You can't beat being there
Credit:
I spent last Wednesday evening watching Tottenham Hotspur knock AC Milan out of the Champions
League on ITV. I had a toasty fire lit and a spicy homemade beef stew to keep me
company. It was a decent game too and the giddy excitement of Adrian Chiles was both
entertaining and infectious. It was, I suppose, a big night for Spurs fans. When it was over,
I flicked over and watched Freddie Flintoff versus the world, which was rubbish.
By the end of the evening, which also included a late night showing of Jaws II, I realised that all I had achieved in the world was to pass away a few hours of my life. True, I hadn’t caused myself an injury, but that was about all that I could say about another Wednesday evening that had slipped by into the past. The thing is that (with apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson) watching TV is good enough in its own way, but it is a mighty, bloodless substitute for life.
Stevenson wrote this long before the advent of television and I doubt that he had football in mind when he penned the line, but it’s a sentiment that couldn’t be more appropriate as the 2011 season gets under way. I’m not going to waste my time explaining why going to a football game beats the lard out of watching it on television as anyone who is reading this will already know. But I would like to offer up one proof which I hope you will get some satisfaction from sharing.
Yesterday week I had the pleasure of being at Tallaght Stadium when Shamrock Rovers began the defence of their league title against Dundalk, a game which was broadcast live on RTE. Anyone who was watching will have noticed the ability of Daniel Kearns, the young Dundalk midfielder, and had a bird’s eye view of Peter Cherrie’s sending off. They will also have had the advantage of seeing replays of the Dan Murray challenge that led to the penalty and will have known that it was Gary O’Neill who chested the ball down to Gary McCabe without having to ask the bloke next to them. But there was a moment that no TV camera could possibly do justice to.
In the 17th minute Jason Byrne picked up the ball deep inside the Dundalk half. He turned into space and flung an incredible 50 yard ball out to the right wing, directly into the path of Kearns who was galloping down the flank. The move created a glorious chance for Simon Madden that might well have given Dundalk an unexpected lead, but for the viewers at home, Byrne’s ball might well have looked like a lucky punt.
In fact, it was one of those glorious moments that make you briefly realise why you never made it as a footballer yourself. Having the unfair advantage of a full view of the pitch, the 5,300 fans who were there could see exactly what was happening from the moment the ball left Byrne’s foot. While those at home were still tutting at the wastefulness of a ball delivered so far beyond the frame of their TV sets, the majority of those in situ were gasping with either trepidation or expectation. What they could see were the stunned faces of the Rovers defenders, none of whom were in the right place to deal with the ball, and the concentrated features of Kearns as he ploughed into so much space that he probably felt a brief pang of loneliness.
The chance was missed but it was the pleasure of seeing the moment created that will live in the memory. I guess people who don’t go to games will feel that examples such as this are over egged by those of us that do but I’m happy enough to leave it that way. After all, there are plenty of other reasons why being at the game wallops the TV experience over the roof of the stand and into the garden of an irate neighbour.
There is the excitement of the journey, the first sight of the floodlights as you shuffle through the traffic, the scarved pinters in a pub that is thrillingly partisan, the smell of fried onions, the glossy sheen of a match programme that will declare in later years “I was there”, the craic and banter swimming through the stands, the growing sense of tension as the crowd builds, the peculiarly formal sound of the stadium announcer calling out the teams, the sight of a grown adult dressed in a furry suit, the communal roar as the teams walk out, the sense of family as you realise that you are not the only one that cares, and... oh yeah, the game itself. But I guess you already know about all that.
By the end of the evening, which also included a late night showing of Jaws II, I realised that all I had achieved in the world was to pass away a few hours of my life. True, I hadn’t caused myself an injury, but that was about all that I could say about another Wednesday evening that had slipped by into the past. The thing is that (with apologies to Robert Louis Stevenson) watching TV is good enough in its own way, but it is a mighty, bloodless substitute for life.
Stevenson wrote this long before the advent of television and I doubt that he had football in mind when he penned the line, but it’s a sentiment that couldn’t be more appropriate as the 2011 season gets under way. I’m not going to waste my time explaining why going to a football game beats the lard out of watching it on television as anyone who is reading this will already know. But I would like to offer up one proof which I hope you will get some satisfaction from sharing.
Yesterday week I had the pleasure of being at Tallaght Stadium when Shamrock Rovers began the defence of their league title against Dundalk, a game which was broadcast live on RTE. Anyone who was watching will have noticed the ability of Daniel Kearns, the young Dundalk midfielder, and had a bird’s eye view of Peter Cherrie’s sending off. They will also have had the advantage of seeing replays of the Dan Murray challenge that led to the penalty and will have known that it was Gary O’Neill who chested the ball down to Gary McCabe without having to ask the bloke next to them. But there was a moment that no TV camera could possibly do justice to.
In the 17th minute Jason Byrne picked up the ball deep inside the Dundalk half. He turned into space and flung an incredible 50 yard ball out to the right wing, directly into the path of Kearns who was galloping down the flank. The move created a glorious chance for Simon Madden that might well have given Dundalk an unexpected lead, but for the viewers at home, Byrne’s ball might well have looked like a lucky punt.
In fact, it was one of those glorious moments that make you briefly realise why you never made it as a footballer yourself. Having the unfair advantage of a full view of the pitch, the 5,300 fans who were there could see exactly what was happening from the moment the ball left Byrne’s foot. While those at home were still tutting at the wastefulness of a ball delivered so far beyond the frame of their TV sets, the majority of those in situ were gasping with either trepidation or expectation. What they could see were the stunned faces of the Rovers defenders, none of whom were in the right place to deal with the ball, and the concentrated features of Kearns as he ploughed into so much space that he probably felt a brief pang of loneliness.
The chance was missed but it was the pleasure of seeing the moment created that will live in the memory. I guess people who don’t go to games will feel that examples such as this are over egged by those of us that do but I’m happy enough to leave it that way. After all, there are plenty of other reasons why being at the game wallops the TV experience over the roof of the stand and into the garden of an irate neighbour.
There is the excitement of the journey, the first sight of the floodlights as you shuffle through the traffic, the scarved pinters in a pub that is thrillingly partisan, the smell of fried onions, the glossy sheen of a match programme that will declare in later years “I was there”, the craic and banter swimming through the stands, the growing sense of tension as the crowd builds, the peculiarly formal sound of the stadium announcer calling out the teams, the sight of a grown adult dressed in a furry suit, the communal roar as the teams walk out, the sense of family as you realise that you are not the only one that cares, and... oh yeah, the game itself. But I guess you already know about all that.
About Simon O'Gorman
Simon O'Gorman began reporting for Extratime in 2010. He remembers Milltown and Flower Lodge and, back in the mists of time, saw Diego Maradona play at Lansdowne Road. He now lives in Co Kildare and … View Full Profile