Hockey union in honeymoon period

I was reading Plato the other night . . . the old jokes are the best, eh? No, I wasn't reading Plato the other night but I did stumble upon a famous old quote from the man who, if I'm not mistaken, formed a nifty midfield partnership with Brazilian import Socrates for Panathinaikos a few years ago, when he wasn't busy philosophising. Or was that a different fella? Never mind.

Anyway, that quote: "Nothing can be more absurd than the practice that prevails in our country of men and women not following the same pursuits with all their strengths and with one mind, for thus, the state instead of being whole is reduced to half." While loathe to be so bold as to paraphrase the great man (real name Giorgios Plate, know to his team-mates as Plato) I reckon what he really meant to say was "it's mad, mad, mad for Irish hockey to be run by two separate associations, one for the lads and one for the lassies, so it's about time they merged and ran their sport together".

Well, Plato, have I got news for you? They're merging - today. The Irish Ladies Hockey Union and the Irish Hockey Union (once famously described by one of its officials as the Protestant Hurling Association) will be no more by this afternoon and, thus, Irish hockey instead of being half will be increased to whole, if you know what I mean.

(Plato interjects: "Why was ladies hockey run by the `Ladies Union' and men's by the `Union'? Why is women's sport called `women's sport' and men's sport called `sport'? Why is Anna Kournikova called a `tease' and Ato Bolden an `athlete with an impressive physique'?

Incidentally, the inaugural meeting of the Irish Hockey Association begins at 2.30 p.m. today but the bookies, I'm told, are refusing to take bets on the chances of every single attending Munster delegate suddenly feeling a little faint at 2.59 p.m., thereby forcing them to leave the meeting, head for the nearby lounge where - lo and behold - on the widescreen telly a rugby match of considerable status in European terms, involving 15 lads from Ireland's southern most province, will be just kicking off.

"Oooh, feeling better already," they'll say, while the rest of us listen to clause number 4,673 of the new constitution being proposed, discussed and voted upon. But am I bitter? Well . . . yes.

I'm dying to see how these hockey men and women get along together. For the past 100 years they've only met at functions, dinners and in the car park in Belfield and while they've always been very civil to one another (on the record, at least) they've never actually had to co-exist in a working environment. There may be trouble ahead. (First council meeting: "Huh - that's min for ya," Doris will howl as she headbutts George who has just asked her to make him a cup of tea). The one thing they have in common is golf - 99.86 per cent of them play the game (and the other 0.14 per cent wonder why they've never been elected to senior branch positions?), although they've never actually met on the course because the "wimin", as we know, are only allowed to play at four in the morning (theory: that's because George doesn't want Doris to laugh at his swing). Now, the men and women of hockeydom mightn't appreciate this but the biggest upheaval of all will be experienced by those of us who have reported on Irish hockey these past few years and have become accustomed to dealing with our own gender only - and no other. "So, how do male hockey officials work, then," I intend inquiring of my male hockey reporting colleague when we next meet in a downtown wine bar. "Well . . .," he'll say, before taking the Fifth Amendment. Boys, eh? They all stick together. "You go first - what are the ladies like," he'll ask. "Well . . .," I'll say, before telling him like it is. Wimin, eh? They're their own worst enemy.

1 - An infinitely superior brand of human being (which will lead to him guffawing into his beaujolais).

2 - But cross 'em and they'll leave a horse's head under yer pillow. ("Are you seeerious," he'll ask, nervously. "Ooooh yes," I'll tell him. "We're talking the opening scene of Goodfellas here." "Battered body found in boot of car," he'll ask. "If you're lucky - battered body found in boot of car at bottom of Indian Ocean," I'll say. "Missing George already," he'll sob. "Tough - Doris is in charge now," I'll chuckle).

Not that one wants to gender-stereotype, of course, but I'm more worried for my male colleague than he needs to be for me. It probably doesn't have much to do with anything, really, but in 1892 Hessie Donahue fought John L Sullivan, the then undisputed world heavyweight champion. John, accidentally, smacked Hessie in the face. Hessie was so angry she flung a fist at him that was so full of venom it knocked him out for the first time in his career. George? Are you taking note? Doris? Be gentle with him: he's only a man.