The Ireland journey from which I returned a week ago turned out to be the Ireland journey I’ve always longed to do. Here’s one reason why . . .

In last week’s blog, I described the first three days of our WOW! Travel Club journey which started in the west of Ireland, using Galway as our base of exploration. But in that report, I neglected to write about one particular activity that was probably my favorite experience in the west of Ireland. Don’t know about you, but for me, sometimes things have to percolate for awhile before I recognize their significance.

We did something I’ve always wanted to do in Ireland; a quintessential Irish experience. We went to a hurling match.

I knew nothing about hurling – only that the Irish are mad about their national sport. Like ice hockey for Canadians or rugby for Kiwis, I suspected that hurling would reveal much about the people who revere it. When I created the itinerary, there were no published schedules … but I hoped that we’d find a match and ensured that our schedule would allow for such spontaneity.

And so we found ourselves at Pearse Stadium in Galway on a sunny Sunday afternoon, attending a hurling match between hometown Galway and the team from County Cork.

A bit of background from my online research:

• Hurling is an ancient Gaelic game – having been played for 3,000 years, and is the world’s fastest field sport.
• Players use a wooden stick called a hurley to hit a small ball called a sliotar between the opponents’ goalposts on a grassy field (pitch) that’s 160 yards long.
• Hurlers run full speed toward their opponent’s goal, balancing or bounding the sliotar on the end of their hurley – passing it off seconds before getting slammed by an opposing player. Players can catch and carry the ball in their hand (not more than four steps), but must pass it by hitting it with the stick, kicking it or slapping it with an open hand.
• A ball hit over the crossbar is worth one point. A ball hit past the goalkeeper into a net is a goal (worth three points).

Here’s what I actually experienced:

1. I saw 30 strapping Irishmen running around the field (er, pitch) with long wooden sticks (er, hurlers) – whacking, swinging and scooping baseballs (er, sliotars) from the grass (er, turf), running at breakneck speed while balancing or bouncing the ball on the spatula-like end of their hurley, as their opponents tried to hook, block or body-slam them to prevent them from scoring.

2. I saw 30 buff and burly Irishmen wearing no protective gear – just a small plastic helmet with rather wimpy-looking wire facemarks. No gloves, no pads. And I couldn’t help but notice (!) that their shorts were, indeed, short and tight – revealing a lot of muscled thigh! (Remember basketball shorts in the old days, before they got baggy and shapeless?)

3. I saw lots of families with little kids running around with no helicopter parents supervising their every move. At halftime, the field is opened up for fans – mostly kids – to run around and play with their child-sized wooden hurleys.

4. When one of the balls was hit into the end zone where we were standing, a few of us approached the guy who had caught it and asked  to see what the ball looked like. (A lot like a baseball.) A kid of about 12 ran over, “Let my show you my hurley!” A photo shoot ensued, compete with Galway photo bombers.

5.  There was an old guy in the end zone proudly and conspicuously wearing the colors of his beloved hometown Cork team. When I asked permission to take his photo, he put his hat (an oversized red and white sombrero with a weird little animal figure on the top) on my head and directed another guy to take the photo of the two of us. The photo shoot quickly swelled as he encouraged others from our group to join the photo.

6. Toward the end of the match, when I couldn’t figure out how the scoring was working, I asked a young man sitting nearby if he’d explain it to me. He wasn’t the least bit annoyed by this ignorant American’s question, and explained the scoring and a lot more about the game. He also suggested that I google, “famous hurling photo.” He was enthusiastically insistent, “It’s an unbelievable photograph of a hurley bent around a player’s head!” I was skeptical (surely, a wooden stick couldn’t curl around a helmet like he claimed…?), but I assured him that I would look as soon as I had access to a computer. Sure enough, he wasn’t kidding!

7. We paid only €10 each for admission. You see that this is a completely amateur sport. Hurlers play for the pride of their home town, not for money. After the match is finished, they hang up their jersey and go back to work as farmers, factory workers or firefighters. There are no transfers, trades or draft picks. And the admission fee is modest because fans don’t have to pay inflated player salaries. Isn’t that absolutely fascinating?

8. I later learned that all equipment – hurleys and sliotars – are manufactured the old-fashioned way – by hand – in small hometown operations.

It was a remarkable experience – revealing a lot about the remarkable Irish:

• Indomitable and strong
• Respectful of one’s birthplace
• Down-to-earth
• Traditional
• Proud and passionate
• Friendly and folksy
• Love of community
• Full of character – and characters
• A little bit crazy (okay, a lot crazy)

There’s so much more to report . . . but my experience at the hurling match has occupied this entire blog post. Stay tuned for more in Part III!

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Please post any comments in the box below. What’s your favorite Irish experience?