Goddammit, nobody likes to be condescended to from on high by a visibly superior master-race.
Particularly since Ulstermen and women seem pathologically incapable of displaying humility at times of triumph. Their chests swell with pride at their achievements, while they whack on about their glories being the result of hard work, industriousness, efficiency, self-sacrifice, abstinence and all those other virtues deemed to be chronically beyond the reach of the feckless booze-soaked Southerner. What makes it all the more galling is that, deep down, we know they’re absolutely correct.
Are Northerners innately better footballers? Of course not. Do they work harder, train harder, get out of bed that crucial hour earlier? In short, do they care more? Very clearly, they do. To put it bluntly, it matters that bit more to them. This is why they keep winning. There are any number of socio-political reasons why this situation has arisen: partition, and the bloody civil conflict, has almost certainly played a huge part. Gaelic football is utterly central to Northern nationalist identity in a way that could never hope to be replicated in the Free State.
And while it never pays to generalise, there are physical factors at work that go far beyond the convenient ‘they out-fouled us’ rationalisations: Ulster teams approach the man-to-man confrontations with far greater relish. True, Armagh at their meanest have often displayed a tendency to stretch the rulebook as far as it will bend, following through with the open hand into the opponent’s face, on or off the ball – but no-one can seriously accuse Tyrone of systematic foul play, and much of their football against Kerry on All-Ireland day was quite beautiful.
At any rate, no-one taking a cold hard look at the present-day power-balance in Gaelic football can blind themselves to Ulster’s complete dominance. Even the traditional lightweights – Cavan and Fermanagh – have mutated into forces you wouldn’t want to meet down a dark alley, while the superpowers – Tyrone and Armagh – have attained a level of supremacy that only Kerry on a good day can hope to live with. Lord knows, the Dubs tried. I’m not fully over it yet, but in retrospect, Dublin were truly heroic in pushing Tyrone as hard as they did. When the dust settled after the replay, it became evident that the Leinster title was something to build on, that this spirited and passionate team has its best days still to come.
The All-Star selections raised a few eyebrows: all fifteen were from Kerry, Tyrone and Armagh. There’s no question that these three are currently leaps and bounds ahead of the other 29 counties, but certainly Laois’s Ross Munnelly had righteous cause to feel aggrieved at his omission, as did Derry’s Paddy Bradley.
As for the International Rules fiasco, the less said the better. The series’ future is worth fighting to preserve, but one more horror show like this year’s will finish it off. Much of the Aussie ‘tackling’ was of a brutality and savagery sufficient to warrant police intervention, if not jail sentences. A mutually understood set of rules would help: there are too many grey areas at present in which the Aussies’ uncompromising win-at-all-costs mentality can flourish. No, I’m not bitter. Bastards.