Tábhacht an 10 mar Bhall Foirne Rugbaí

Tugadh ceacht eile dúinn an deireadh seachtaine seo caite ar thábhacht an leath-chúlaí amuigh mar bhall foirne rugbaí. Theip ar an Iodáil ó thaobh laige a ndeich, agus ba bheag nár éirigh leis na Sasanaigh nuair a d'imir Owen Farrell i bhfad níos fearr ná mar a shílfeá ab fhéidir leis.

Scríobh scríbhneoir na Breataine Bige tráth go raibh an leath-chúlaí amuigh cosuil le snáthaid mhór ar inneoin sriosta. Is álainn an shamhail í, mar taispeantar go cruinn bua agus baol saothair an leath-chúlaí amuigh. Tá an imirt go léir faoina chumhacht; cosuil leis an Pápa, tá scaoileadh agus chur le cheile aige.

Ach, mar atá an tOllamh Richard Dawkins ag fanacht ar a Naofacht, tá tosaithe na freasúra ag fanacht i gcónaí ar an leath-chúlaí amuigh. Más féidir leis na buachaillí mhóra dul isteach ar an leath-chúlaí amuigh, ina chorp nó, b'fhéidir níos measa arís, ina intinn, beidh a rás rite agus an lá cailte.

Ba léir an dhá thaobh Dé Sathairn i mBleá Cliath agus i Londain. Scríosadh Tobais Botes na hIodáile agus a fhoireann ina dhiaidh, ach d'éirigh Owen Farrell ina fhear in aghaidh an fhoireann is fearr go dtí seo sa gComórtas.

Tá an leath-chúlaí amuigh ina cheannaire foirne ar an bpáirc. Tá an dualgas céanna air mar atá ar an ceathrú-chúlaí sa bpeil Mhéiriceánach. Is féidir leat éirigh nuair nach bhfuil ach leath-chúlaí ceart go leor agat, ach má tá droch-cheann agat tá deireadh leat.

Nuair a thógadh an Iodáil isteach sa gComórtas Cúig Náisiún, mar a bhíodh, bhídís níos fearr ná mar a bhíonn siad anois. Bhíodh Diego Dominguez, imreoir den scoth, acusan ag an am ach, ag breathnú siar, b'fhéidir gur chuir Dominguez cuma bréagach ar chaighdeán rugbaí na hIodáile. Argintíneach ina chónaí san Iodáil ab ea Dominguez agus, nuair a d'éirigh sé ón imirt, bhí an rogha gann go leor ina dhiaidh.

Is deacair gan trua a bheith agat ar Sergio Parisse, fear atá maith go leor le aon foireann sa domhan, ach atá ina aonar ar fhoireann na hIodáile. Cuireann sé Simon Geoghegan in aigne domsa, seoid amháin i measc ceithre ghabhar déag.

Tá daoine ar an tuairim go seasfaidh an bua i gcoinne na hIodáile leis na Gaeil agus iadsan fillte go bPáras an deireadh seachtaine seo. Is soineanta an tuairim sin. Tá an difríocht idir an Iodáil agus an Fhrainc chomh mór leis an difríocht idir Scarlett agus Ingemar Johansson.

Níor imir na Gaeil go maith go dtí an dara leadh Dé Sáthairn, agus croíthe na hIodálach cráite le drochimirt Botes. Roimhe sin, bhí a ndótháin ag na Gaeil leannuint leis na hIodálaigh agus a dtosaithe den scoth. Dá mbeadh na Gaeil chomh mall chun tosú arís, beidh an cluiche thart roimhe scaipeadh na h-óráistí leath-ama, agus níl an cuma céanna ar an gcuairt go Twickenham Lá 'le Phádraig mar bhíodh roimh an Satharn seo caite.

Insults, Books and Colm Tóibín

Colm Tóibín identifies the greatest insult in Ireland as part of the introduction to a piece in last week’s Guardian. He believes it to accuse someone of having no books in their house:

“I remembered smiling to myself when I found an attack by WB Yeats on a group of politicians in Dublin. They were the sort of people, he said, ‘who do not have books in their houses’. In an Irish context, it is hard to think of a greater insult, especially if it were directed at people who had any money at all.”

“In an Irish context, it is hard to think of a greater insult.” This comes as news to your correspondent.

To not have books in your house is not now and certainly never was an insult in Ireland. It might have been among the Celtic Dawn gang like Yeats and Lady Gregory at the end of nineteenth century, but they were touchy anyway. You could easily imagine the drawing of the shillelaghs when George Moore would insouciantly remark how little he cared for AE’s cravat. But for the vast majority of the population, not having books in the house was the very least of their concerns.

Ireland was a peasant society until very recently. It’s not easy to build bookshelves in one-room cabins, and storage is at a premium in the bedsits of Cricklewood and Camden Town.

Although they couldn’t afford books, it is true to say that the old people had huge respect for learning. The notion of learning is very large in Irish culture. Duns Scotus, the medieval philosopher, was on the old five-pound note, and the island of saints and scholars was mentioned by An Taoiseach at Harvard as recently as last week.

One of the pities of Ireland, and one of the reasons, perhaps, why the nation was so easily conquered, was that the saints-and-scholars tradition did not last. When those saints and scholars returned the knowledge they curated back to Europe, the value of knowledge and of learning was not maintained in Ireland.

One hundred years after the Norman Invasion, Ireland was one of few countries in Europe that didn’t have its own university. By the middle of the 13th Century, universities had been founded in Bologna, Cambridge, Modena, Montpellier, Orleans, Oxford, Padua, Palencia, Paris, Salamanca, Siena and Toulouse. In the island of saints and scholars, not a dicky-bird until Trinity was founded in 1592 - the same year Red Hugh O'Donnell escaped from Dublin Castle to start the Nine Years War that ended with defeat and exile after the Battle of Kinsale.

Yet for all that, the respect for learning continued, even through the darkest days of genocide, penal laws, famine and war. The three most respected men of any community were always the priest, the schoolteacher and the doctor, where there was one.

Revisionism dictates this is because those three had power, but there were other figures with power for whom the people cared not a straw – magistrates, policemen and, God forgive them, bailiffs.

Now that we have come up in the world – and we’re not Greece yet – it is still not an insult to say to someone that he or she has no books in his or her house. You could go into any public house in Ireland, turn to the man on the high stool next to you, say you don't think he has any books in his house, and all you will be met with are blank stares and looks pity.

However, if you were to enter the same public house, turn to the man on the next high stool and call him a Tan, you will not be met with blank stares and looks of pity. You will be met with glasses, bottles, fists and boots, possibly all at once.

The sad irony is that this would be a better country if not having books in your house were an insult, and our patriotism went a bit further than booing the English soccer team. Perhaps Colm Tóibín just didn’t want to share that grim reality with the gentle readers of the Guárdián? How discrete of him.

FOCAL SCOIR: I saw a headline on the front of yesterday’s Sunday Times that left me wondering if they carried the Tóibín piece as well. I don’t know if they carried the greatest Irish insult reference in the piece, as I have stopped taking the Sunday Times since they spiked a story about Denis O’Brien for the Irish edition even though it ran in the British - or "mainland" - edition. I now have no newspaper at all to buy on Sunday. No wonder the industry is going belly-up.

Scoth an Heineken, Spreas na Sé Náisiún - Rugbaí na hÉireann ar an dhá Thaobh

Agus na Gaeil teipthe i gcoinne na Breataine Bige, agus teipeadh eile gan amhras i ndán dóibh sa bhFrainc an deireadh seachaine seo chugainn, tá lucht tacaíochta na rugbaí á cheistiú acu féin. Agus 'sé ceann de na ceisteanna a chuirtear, uaireanta mar seo, ná cén fáth go n-éiríonn na Gaeil chomh maith sa gCorrán Heineken agus chomh dona sa gCraobh Sé Náisiún? Cén fáth go bhfuil tír ann cosuil leis an mBreatain Bheag narbh bhféidir rud ar bith a dhéanamh sa gCorn Heineken ach a n-imríonn mar deithe ar an ardán idirnáisiúnta?

Bhí sé deacair dul leis an rugbaí gairmiúla ar dtús in Éirinn, mar is eol ag éinne a gcuimhníonn ar ré Brian Ashton nó Murray Kidd. Ach tháinig an spórt chun cinn nuair a bhunadh an Corn Heineken, agus taitníonn an comórtas sinn leis na Gaeil níos mó ná mar a thaitníonn sé le aon tír eile.

Tá trí chuige na hÉireann 'sna cluichí ceathrú ceannais an Choirn Heineken anois, agus d'imir an ceathrú, Connachta, sa gCorn Heineken don gcéad uair riamh anuraidh. Agus cén fáth mar sin, agus an rugbaí intíre faoi bhláth, go bhfuil na Gaeil tar éis ruaigeadh eile a fháil ón mBreatain Bheag? Cá bhfuil an ceart?

Is dócha gurb scathán breagach ar stadas rugbaí na hÉireann é an Corn Heineken. Is deacair do na Gaeil glacadh le seo, agus na laethanta móra a bhíodh againne ag tacú le Laighin nó Mumha ar thóir an Choirn Heineken i ndúin stáiriúla na rugbaí cosuil le Biarritz, Glouscester, Leicester nó Toulouse leis na blianta. Ach má fheiceann tú níos giorra ar an scéal, tá fáisnéis ann nach raibh gaiscí sa gCorn Heineken, cé go rabhadar geal go leor, chomh sár-gheal sin gur chóir iad a sheinnt ar chlársaigh cheoil mar a sheinntear faoi láthair.

Arís; ní thaitníonn an Corn Heineken níos mó le éinne ná mar a thaitin sé leis na Gaeil. Tháinig sé ag an am ceart do na Gaeil, agus Sráth na hÉireann Uile, an chéad iarracht a rinneadh sa ré gairmiúla, ag titim as a cheile. Bhí an IRFU ar thóir comórtais a bheadh sa dara roinn taobh thiar an cluiche idirnáisiúnta, comórtas nach raibh ann in Éirinn, agus thit an Corn Heineken isteach ina n-ucht acu.

Cuimhnigh gurbh fhéidir leis na Cuigí éirigh mar a d'éiríodar mar ní raibh aon rud eile in iomaíocht leis. Ní raibh sean-chomórtas ann chun tarraigt ar dhilseacht na lucht tacaíochta. Níor tharla seo sa mBreatain Bheag, in a bhfuil an cultúr rugbaí is saibhre sa domhan mór amach ón Nua Sealainn nó an Afraic Theas.

Bhí coimhlint ghearr i rugbaí intíre na Breataine Bige. Deirtear i rith an Dara Cogaidh Domhanda gur thóg máthair mac thuas ar chnoc eigin Neath go dtí go mbreathnóidís beirt ar Swansea á scríosadh ag an Luftwaffe. Tá an coimhlint sin imithe anois, agus tá ar Neath agus Swansea imirt le cheile anois mar "Ospreys." Smaoinigh dá n-iarrfá ar Chill Ceannaigh agus ar Thiobráid Árainn imirt iomána le cheile mar fhoireann measca, báiste mar "Scoth na Siúire," abair - an dtaitníodh sin le mórán sa mbaile?

Tá cultúr rugbaí tíre cosuil le cnoc oighir - ní hé ach cuid beag de atá le feiceáil os comhair na mara. Tá cultúr rugbaí na Breataine Bige laidir go leo. Is oidhreacht na Breataine Bige é an rugbaí, tá sé istigh ina smior acu. Sin buntáiste atá ag an mBreatain Bheag i gcónaí.

Mar níl an rugbaí chomh mór in Éirinn mar a shílfeá. Seo anois a ré óir, níl aon amhras faoi sin. Ach níl an rugbaí i smíor na nGael, mar atá sé sa mBreatain Bheag nó san Afraic Theas nó i mbailte mhóra an rugbaí cosuil le Toulouse nó Gloucester.

Chomh maith le sin, an mbeidh na Gaeil ag éirí chomh maith sa gCorn Heineken mar a shílimid? An mbeadh na ceithre Chorn sin linn mura raibh na imreoirí thar sáile ann, imreoirí cosuil le Rocky Elsom, nó Dougie Howlett, nó Paul Warwick, nó Rua Tipoki?

Tá ré óir an rugbaí in Éirinn sa lá 'tá inniu ann, ach nílim cinnte fós an bhfuil an t-ór chomh geal mar a shílinn. Bhínn ar an tuairim gur chóir do na Gaeil éirí níos fearr, níos mó Craobh na Sé Náisiún a bheith acu agus na h-imreoirí a bhíodh acu le déanaí. Anois, táim ag fiafraigh ar éiríomar chomh maith mar ab fhéidir linn?

Seachas an n-imreoirí idirnáisiúnta, an mbeidh na ceithre Chorn ann, nó an titfeadh na Gaeil ins na babhta ceathrú ceannais, mar a thiteann siad chomh minic sa gCorn Domhanda?

Ábhar smaoineamh, agus sinne ag fanacht go h-uamhanach ar eachtraí sa bhFrainc oíche Dé Sathairn.

Happy Birthday, Charles Dickens

There was a vogue in the second half of the twentieth century to deny that there were such things are great writers or great books. The movement was called deconstructionism – it posited that we could never truly say that any work is great as works of art are too full of the cultural baggage of the age in which they are written. The true worth of the book is buried in so many layers of meaning that it would be impossible to unwrap them.

Each to their own of course, but it’s interesting to note that while Ludwig Wittgenstein became an engineer after he wrote that philosophy had been “solved” as a discipline, none of the deconstructionists left the English departments of their universities to do something else.

No such consistency from the deconstructionists. While they said all the books of the Western canon are rubbish, one way or the other, they also continued in tenured luxury just in case anyone would be dumb enough to think they might enjoy reading Madame Bovary, or learn something about themselves and their lives from reading Great Expectations. The deconstructionists held the pass just as Leonidas held Thermopylae.

Had he been in around in their day, how Charles Dickens, whose two hundredth birthday we celebrate today, would have relished getting stuck into those jokers.

Charles Dickens, the greatest novelist of his day, arguably the greatest novelist in English and among the greatest ever in the discipline in any language, has become a little obscured since the height of his fame and respect.

The restraint of the Victorians is hard to understand in our own Tallaght-fornia-tastic culture. Seven and eight hundred page books intimidate the Xbox generation, and for their fathers, there are memories of all those determinedly worthy and spirit-sappingly grim BBC serialisations of the 1970s.

Happily, one of the features of great art is that you can’t keep a good man down and the current Dickens revival is proof that there is actually such a thing as Art and people will return to it. The novels of Dickens are long of course, but they belt along because they are so powerfully written. Some writers like to say that the process of writing is like opening a vein; Dickens was more inclined to cut off an entire limb, and let words gush out in great gouts of majestic, unmistakable prose.

The chief characteristic of Dickens is the hyperbole. Dickens delighted in a grotesque, skewed sort of exaggeration that is often quite funny but also contains the hard tang of truth. As an example, consult your volume of Nicholas Nickleby and meet Mr Wackford Squeers (Dickens was not one of those authors who picks his character names of out of the phone book), headmaster of Dotheboys Hall in Yorkshire:

Mr Squeers was standing in a box by one of the coffee-room fire-places, fitted with one such table as is usually seen in coffee-rooms, and two of extraordinary shapes and dimensions made to suit the angles of the partition. In a corner of the seat, was a very small deal trunk, tied round with a scanty piece of cord; and on the trunk was perched — his lace-up half-boots and corduroy trousers dangling in the air — a diminutive boy, with his shoulders drawn up to his ears, and his hands planted on his knees, who glanced timidly at the schoolmaster, from time to time, with evident dread and apprehension.

‘Half-past three,’ muttered Mr Squeers, turning from the window, and looking sulkily at the coffee-room clock. ‘There will be nobody here today.’

Much vexed by this reflection, Mr Squeers looked at the little boy to see whether he was doing anything he could beat him for. As he happened not to be doing anything at all, he merely boxed his ears, and told him not to do it again.

Dickens in a nutshell. The depth of detail, the clarity of the picture, the precise delineation of the nasty piece of work that is Mr Squeers, and that marvellous line at the end that is both funny and appalling at the same time. Astonishing talent.

Dickens had lapses of course. Oscar Wilde was correct in his remarks about Little Dorrit – when Dickens wanted to get sentimental he laid it on with a trowel – but what a powerful writer Dickens was when the force moved in him.

Dickens himself fell on hard times as a child when his father was sent to debtors’ prison, and he never forgot that. Dickens is a celebrant of life and of humanity in its many different forms, but as well as this celebration of the world Dickens’ books seethe with a barely suppressed fury at the injustice that man visits to man, either through workhouses, courts of chancery, Utilitarianism and, most common of all, snobbery.

The passionate beliefs, the powerful prose style, the rich characterization and the fascination with and celebration of the world all make Charles Dickens the greatest of novelists. David Copperfield was Dickens own favourite and it’s marvellous of course (with a pertinent lesson for our current austere times) but your correspondent’s own favourite is Great Expectations, a book about what it is to come up in the world and what you learn about yourself, for good or ill, during that rise. Enjoy.

Magdagate: Another Mortal Wound for Irish Journalism

You can’t have a democracy without a free press. The biggest danger to Irish sovereignty isn’t the bailout; it’s the absence of a free and functioning press.

Why do you need a free press? You need a free press to hold the powerful to account. To tell people what their leaders are doing and saying on their behalf, to interpret it, to encourage discussion and to ensure that, when the people go to the polls, they are as informed as they can possibly be.

The Irish media are failing badly in this regard. Because the country is so small, it’s always been difficult to have a fully impartial media. Unfortunately, the past year has seen such a calamitous fall in standards that it is now at a stage where the main check to governance of the country is hors de combat, and that is a crisis in any democracy.

RTÉ let itself down on the double. Firstly, the extraordinary libel of Father Kevin Reynolds on Prime Time, and secondly, the scuppering of the Seán Gallagher Presidential campaign by a tweet that was sent from a clearly bogus account. Either is a scandal. The combination of both is mind-boggling as regards standards in a publicly funded national broadcaster.

Today FM disgraced itself in its treatment of Sam Smyth. God only knows what goes on editorially in Newstalk, other than to remark if Prime Time wanted to do a States of Fear II, Marconi House would be a good place to set it. Allegedly.

The Irish Times let itself down very badly indeed in its attempt to re-write history in the sad case of the death of Kate Fitzgerald. They probably know it and the libel laws don’t help, but it doesn’t make it right. It doesn’t make it right at all.

But even in the light of all this, there is something about the “Magda” story in yesterday’s Irish Independent that is particularly worrying. These are the facts: the Indo found an interview in a Polish magazine with a Polish woman who spoke about life in Ireland. The Indo printed the story as the woman having a big laugh at the dumb Paddies who are paying her way.

It would be the perfect newspaper story, if it weren’t for one pesky detail. It’s sensational, it’s got water-cooler appeal, and it rings a bell for people. There’s a whole generation of people who came home from J1s laughing at the Yanks and telling stories of the scams they pulled so it was only reasonable to assume that the new Irish were telling the same stories. And now here was proof.

The one pesky detail is that the story in the Indo bears no relation to the original Polish story. This is the Indo story; this is the Polish original, translated into English by the John Murray show on RTÉ Radio One. There is no basis for the Indo story in the Polish original. None at all. It’s all rubbish. Every word.

So how did it get printed? One of two ways. Either the Independent’s editorial process is so incredibly bad that they really don’t care whether or what they print has any basis in reality at all. The second possibility is worse. The second possibility is that they knew full well what was in the Polish original, and didn’t care.

If the article isn’t true, so what? Nobody’s named, therefore nobody’s libeled, therefore nobody can sue. It’s win-win. Sure they’ll be some yap about it but it’ll sell papers and the Indo will get a reputation as the paper that prints what others are too scared or – hah! – too “politically correct” to share with the nation.

The media is failing to self-regulate. No-one in the media will take on a powerful media group because who knows when the day will come when that somebody may need a new job and hope for food from a hand that they’ve bitten.

So journalists end up in the position of men in the women and children’s lifeboats – they feel terrible about the destruction of their profession, but they prefer it to drowning, thanks all the same.

That’s not good enough. Irish sovereignty is in greater danger from the absence of a free press than from the Troika, who only want their money back. Don’t let media cynicism take your freedom away. Don’t let it!

'Na Sé Náisiún Fós an Sheod is Gile ag an Rugbaí

Ná bac lies an Super 15, an Corrán Heino, an 3 Nations nó an Rabo Direct Pro 12. Níl aon chomórtas rugbaí níos fearr ná na Sé Náisiún, atá chun tosaigh arís an Sathairn seo chugainn i bPáras agus Dún Éideann. Níl aon chomórtas ina bhfuil an stáir níos saibhre, an ghlóir níos gile nó na cluichí níos draíochta ná na Sé Náisiún. Tá roinnt athraithe tagtha ar an gcomórtas le déanaí - teacht na h-imreoirí ghairmiúla, titim na hAlban, teacht na hIodáile - ach leanann an comórtas ar aghaigh, in aghaidh tonnta na stáire agus brú na bpáirithe tráchtála.

'Siad an Fhrainc rogha na coitianta chun an gcomórtas a bhuaigh, agus ní haon ionadh é. Más cluiche na h-uimhreacha amháin é an spórt idirnáisiúnta, chuirfí an corrán díreach cois Seine agus ní n-imríodh sé riamh an chathair iontach sin. Is féidir leis an bhFrainc dhá fhoireann a chur sa gcomórtas agus níorbh í an fhoireann deireanach é a dara XV.

Bhí an tuairim amach go bhfuil fadhbanna na bhFrancach istigh ina gcloigne féin. Gurbh iad féin a námhaid is measa, idir clampar lena cheile, an duine curtha níos tábhachtaí ná an fhoireann, an cathú atá os a gcomhair i gcónaí an rud is baolaigh a dhéanamh in ionad an rud is cliste, mar bíonn an ghlóir níos tábhachtaí leo ná an bua.

B'fhíor é tráth, ach ní fíor anois é sa ré gairmiúil seo. Tá an-iomarca treanálaithe acu anois chun stop a chur ar sin. Feach ar mar a n-athraíonn na Francaigh a bpríomhroinn sa bpaca agus uair a chlog caite, chun tairbh nua a chur isteach agus an scian a chasadh. Tuigeann siad an ghairmiúlacht ceart go leor sa bhFrainc.

Cailleann na Francaigh roinnt cluichí ar an taobhlíne. B'fheadair go ndeacaigh siad chomh fada sa gCorn Domhanda mar a chuadar anuraidh in aghaidh a dtreanálaí, in ionad lena chabhair. Ach tá fearr ina cheannaire orthu anois, Phillippe Saint-André, atá i bhfad níos dáiríre ná mar a bhíodh Marc Lièvremont, agus ní miste a rá agus go mbeidh a foireann is fearr ar an bpáirc ag na Francaigh gach uair a n-imreoidh siad.

Maidir leis na Gaeil, tá an chead duine don Tríonóid Naofa imithe anois, agus seans maith nach bhfeicfear arís é. Ba é an t-imeoir rugbaí is fearr ar chaith geansaí glas na hÉireann riamh é Brian O'Driscoll - tá a oidhreacht chomh glan simplí sin.

Agus an Drisceolach imithe, beidh Paul O'Connell ina chaiptean, agus is togha chaiptean é. Tá seans ag na Gaeil an comórtas a bhuaigh, má theipeann ar na Francaigh. Tá na Gaeil laidir go leor i gcúl na clibirte, agus Stephen Ferris, Seán O'Brien agus Jamie Heaslip chomh maith le éine eile sa gcomórtas. Bíonn sealbh na liathróide tábhachtach go leor sa lá 'tá inniu ann, agus 'siadsan tríur na buachaillí ab fhéidir an cogadh talaimh a bhuaigh.

Tá ar na Gaeil dushlán na Fraince a ghlacadh sa bhFrainc, áit nár éirigh leis na Gaeil ach ar trí uair riamh. Má theipeann ar na Gaeil ansin, beidh a seans beo fós mar beidh ar na Francaigh dul go Dún Eideann agus Caerdydd, áiteanna nár thaitin leo mórán sa stáir.

Bheadh seans maith ag an mBreatain Bheag mura bhfuil siad chomh scríosta le fir ghortaithe mar atá siad. Ach tá siad searbh go leor ins na gleanna tar éis an chailleadh in aghaidh na Fraince sa gCorn Domhanda agus seans níl ach aon chluiche amháin os a gcomhair an bhlian seo, cuairt na Fraince ar lá deireadh an chomórtais. Ciníocha in aghaidh a cheile, gaiscí le déanamh ar ghearraí na glóire agus blás binn an díoltais san aer - a leitheoir, cá heile a gheofá comórtas cosuil leis?