Sport: The word "revolution" is tossed around very lightly. There are revolutions which involve one group replacing another, eg the proletariat ousting the bourgeoisie or players seizing power from administrators. But this is not what happened in hurling in the last decade or so, writes Deaglán de Bréadún
It is more accurate to say that we have been witnessing a cultural revolution. Player power is certainly growing but Croke Park is not yet the Winter Palace with caman-wielding Bolshevik hordes raising the red flag.
The revolution described by Denis Walsh, chief sportswriter with the Irish edition of the Sunday Times, is a quieter one, not so much Ten Days that Shook the World as Ten Years that Transformed the GAA.
The biggest difference is in the lifestyle of the players. There was a time - and maybe a happier one - when young farmers relaxed after a day in the fields with a puck-around at the local pitch and then turned out for the club or county team the following Sunday.
In those far-off days the concept of work-life balance had yet to be invented and training was minimal, even for major sports events. But all is changed now, changed utterly. Obsessions with training, diets and getting inside players' heads are the order of the day. It seems that if you're not up at dawn in January, racing to the top of some windswept sand-dune, you can forget about All-Ireland glory in September.
In some ways it's a disturbing picture but in other respects it's undeniably inspiring. One worries for these young men in the prime of life who should be out enjoying themselves, yet are sworn to a monkish training regime that seems to take up every spare moment. At the same time, the dedication and commitment that amateur sportsmen are prepared to give for the honour of their county are indeed impressive.
The extraordinary saga of Clare, who came from nowhere to become All-Ireland champions twice in one decade, is a sporting epic of our time. Obviously a lot of the credit must go to the players themselves but the key figure in this log-cabin-to-Croke-Park story was team manager Ger Loughnane. Walsh gives a warts-and-all picture of this extraordinary man, who brought a no-hope county, in hurling terms, to the summit of achievement, not once but twice.
Pearse-like in his single-mindedness and determination, Loughnane's intent was to bring the McCarthy Cup to Clare and as Ollie Baker, one of his star players, puts it: "Nothing was going to get in his way."
The Loughnanes of this world are not always the people you go for a pint with or the ones you look to for comforting reassurance when you know you have performed below your best. They are the charismatic motivators, the ones who goad you to heights you never thought you could reach. Baker says: "I don't think he would ever yearn for my friendship. He was our manager, our teacher, our leader, so he didn't need our friendship."
Quieter, but no less effective, was Wexford's Liam Griffin, who steered the county in 1996 to its first All-Ireland victory for 28 years. There used to be all those jokes: Nelson Mandela is released from prison and asks: "Did Wexford win a Leinster Final since I went in?" There was the other one: "Wexford are like the tennis player, Ivan Lendl - they can't win on grass."
Griffin brought an end to all that through sheer strength of will and self-belief. He brought in a highly qualified sports psychologist, Niamh Fitzpatrick, to work with the team. The "lads" were worried about public ridicule, so the whole thing had to be done with great secrecy and discretion. He also tapped into the rebel element in the Wexford psyche, showing the video of Braveheart on the team bus but stopping the tape before the Scottish insurgent, William Wallace, played by Mel Gibson, got hanged, drawn and quartered.
There were other counties besides Clare and Wexford whose quota of talented players was at least as high, if not higher. Waterford is aexample, but no Moses has led them, as yet, into the promised land.
Meanwhile, Offaly made it without a messianic leader. This super-talented bunch, the consummate artists of modern hurling, never allowed the cult of the manager to develop in their county. Nor would they have any truck with monastic training regimens - life is for living. But the fact is that most counties and teams need to be nagged and chivvied into greatness. Hurlers, like the rest of us, are only human and will take the easy way out unless there is someone there, wagging a finger and saying: "You can do better than that!"
Walsh's book is a good read for committed hurling fans. In his enthusiasm he sometimes assumes knowledge that won't be at the general reader's fingertips and a table of relevant fixtures and results at the back would help. Gentler souls will also flinch at the frequent use of Anglo-Saxon expletives by players quoted in the book, although you will unfortunately hear the same in any pub conversation throughout the land. The author catches the GAA at a moment in transition to a place nobody has yet clearly identified, where players will not only have to train and play like professionals but also be given rewards commensurate with their sacrifice. The implications of this for the GAA, moral spine of the nation, have yet to be worked out. This book - which recently won the inaugural Boylesports Irish Sports Book of the Year award - is a well-taken snapshot of that fascinating journey.
Deaglán de Bréadún is Foreign Affairs Correspondent of The Irish Times
Hurling: The Revolution Years. By Denis Walsh Penguin Ireland, 323pp. €14.99