I confess to being a true sports fan, but I do not consider myself a true fanatic. Though I grew up supporting and continue to support all Cleveland sports teams, I maintain a healthy perspective; a Browns loss does not ruin my day or week. Call that self-preservation or simply the desire to stay psychologically positive, I see this as a good thing and feel bad for those afflicted.
As a genuine sports fan, I take pleasure in watching all of the sports. My interest spans the seasons: in the Summer, I attend Minor League baseball games; in the Fall, I enjoy high school and college football and field hockey; in the Winter, I attend women’s college ice hockey games; and in the Spring, I often find myself at local lacrosse games or track meets.
My enthusiasm even extends to the most random sporting events; I search for the most obscure sports on the most obscure NBC sub-channels during the Olympics and have paid extra for cable channels that broadcast Indian Premier League cricket and Aussie Rules Football. Each year, I am happy to wake up at 4:00 AM to catch the early rounds of the Open Championship, even if it means sitting through far too frequent commercial breaks between shots of Marcel Sim putting for par.
No matter the sport or how little I know about the teams or even the rules, I find myself rooting for a side or player within minutes of watching. I get so involved that I will yell for a foul during a water polo match from my couch, even though I am not sure if it is even possible to travel while treading water.
I was recently in Ireland for a couple weeks in November and fell hard for the Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) end of season championships.
Flying into Dublin from Boston with friends who play and watch GAA games from the US, they had already lined up tickets for the Ulster GAA Football Intermediate Club Quarterfinal between Carrickmacross and Naomh Columba that Saturday afternoon. We drove the rental car up the coast to Inniskeen, in County Monaghan, parked in the unpaved car park, grabbed a hot tea and bag of crisps from the concession and found a few seats in the stands.
Before this, I had never watched Gaelic Football and had no idea about the rules, whether dribbling was part of the game or discouraged, or how scoring worked. To get oriented, I looked up both teams and their locations and chose to support Naomh Columba since they're based in Donegal, which is near where we planned to stay for a few weeks. The crowd was evenly split because both teams had traveled; playoff matches take place at neutral venues. The young Carrickmacross supporters were particularly enthusiastic, shouting encouragement to their favorite players, waving an enormous team flag that dwarfed the ten-year-old holding it, and erupting in cheers every time their team scored, which happened frequently. Unfortunately, my chosen team struggled and suffered a decisive defeat.
After the game, we drove to the Inishowen peninsula in County Donegal, passing through Northern Ireland before returning to the Republic. This geographic quirk means the town we were staying in is north of Northern Ireland. The following morning, we visited the Shoe & Sports Store in Carndonagh to purchase GAA equipment so we could support the county and local teams during the upcoming Championship weekend.
The following Saturday, we spent the day along the Antrim Coast in Northern Ireland, had pints at the Boyd Arms in Ballycastle and finished the day just outside (London)derry for the Ulster GAA Hurling Senior Club Championship Semi Final between Noamh Eoin and Setanta. Hurling might be my favorite Gaelic sport because it's lightning fast, players can score from nearly anywhere on the pitch and you can hear the hits from every seat. Players use an ash stick (hurl) to hit a ball (sliotar), wearing only a modified hockey helmet for protection, and surprisingly, most have all of their teeth and fingers intact. Noamh Eoin (Irish for "Saint John") from Belfast started strong and kept building on their lead and ended up not being a close match. Since I wasn't rooting for either team, I didn't feel particularly excited or disappointed, but my favorite moment came while I was taking photos on the far side of the pitch, away from the main stands. The men who congregated there were clearing in either self-managed isolation or kicked out of the stands by their families for crude language were delivering some of the rudest, filthiest, unrepeatable things in their thick Irish accents that made me laugh out loud more than once.
Our last GAA match of the trip was the following day in Enniskillen for the Ulster Ladies Football Senior Club Championship Final between Errigal Ciaran from Tyrone and St. Ergnat’s from Moneyglass in Antrim. This being a final, I wasn’t allowed to bring in my camera, but the match was heated. St. Ergnats, acting quite unsaintly were the more physical side, giving up penalties throughout the game, even in the dying seconds, but was victorious either way to earn their first Ulster senior club title. Young supporters lined the fence and were allowed to rush the field at the final whistle to celebrate with their heroes.
These small town events were full of families, old timers who wore the same colored jerseys in their younger days, men just past their prime hold babies in onesies that match the players on the field, and young boys and girls run around the pitch with their faces painted and scarves hoping to one day represent their club on the senior team.
As a true sports fan, I’m going to have to figure out how to watch more GAA games even if they’re on an obscure sub-channel at obscure times.
