Jumpers for goalposts Ð and jerseys for 18 stone giants

Date Published: {J}

I almost bought a tee-shirt with the old John Lennon line ‘Imagine there’s no hunger’ emblazoned in big bold letters on the front – and it was indeed an aspiration easily fulfilled at the point of purchase….the Hard Rock Cafe.

Even more appropriately these famine-busting garments came in a variety of sizes – right up to XXL, made of enough cotton to comfortably shield the average African family from the worst excesses of the midday sun.

And in fairness, anything initiative that tackles world hunger – no matter how unorthodox that effort might be – has to be better than doing nothing at all. But stuffing burger guzzlers into tee-shirts that accentuate the wish that the stick-thin Mr Lennon once dreamed shows a slight disjoint between aspiration and reality.

Then again, maybe the restaurant chain with the Hollywood backers saw no irony in fighting world hunger while simultaneously trumpeting their massive burgers with three different kinds of cheese.

And at the end of the day, that is scarcely more ironic than the sight of an 18 stone man in a football shirt – a much larger replica of the top worn by some slippery whippet on eighty grand a week.

You go to any Premiership ground and the odd ones out are the ones dressed in their own clothes; you have sweaty giants in jerseys stretched beyond the point of elasticity – sometimes worn outside two jumpers and a coats for added insulation – vicariously reliving their youth at a time when a warm coat would be more appropriate attire.

God be with the days when the height of public acknowledgement of your support for a team was wearing a crepe cap – with the maroon streaming down your face in the omnipresent rain – or a giant rosette proclaiming nothing more than the word ‘Galway’ surrounded by more of that maroon and white crepe paper.

You didn’t get fellas wandering around Shop Street back in the day in Galway jerseys thinking they were Liam Sammon or Bosco McDermott – so why would a fifty year old, eighteen stone man think he’s a double for Wayne Rooney?

Even twenty years ago, if you went to Dublin the night before an All-Ireland, the only way you’d know if there was a big crowd up from the competing teams was the accents – and even then you might just be encountering the clerical officers of the Department of Education on a night out in Sloopy’s or Club Nassau.

Now Dublin is a sea of black and amber or blue and gold, as the fans proudly proclaim their affinities with the help of a clever marketing man from O’Neills.

New-born babies are given replica kits – often in the Mammy’s county colours by the in-laws just to annoy the proud father – and from there on life takes on an annual pattern of new replica kit for Christmas.

Just as arborists calculate the age of a tree by counting the rings, so too parents can reflect on their children’s development by going through the wardrobe and counting the number of times that Liverpool or Manchester United came out with a new kit or a new sponsor emblazoned on the front.

In Liverpool’s case, you might smile at the memories of the Crown Paints, Candy or Hitachi era before Carlsberg and finally Standard Chartered – a company previously unheard of in these parts – became the slogan of choice for the discerning fan.

For more, read this week’s Connacht Tribune.