A Mother's Love...for Tickets

by guest author Maria Shanahan

3 days before the match, Dublin is enjoying its own mini Indian Summer while the rain is threatening ruin on the Listowel Races. My mother is walking around Dun Laoghaire with a Kerry scarf around her neck, a stash of All Ireland tickets in her handbag, and casting furtively suspicious looks at anyone who walks too close to her. You could leave them in your safe at home, I point out helpfully. “They’re safer on me than in the house! What if we got burgled?!”, she scoffs, completely rational.

My formidable mother has hunted and gathered no less than 7 tickets this year, 2011, the Kerry Dublin final for which we anticipated all manner of beg, borrow, stealing and little reward. Now that (mum‘s) hard work is done we can abandon the usual annual anxiety and look forward to the match. A rare luxury for this family, and one that doesn’t sit too well.

A Kerry family, transplanted to Wicklow and then Dublin, we have grown up going to Kerry matches. There has never been a question of loyalty. We are Kerry fans. And yet, though I value my neck (and more importantly, my ticket) too dearly to tell her, my mother might be the only one unswayed by the blue flags adorning every lamppost in sight and the tangible sense of the inevitable, emanating from the Dubs. Wouldn’t it be nice for them, a tiny voice whispers in my head, it’s been so long, it would mean so much to them. I smother the tiny voice, lest the boss hear its mutiny. But my rational mind wonders… What would it mean to us? Have we anything to prove or is it another win, just for the sake of it? It’s not as if we’re playing Tyrone, no ‘that’s for another day’, says Jack O’Connor. I look to my mother for motivation and her eyes glint with no lack of conviction.

“Well! There’s their style of play! [alright]. There’s the older players! They need medals, [regardless of how many they already have?] they may not BE here next year. If we win….WHEN we win, there’ll be no debating that Colm Cooper is the best footballer ever. [she’s right] There’s the fact that the Dubs are so full of themselves! [not sure what she’s talking about here] The Kerry players will be undaunted by playing in front of all those mad Dub supporters, in fact, they’ll enjoy it! [Her voice lowers as she leans in] And they’ve always looked down on us, with that Culchie/Jackeen crap. How much more culchie can you get than Kerry?! The nerve of them… [I fear I’m losing her now].”

My rational mind is unconvinced. But what has rationality ever had to do with All Ireland finals? My mother’s loyalty to the team is entirely irrational, unconditional and limitless. Sophisticated South Dublin woman that she’s become, she would fish-hook Paul Galvin himself for tickets. Her mention of the Gooch reminds me of my own passion. No this is not a Sinead O’Connor style declaration of love but rather one of admiration. Regardless of Sunday’s result, Colm Cooper’s skill is undeniable and all the more remarkable for its unassuming vessel. Who would look at this ordinary, skinny young man and guess that he is the best Gaelic footballer on the planet? In a world obsessed with appearance and the belief that everything can be bought, talent like this cannot.

My interest in spectator sports is limited to GAA for this very reason. They work so hard for so little. I particularly appreciate their commitment this year as I find myself working as an unpaid intern with growing concerns for my ability to stay in Ireland.  GAA players around the country devote decades of their lives to something bigger than themselves because they value it so highly, though it offers them no prospect of financial gain no matter what pinnacle of excellence they reach. How rare. This completely enthrals me.

The level of dedication of our GAA players is unique and admirable and commands loyalty. This Sunday, I will not ask what my team can do for me, I will not demand a spectacle against a treasured foe or disproof of a venomous theory laid down by the media. I will support my team for the individuals they are and the dedication through which they’ve sewn their lives to the sport and culture of the country. My mother has steered me back on track by reminding me of the pride I’ve felt each of the dozens of times I’ve watched this team come out onto a pitch. I can understand the sympathy for the underdog’s blue flags and the distaste for monopoly. Kerry fans may be the only ones in the country cheering for Kerry on Sunday but my mother and I will be among them.

May the best team win.