There was an air of spring about last weekend. The lawnmower brigade was out last Saturday and the smell of cut grass filled the air with expectations of championship hurling and football.

For the first time this year the thought of watching the National Hurling League games was appealing. There have been a couple of great hurling games on the television already this year – the All-Ireland club semi-finals and final being the pick of these – but generally, the sight of a muddy sliotar is about as appealing as cold porridge.

There is an entry on my desk diary under Sunday 20th of March which says, “Today is the first day of spring”. I do not know what the basis for this declaration is. I was taught that the first of February (Lá le Bríde) was the start of spring. Others say that spring begins on the first of March, but in a normal year, March ‘comes in like a Lion’ and the first few days felt like an extension of January. So maybe the third Sunday of March, as we approach the equinox really is a suitable time to declare that spring has finally sprung.

Whatever about Mother Nature with her daffodils in bloom and the growth of grass, there is something about the first good spell of weather that reawakens the desire in anyone who ever held a hurley to get out on the field and start pucking a sliotar.  Maybe whoever declared the third Sunday of March to be the first day of spring in my diary, should instead have said it the first day of hurling.

The preparations for playing hurling may now be an all year-round vocation, but it is when the clocks go forward, that the tingle of the ball hitting the bas feels best. It is also from now on that the sliotar responds to player’s renewed vigour by flying faster across the grass or travelling further through the air.

The hurling people of Ireland are always at their most vocal at this time of year. You could hear the excitement in the voices of the hurling analysts all weekend. They were like the dawn chorus of the All-Ireland hurling championship. All day Saturday, and Sunday these pundits filled the airwaves with their vigour and enthusiasm. “Hurling is in need of more help,” said one. “We need more counties playing hurling,” said another. “We need more big games,” they all agreed.

There is no doubting the sincerity of these aspirations. They come from a combination of massive enthusiasm and sheer love for hurling. But the hurling community are not alone in their itch to get back on the field with the sunshine on their backs.  It is a worldwide phenomenon. Across the English Channel, cricketers of all ages have been feeling the same urges for some weeks now.

Hurlers band their hurleys, tape up the handle, re-examine the grain of the bas and test the spring a hundred times.  Cricketers oil up their bats, add and take off rubber covers a hundred times until they are happy with the handle. Then they imagine that they are walking to the crease to bat for the honour of the village/county/country before practicing phantom shots with their front foot forward and the top-hand elbow pointing straight up.

Over in the United States, the baseball bats are being dusted off, the mildew is wiped from the mitts and thousands of baseball players are swinging at imaginary pitches and following the track of an imaginary ball as it disappears over the outfield for a home run.

John Fogarty once of Creedence Clearwater Revival wrote a song called “Put me in Coach” which summed up the feeling of anticipation that all these players are feeling.

“Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;

You know I think it’s time to give this game a ride

Just to hit the ball and touch ’em all – a moment in the sun;

(pop) It’s gone and you can tell that one goodbye!”

Golfers, tennis players and fisherman feel the same way too. It is time to get back out into the field and enjoy the sport they have been dreaming of all winter. It is not just hurlers who are consumed with an overriding passion for their sport at this time of the year; the drive is inherent in players of stick games around the world.

In recent years most of these games have become all-year activities. At a professional level you can see golf, tennis and cricket on the small screen almost everyday of the year as the pros follow the summer weather around the globe. Even here in Ireland, the advent of all weather pitches, indoor arenas and weatherproof clothing has meant that most sports can be played at anytime. Although playing outdoor games on indoor or artificial facilities is like eating glasshouse tomatoes or strawberries; they are ok if there is nothing else to eat, but there is no substitute for playing a sport in its proper season.

The anxiety that hurling people (and all stick sport people) have to get back out on a firm sod in the sunshine, often lends itself to criticism of other ball sports. In the case of hurling, the comments are nearly always directed at Gaelic Football. Cricketers say the same about soccer and rugby, while baseball players worry and fret about the influence of American Football and basketball.

I do not think however, that the big ball games are the kernel of the problem. We live in a consumer society of fast food, small newspapers and scratch cards for instant wins. The big ball games suit this mentality. One ball, two teams, one relatively small playing area and away you go. It is a simple recipe.

The stick games, on the other hand, require expensive sticks (of which hurleys are by far the cheapest) and vast amounts of equipment from helmets to pads. A boy can still turn up with just a pair of boots, stocks and shorts and play most big ball games. This is no longer possible with stick games. And that is the real reason why their popularity as participation sports is fading.

Changing the coaching systems, making appeals to the GAA congress or making all-weather facilities available is not really going to change that mood of society towards stick games. It is an international problem that needs much deeper analysis than crying out for “more big games”.

Finding the solution should not a summer sport however; it is a job for philosophers and economists on long nights of winter. Now that the sun is back and the clock is forward, it is time to get out there and play. I’ll leave the final word to John Fogarty and his chorus from “Put me in Coach”.

“Oh, put me in, Coach – I’m ready to play today;

Put me in, Coach – I’m ready to play today;

Look at me, I can be Centerfield.”

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