug testers hovered. She presented a sample which was found to contain so much Irish whiskey that the person who passed it should have been dead.
The presence of all that alcohol has never been explained and there is no truth in the rumour that a cocktail called a Mickey Smith was invented _ eight parts Irish whiskey, two parts pee; which has to be skolled while sitting down, wearing a cardy, hiding a bottle underneath so it can't be seen, arguing that black is white and feeling victimised.
You see, Vince, there's not a lot of point in shoving a pointed stick in New Zealand's ear about lack of impact on the global sports stage. Here's a couple of statistics. Population of Ireland: 4.4 million. Population of New Zealand: 4.3 million. Olympic medals won by Ireland since 1928 (when they competed separately and not as part of Britain) eight gold, six silver and seven bronze (total: 21). NZ Olympic medals in the
same period: 36 gold, 15 silver, 35 bronze (total: 86).
By my count, that makes New Zealand about four times better on the only global, multi-sport stage that really offers a comparison. Huh. Go figure. Maybe we should have been on the lash or bombing the bejesus out of each other in a religious war so we developed a black sense of humour instead of focusing on winning at sport.
Vince also devoted a decent drone to the Tana Umaga-Keven Mealamu tackle on Brian O'Driscoll in 2005 _ demonstrating a darker side to the Irish psyche; the ability to keep a grudge alive for all time.
That was also shown by his chagrin that New Zealand rugby fans don't think very much of Ronan O'Gara, idolised in Ireland. New Zealanders fell about laughing when Eddie O'Sullivan, one of 753 coaches on the 2005 Lions tour here said O'Gara had provided a masterclass against Bay of Plenty _ the opening game of the tour when it became obvious even then that the Lions would go home skinned.
Let's be clear. Ronan O'Gara is a fine kicker of the ball. That's it. There is no more. Otherwise, he is to five-eighths play what the Smurfs are to ballet.
Vince demonstrates the essential dichotomy of the Irish in his stark portrayal of New Zealanders. Behind all the cliches of the gaiety, the music, the singing, the wonderful sense of humour and the craic can lie a blackness of spirit; the ability to concoct a drama out of thin air; a sense of victimisation and unrequited revenge.
As the Irish poet Brendan Behan once said: "If there were only three Irishmen left in the world, you'd find two of them off in a corner talking about the other one."
Only the Irish could invent a bitter-sweet, funny-sad curse like this one: "May the curse of Mary Malone and her nine, blind, illegitimate children chase you so far over the hills of Damnation that the Lord himself cannot find you with a telescope."
No, give me the arrogance of winners _ God knows, New Zealand sport needs more of it _ and the severe focus required to win at sport any day; rather than some misguided code of gentlemanly spirit which lapses into dark contemplation of the evils of life when your rugby team doesn't win anything.
