As I was driving into Blarney town this evening, I heard a small crowd cheering. Like a moth to a flame, I followed my ears to a park block in the center of town, lined by the main streets. An adult soccer tournament was taking place, and adoring fans surrounded the periphery of the match. I couldn't pass up the opportunity to watch a community game before the World Cup tonight... nor the chance to try out action photography. I super illegally parked on the roadside--along with everyone else--and got out to watch.
It became pretty apparent that this was a town event. Clearly the family of the players made up a good portion of the crowd, but judging from the size of the town, this was the Saturday night activity. See and be seen. It was really fun to see the kids playing around on the sidelines with soccer balls, shadowing their dads/uncles/heroes.
In addition to kids kicking around soccer balls, I also saw a few knocking around a leather ball with wooden paddles. Not knowing what this cross between field hockey and lacrosse was, I asked the guy standing next to me. We'll call him Paddy for stereotype, and because I didn't ask his name in reality.
Paddy said that it was hurling! (Ah, hurling!) But then he tried explaining the rules, and just ended up resorting to, "You'll just have to watch the game." I guess the barber wasn't the only one to have difficulty describing the game. There's a huge game between Limerick and Cork tomorrow, but it's sold out. I'll have to make a point of making it to a game at some point. And then trying to explain the rules to someone else.
When I asked Paddy if he thought Gaelic games could be an Olympic sport, he responded, "Naw, it’s not internationally played. But you follow your county’s team, and when your county is in a match, your heart bursts wit' pride."
Paddy explained the current soccer game to me: apparently there's a town-wide tournament, and the two teams playing tonight came from a pub (he gestured to one of the pubs lining the main street) and a filling station (gas station?) "a few streets over." I was instructed to root for the light blue team.
But then I posed a critical question: "Which do you like better: soccer or hurling?" Either out of indecision or political correctness, he said, "Well, I like bot' of them. I played them m'self growing up." And why didn't he play anymore? Bad knees. But "I coach my two younger sons' soccer teams! I used to coach my oldest son's soccer team, but recently he's been a tad rebellious and has moved to hurling." *sigh* Them teen years.
The end of the game eventually came, with our team winning 3-2 (that's right, my team!). Paddy pointed to his two friends on the team and remarked that he wished he could join them, but after 35 (the lower age limit for the division) you feel every knock and dive more severely the next day.
At that moment, Paddy got a twinkle in his eye and jumped in to intercept the ball being passed between his younger sons. I waved and said goodbye, not wanting to stand in the way between him and proving to his sons--and himself--that he could still dribble and dance with the best of them... at least at the (very) local level.
It became pretty apparent that this was a town event. Clearly the family of the players made up a good portion of the crowd, but judging from the size of the town, this was the Saturday night activity. See and be seen. It was really fun to see the kids playing around on the sidelines with soccer balls, shadowing their dads/uncles/heroes.
In addition to kids kicking around soccer balls, I also saw a few knocking around a leather ball with wooden paddles. Not knowing what this cross between field hockey and lacrosse was, I asked the guy standing next to me. We'll call him Paddy for stereotype, and because I didn't ask his name in reality.
Paddy said that it was hurling! (Ah, hurling!) But then he tried explaining the rules, and just ended up resorting to, "You'll just have to watch the game." I guess the barber wasn't the only one to have difficulty describing the game. There's a huge game between Limerick and Cork tomorrow, but it's sold out. I'll have to make a point of making it to a game at some point. And then trying to explain the rules to someone else.
When I asked Paddy if he thought Gaelic games could be an Olympic sport, he responded, "Naw, it’s not internationally played. But you follow your county’s team, and when your county is in a match, your heart bursts wit' pride."
Paddy explained the current soccer game to me: apparently there's a town-wide tournament, and the two teams playing tonight came from a pub (he gestured to one of the pubs lining the main street) and a filling station (gas station?) "a few streets over." I was instructed to root for the light blue team.
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| The true Irishman doesn't flop. #11 is a true Irishman. |
But then I posed a critical question: "Which do you like better: soccer or hurling?" Either out of indecision or political correctness, he said, "Well, I like bot' of them. I played them m'self growing up." And why didn't he play anymore? Bad knees. But "I coach my two younger sons' soccer teams! I used to coach my oldest son's soccer team, but recently he's been a tad rebellious and has moved to hurling." *sigh* Them teen years.
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| The crowd gasped; would this goal attempy tie the game? |
The end of the game eventually came, with our team winning 3-2 (that's right, my team!). Paddy pointed to his two friends on the team and remarked that he wished he could join them, but after 35 (the lower age limit for the division) you feel every knock and dive more severely the next day.
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| Looks like their keeper took a few pointers from Tim Howard. |
At that moment, Paddy got a twinkle in his eye and jumped in to intercept the ball being passed between his younger sons. I waved and said goodbye, not wanting to stand in the way between him and proving to his sons--and himself--that he could still dribble and dance with the best of them... at least at the (very) local level.
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