BOYLAN TALKS SPORT: Praising little Jimmy or Julia isn’t in the job description

A cursory scan down the confirmed list of newly appointed Meath GAA sub-committees confirmed what was already known. One had become surplus to requirements at best, persona non grata at worst. Without so much as an explanation. The really annoying, disheartening thing was this road had been travelled before.

But at least on the previous occasion it was down to a personality clash regarding how the job in question should be done. Aside from that particular issue, relationships with the people concerned could carry on as normal - even if the views expressed by the disagreeing party were as far out from reality as a lighthouse.

At least with the first instance though, the only real upshot of the kerfuffle was that involvement in what was a pastime, per se, had to be culled at the time. The long road did eventually throw up a turn though and the flame which always flickered away in the background got a dousing of diesel which set it ablaze again.

The aftermath thereof could be worth a whole piece in its own right but today is not that day. Today needs to focus on the ‘day job’. Specifically, other people’s understanding of the job. Or total lack thereof.

At a most basic level, praising your little Johnny or Julia isn’t part of the job description. Moreover, if there are matters which are less palatable to some but merit airing, they will be.

However, in no way should a choice of occupation be dangled over a person’s head like the Sword Of Damocles as a means of cheap point scoring.

Which it seems is exactly what happened in the incident referred to at the beginning of this column.

Now, the likes of that are, time and experience have told me, not worth losing sleep over. However, you’d hope the eye-opening, harrowing, brave piece by Louth reporter Caoimhin Reilly in last Tuesday’s Irish Independent would make people think twice before putting the boot into the press. Literally, in some cases.

Caoimhin’s piece shockingly detailed the abuse - physical and psychological - he has shipped while and in the aftermath of lining out for his club Roche Emmets in Louth. With the assailants mostly disgruntled opponents who’d taken umbrage with something he’d produced in the day job.

What does it say about the world we inhabit that, such has been the level of abuse and physical digs thrown at him that Reilly feels his only prospect of attaining peace and healing is to step away from lining out with Roche.

What job is worth that? In a very large percentage of cases that would be a wholly valid riposte. Writing is different though. Writing’s less a job, more a vocation.

A calling. In my case, an ‘in’ to a central tenet of my very being which would be otherwise unreachable. But you do have to wonder why there’s a mindset within worrying swathes of society that has the media boxed off as pariahs.

Look, there are bad eggs in this profession, just as there are in any other, but the tendency to tar the entirety thereof with one broad brushstroke is as dangerous as it is unfair. For all people might like to pour scorn on the press, there are nefarious goings on in nearly all aspects of life which would go unrecorded and/or unchallenged were it not for the order of the press.

Mind you, at this juncture it should be pointed out that there are other ways in which practitioners of this craft get the rough end of the stick besides vitriolic ones or the type of knock back referred to at the outset of this piece. Though perhaps some of that is down to personal circumstances in the case of yours truly. But that doesn’t make it any better. In fact, it almost unquestionably makes the rebuke sting that little bit more.

Not all that long ago, mention was afforded on this back page to the thesis undertaken during my final year in education pertaining to the wheelchair accessibility of as many of the inter county GAA grounds as it was possible to visit in the time frame allotted.

Some left a lot to be desired, more went above and beyond the call of duty and most - as is the case with most things in life - had made a decent effort but left room for improvement.

And then there was Croke Park. Supposedly the flagship of everything the Association stands for and, not only that, marketed as one of the finest sports stadia in Europe and, what’s more, earmarked as one of the prized assets in any bid Ireland might table to host or even co-host major sporting events.

You’d earnestly hope, mind you, that the disabled viewing facilities wouldn’t come under the remit of the inspection process. It feels very strange having just said that, but, sadly, if the disabled facilities were part of any vetting process, any bid they’d be part of would fall flat on its face.

In the past, scandalously, there was certainly an element of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ to how society dealt with disabled people. To some extent, it could be said the GAA to a similar approach with the old viewing area in Croker.

In their defence, however, those who designed and put in place the ‘original’ disabled viewing area at the corner of the Nally Stand and Hill 16 did a much better job from the point of view of those of us who use it than the abomination of a setup that passes for acceptable now.

I’m sure the farce of a situation has been mentioned here previously but if you’ll indulge one more outing, let it just be said that the disabled viewing area in Croke Park post 1998 was obviously an afterthought.

Given that my kinfolk and I are now domiciled at the rear of the lower deck of the Cusack Stand. Which, aside from the fact that even in a heatwave it feels like Siberia, sees a situation where if something exciting happens in a match and the crowd stands up, disabled patrons end up watching on one of the monitors overhead. Therefore, the reality is we’d be better off at home.

Having said that, as bad as that is from the perspective of a match goer with additional needs, there’s another angle to this whole area which grinds my gears still further.

That being the fact that there are no disabled viewing facilities on the Hogan Stand side of the field. This boils my blood for several reasons. Firstly because the world and its mother knows the best view in Croker is in the Lower Hogan.

There are two more fundamental points to be made which will eventually tie in with the scenario at the beginning of this piece, trust me. Firstly, that for disabled patrons either parking within the confines of the ground or travelling by train, the Hogan Stand is the logical and logistically fair place for us to be accommodated.

But here’s the thing that has really yanked my chain over the last few years. As an honorary life member of the NUJ, and particularly now as a columnist with this paper, surely I should be able to access the press facilities on the seventh floor of the Hogan Stand the same as my colleagues and other members of the press corp.

Yes, there are days when this vocation can frustrate and disappoint, but it’d take a lot more than inclusion on a list to make me pack it in. Maybe a few heifers!