London forgotten in ‘Sunday Game’ fallout

London, that most majestic of all the GAA counties, has been completely lost and forgotten about in the whole furore surrounding The Sunday Game.

If every Gael’s favourite television show can overshadow the heart of empire itself, then the question once again arises – what would an Irish summer be without the good old SG?

Not since Bosco, that carrot-topped castrato who dominated many an impoverished Irish childhood and was once the most bankable star on RTÉ's books (they say NBC were considering the hyperactive rascal as a replacement for Johnny Carson before they found out about the drinking, the in-house tantrums, the incorrigible womanising) has any Montrose show continued to generate as much fury and delight as The Sunday Game.

Around the world, skateboarding media whiz-kids try to devise sports talk shows which will generate controversy and be a bit wild. They trawl the streets in search of ‘zaniness’ and fill their screens with desperados who will shriek and wail and say literally anything. And nobody pays a blind bit of notice.

Across the water at the Beeb, Gary Lineker and other stars of 1980s English football show up in extraordinarily well -starched shirts and say nothing very interesting about anything.

The Sunday Game rarely seems to respond to any of the trends or whims of international television other than to kit Pat Spillane or Colm O'Rourke out in slightly risqué shades of turquoise every now and again. On occasion, it will take unexpected and trippy little detours. The 'My Hero' improvisation, in which likely or even unlikely lads discuss the players who left them starstruck during their misspent youth, was one such venture into psychedelic reminiscence.

Biggest surprise
Chris O'Dowd, the Roscommon man who seems to have leapfrogged from the minor castings of defunct domestic drama The Clinic to the forefront of Hollywood's A list with indecent haste, talked about his Primrose heroes. It was brilliant to hear him praise one of the great unsung heroes of west of Ireland summers, the majestic midfielder John Newton. But when O'Dowd revealed that the other big influence on his adolescent self was none other than long-serving goalkeeper Shane 'Cake' Curran, pennies dropped.

I am guessing an entire generation of Roscommon lads were fascinated by Curran’s uncontainable pride in the primrose and blue: on more than one occasion, many of us feared that he was in danger of self-combustion during the pre-match parade in Hyde Park.

But O’Dowd, it transpired, was closer to Curran than most as he was the Roscommon minor goalkeeper for the 1996 All-Ireland championship season. It was clear, even as he reviewed that GAA season from the hindsight of a thousand theatrical and television auditions, that he had been paying close attention as he delivered this rather beautiful tribute to the Rossies’ most famous number one.

“He comes from that great dramatic tradition of out-of-your-box crazy goalkeepers and he could save a penalty and score a 45 but at the same time he would be just as happy to ride a bull into a church. And he could do all of those things in the space of two hours. He was gangbusters.”

Somehow the connection helped to make more sense of the world. With 'Cake' Curran as your mentor, how could you fail to make it to the top in Hollywood? Even now, the bet is that the Bridesmaids star and the St Brigid's man indulge in late night transatlantic Skype sessions, with Curran geeing the Boyle actor up with demands that he eat Matthew Mc****ingConaghy for breakfast. Who could refuse? Still, those detours are not what maintain the SG's relevance.

For decades, the secret of the show has been simple: they fill the screen with Gaels who care deeply about the game. The list of former presenters and guests reads like a who’s-who of GAA heavyweights: Jim Carney, Seán Óg O’Ceallacháin and Micheál O’Hehir were among the first presenters. Who could forget the ever-deepening tans which Galway men Cyril Farrell and the late Enda Colleran would bring to studio?

JBM, Eamon Cregan, Kevin Heffernan, Mick O'Dwyer, Ger Loughnane: they have been subjected to the SG's wardrobe of infinite pastels. Some have been measured and considered in their every utterance. Others are natural talkers.

New faces
Frequently, you get the impression that The Sunday Game lads don't particularly like each other: that when the lights do down, they bolt for their respective counties in double time. The addition of new faces with each season is part of the fun. Donal Cusack will have strong points to make over the course of the hurling championship. It was clear Sligo's Eamonn O'Hara would have a thing or two to say about his old team's game in London last Sunday. It made sense for RTÉ to have O'Hara in studio to analyse his former team but they couldn't possibly have banked on Sligo losing the game. O'Hara had his say and then, during the week, Kevin Walsh, the Sligo manager, responded in that imperturbable way of his.

Coming just days after Joe Brolly’s provocative comments on Armagh manager Paul Grimley, there are concerns the old show is getting out of hand in its cavalier deconstruction of players and managers.

But in the general ructions about the Sligo defeat, the significance of London’s victory has been half-forgotten. Winning that match was a huge moment for the Exiles. For years, London and New York have always been the second class citizens of championship, with the home counties taking turns to go over and beat them.

Radio dispatches send word about the expatriates giving the home teams ‘a scare’ at various stages of a championship game, most recently when London took Mayo to extra-time two years ago.

Sligo found themselves in a similar dogfight but this time, London prevailed. They now play Leitrim team for a chance to play in a Connacht final. It is a great story and one that deserves a bigger show on The Sunday Game and elsewhere.

London is a traditional enclave of GAA culture and will always be able to cobble together a team of players drawn to the metropolis for work. But transforming that collection of players into a unit capable of beating Sligo is an admirable feat. The fact that it was overshadowed by the criticism of Sligo on The Sunday Game was unfortunate. The studio debate continues to delight and infuriate. But the best stories shouldn't get lost in the conversation.