The Sporting Life: The Irish Bring Gaelic Football & Hurling to the Bronx

When Irish athletes play their native games of Gaelic football and hurling, they tend to invoke the name of the Lord. Not in the sanctimonious way of some American competitors, who make a pious show of thanking Jesus for paying attention to their stupid little game. No, the Irish know God has more important things to tend to than sport.

At a recent Gaelic football match two sturdy men knocked a forward socks over ass as he leaped in the air for the ball. The forward, wearing no protective equipment other than a jersey, shorts and soccer boots, screamed, "Jaysus Christ!" before his body slammed into the turf. During a hurling match, a forward took a hard shot in the ribs from a wooden hurling stick and was barely able to eke out a "Jayze!" The referee didn't call a foul, and the captain stormed off yelling, "Jaysus Fookin' Christ! 'R ya blind, man!"

Tom Nolan, 28, is a bartender at the Triple Crown pub on 7th Ave. Recently he invited us up to Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx to see his team?St. Barnabas?play their home opener. Nolan is from County Clare, and plays Gaelic football in the New York Gaelic Athletic Association Junior League.

Nolan is 6 foot tall and slim, and he has a certain rustic charm to his weathered face. Tom Nolan is like a lot of the young Irish in New York. He's not sure where he's finally going to make his home. For now New York is fun, so he'll stay awhile?a choice not many of his ancestors had. But his ancestors' Ireland is long gone. The days of thatched-roof cottages, women in black shawls and poor mumbling men drinking in dour pubs has given way to high tech and a new money generation. The Irish economy?the vaunted Celtic Tiger?is Europe's fastest-growing economy, and the dream and promise of America is no longer a necessity. The young Irish still come across the pond for adventure or a few years' break from the old country, and then back they go.

So on a warm Wednesday night in May we took the 1 train uptown to the northern tip of the Bronx and got off at the last stop, 242nd St. Walking a few blocks north on Broadway we see a group of Gaelic football players setting up the field?or the pitch, as they call it. On the sideline hurlers practice smacking a small ball with their wooden sticks. The ball flies in a high arc 40 yards away, where another hurler nimbly catches it with the flat end of his stick, flicks it up in the air and whacks it right back.

We stand on the sidelines waiting for the football game to begin. Around the oval track that surrounds the huge field middle-aged couples walk off pasta dinners. A group of teenagers wearing Horace Mann baseball uniforms stops and stares. A black man is practicing his nine-iron pitch.

Nolan is warming up on the field. He smiles as he takes his shirt off. There is not an ounce of fat on his body. He comes over and says, "It's going to be a tough one tonight. I didn't get out of work last night till half 5. I went out till 1?that's p.m. And I'm not the only one in this shape. A lot of the lads on the team were out to the AC/DC concert last night. You might see a good one here, because the lads are mad for a fight."

Gaelic football looks a bit like a cross between soccer (they use a soccer ball) and rugby, but it moves faster than soccer?it's played in two nonstop, breakneck 30-minute halves?and there's much more scoring. There are 15 players on each side, playing on a pitch that is 130 yards long. The simple object of the game is to get the ball in the net for a goal. In Gaelic football a goal is worth three points. You can also kick the ball over the goal, similar to American football, and score one point. And in Gaelic football?unlike either soccer or Irish dancing?you can use your hands.

After much Irish dawdling, a referee blows his whistle and the team runs onto the pitch, their coach, a middle-aged Irishman, yelling, "Come on, lads! Let's see a good effort out there." The referee throws the ball in the air, like a basketball tip-off, and it's on. Watching Gaelic football with American eyes you might see the sport as a bizarre combination of basketball and football. The player with the ball can kick it, throw it, punch it, or he can grab it and run three steps?at which point he must either get rid of it to a teammate, bounce it off his foot or dribble it (the Irish call it "hopping") and then grab it again for three more leaps. The defenders try to stop him by grabbing the ball or simply knocking him down.

A play develops as Nolan jumps into the air and catches the ball at midfield. With a quick hip move he fakes an opponent and runs up the field. Every third step he bounces the ball off his foot and continues his charge to the goal. To get by another defender he dribbles the ball wide right and uses his speed to catch up with it. When he catches it a huge defenseman slams into him. Nolan bounces off the man and keeps going. At 30 yards from the goal he drops the ball down and kicks it into the air. It sails through the Bronx twilight and over the goal for one point.

"Way to go, Tom!" the coach calls out. "That's it. Good effort, man!"

The opposing team, Brooklyn, is having a hard time with St. Barnabas' speed, and soon falls behind. The score is 8-4 at halftime. The teams have 10 minutes to rest up before they face another 30 grueling minutes. Tom Nolan is on the sideline slurping water and sucking wind. We ask him how the one fat player on the field is fairing.

"Aye, it's the fat lads you have to watch out for," he explains with a grin. "See, they don't want to run up and down the pitch. So when you get close to them they give you a good hard hit just to get you to stop moving."

The teams assemble for the start of the second half. The lone American on Nolan's team?Joe Montgomery, an electrician from the Bronx whose wife and two kids are watching him play this most ancient game?gives his St. Barnabas teammates a pep talk. "Listen, we gave a good effort out there. A good effort. But when we go out there now we have to play like it is nil-nil."

And they do. They dropkick point after point. The Brooklyn team soon looks like they're ready to quit. Two red-faced referees run up and down the field trying to keep things moving and watching out for fights. A Brooklyn lad rams a forward to the ground with a late hit. The forward jumps up and the two proceed to push and shove with a quick punch or two thrown in. The teams descend on the fighters and break it up quickly. The association that runs the Gaelic football league in New York frowns upon fighting. They are quick to suspend players for skirmishing; they don't want to foster the stereotype of the "fighting Irish." Only amateurs play Gaelic football?even among the great national teams in Ireland?and the players truly love this game. To be suspended and not have access to their team is a real hardship.

The game ends with Nolan's team winning 19 to 7. After the match it's all good will and handshakes. En masse everyone retires to the bar across the street, the Lansdowne, as the sun sets in the Bronx.

Inside the bar Tom Nolan downs two pints of orange juice. "I love it. We're brought up with this. We play it in the streets when we're babies. This is the number-one sport in Ireland. I love the physical side to it. The hitting and running and jumping. The fighting is a part of it. Sometimes it turns into a real free-for-all, but the fights don't last. And the fitness is a benefit. You have to be fit to be able to play this game."

Another player comes over. He won't say his name, but he lets us in on some of the secrets of New York Gaelic football, including the use of ringers. "Some of the senior teams get the good national players in Ireland to come over and play in New York," he confides. "They do it under another name and have to be careful, because if they're caught playing here they'll get suspended in Ireland. But it's done, believe me."

We ask how can the players in Ireland and New York be so devoted to a game that's dangerous and time-consuming, without receiving any financial reward? The games in Ireland get huge tv ratings and the stadiums draw giant crowds. Even the Sunday matches in the Bronx at Gaelic Park cost $10, and they draw up to 2000 fans. Why no pay for the players?

The man laughs into his hand and says, "Listen, we all love this game and we do play it for nothing?but some of the better players do get something out of it. The best players in Ireland all have very nice jobs in banking or civil service. Very nice jobs, indeed. That's the payback. If you're a real good player in Ireland you'll never lack for a good job. Even here, if a team wants you they get you a union job in one of the trades. You can get something for playing. Just not directly."

Of course, gambling on games is forbidden?but it's another taboo we're told is routinely broken.

"Of course we bet on the games." The man smiles and works on his pint. "You gotta be kidding me. There is no country in the world who love to wager more than the Irish. They bet on everything. You go to a pub and they'll bet on which politician will stop talking first. So you have the number-one game in Ireland and you think these games aren't bet on? Even in Gaelic Park they lay wagers. 'Course, no one will admit to it."

Tom Nolan comes over and bids us a goodnight. He has a girlfriend to call and a tired body to rest. Before he leaves he says, "Listen, you really have to get to Gaelic Park on a Sunday. They play hurling first. That you have to see."

Gaelic football and hurling are as old as the Celtic tribes. There is no written record of their origins, but it is estimated that both sports have been played in Ireland for more than 2000 years. The ancient Brehon Laws of Ireland make mention of the arcane rules of both games. Back then, Gaelic football was played with a pig's bladder as the ball.

When the Normans invaded Ireland in the 12th century hurling was banned. The English were no fools. Legend has it that the strong wooden sticks of hurling were used by the Irish as weapons, and when smacked together they made a fearsome sound that the Irish now call "The Clash of the Ash." The English believed the sport was actually developed to warm up warriors for battle. After it was banned, hurling was played far out in the wilds of the Irish countryside, away from British eyes.

The two sports stayed underground until 1884, when the Gaelic Athletic Association was formed. The association's goal was to keep the Irish culture and games alive under British rule.

"The GAA saved the games," says Mike Dunbar, 54, a Supreme Court officer in Brooklyn. Dunbar was born and raised in Ireland and played Gaelic football in his youth. He came to America at 23.

"I grew up in Sligo, which was known as a former British garrison town. Limerick is like that also. In these kind of towns soccer was very popular because of the strong British influence. Out in the country and at Irish high schools and colleges soccer was scorned, because it carried the stigma of the British Empire. The clergy in Ireland were adamant about soccer being a bad influence. The church and the GAA didn't fool around?in some towns, if you played soccer you were banned from playing Gaelic football. See, the ban was done for a very good reason. The Irish wanted to distance themselves from anything that was British, and at the same time they wanted to preserve the Irish culture."

Dunbar didn't think that way when he was young. The ban seemed like it was just another set of rules laid down by his elders. He was a young man in early 60s Ireland, and he longed for what was hip.

"See, I lived in town, and we fancied ourselves as being hip. So we played soccer because we thought it was snazzy. Gaelic football was what the country people played, and we thought we were hipper than that. To us soccer was cool?the new way. Gaelic football and hurling were old-fashioned and out of date."

All this changed in 1962, when Dunbar was 15 and Ireland finally got a national tv station. Gaelic football games were televised, and the whole country became mad for their old game.

"Suddenly, from being televised, Gaelic football became the cool game in Ireland. It was like what happened here with tv and American football. It just took off. There was a great announcer, Michael O'Hehir, who could describe a game in a beautiful and lyrical way. The man was a poet. I saw what a great game it was?and so did the rest of the country. Today in Ireland Gaelic football is much more popular than soccer. I tell you there is nothing more thrilling in Ireland than the day of the All-Ireland Final. On Sunday everyone goes to Mass and the priest will give a sermon on the game. It's very endearing how it still is this way, the innocence of it all. The Irish are a very nationalistic people, and they all go to the stadium and sing the national anthem in Gaelic, 'The Soldier's Song.' The Artane Boys Band comes in wearing their blue cloaks. You can't believe the feeling in the country on that day."

I ask Dunbar what he thinks Gaelic football and hurling say about the Irish character.

"That these are the national games shows that the Irish are just fearless," he replies. "They play these games with pride and with their whole heart and soul. And no one is playing for money. It's all for honor of their town or county. It's classic stuff. They play to win?and they better, because if you lose and go back home you may get the shit kicked out of you by the town people."

We take Tom Nolan up on his suggestion of a Sunday visit to Gaelic Park. The fenced-in stadium is a half-block west of Broadway on 240th St. This is the crown jewel of Irish sports in New York. Built in 1928, it has been home to thousands of Gaelic football and hurling matches. It has always been looked on like a small slice of Ireland dropped down on the streets of the Bronx.

We enter and stand in front of the bright green grass of the pitch. Off in the distance you can see the cupola of a Manhattan College building, and right above the field are the lay-up tracks for the Broadway IRT. It is as if the late Mike Quill, former Transit Union president and Irish immigrant, planned it this way. And he may have?near the stadium a corner is named Mike Quill Corner.

Guy Ventura is working the front gate, taking the $10 admission for the Sunday games. Ventura, in his late 30s, is a lifelong Bronx resident. He has a bread route in lower Manhattan in addition to this part-time job.

"I didn't know this existed till I started working here. It's like microcosms inside microcosms," he says. "You can't beat this. The games are exciting, and there's lots of scoring."

Spectators stream into the small stadium and greet each other like the old friends they no doubt are. The summer sun is brutal; some light-skinned Irish seek refuge in the cool dark bar at the eastern end of the park. The bar, O'Donnell's, has been operated by the same family since 1941. It is packed with people of all ages, the young and old easily mixing.

Out on the pitch the hurling teams are warming up. Ventura comes over and says, "You know they have their own doctor here. They sew them up right in that little room by the locker room. I guess they figure it's easier to do it here than take someone to the hospital. These guys will take a few stitches and then run back out to play."

Maybe 1500 spectators are sitting in the aluminum bleachers as the hurling match begins. The teams are Kilkenny and Offaly. Each side has 15 men, and the scoring is the same as Gaelic football: three points for a goal in the net, one if you send the ball flying through the goal posts. The game plays like a brutal cross between lacrosse, baseball, hockey and football. The ball?called a sliothar?is slightly smaller and softer than a baseball. The hurling sticks are 3 feet long, with a rounded end that's called the boss.

A hurler named Jerry catches the ball in his hand and runs down the field. The Kilkenny coach screams, "Come on, Jerry, get on your horse!" Jerry eludes defensemen with feints and speed. Every three steps he bounces the ball off his stick like a waiter running with a long tray. He is about 40 yards from the goal when he flicks the ball in the air and swats it like a baseball player hitting a fungo. It heads up and out through the goal posts for a point.

Early on the game gets wild?one player is down from taking a hit to the arm with a hurling stick. Play is stopped while he rolls on the ground. Only nine of the 30 players are wearing helmets. The downed player gets up, rubs his arm and stays in the game.

The Kilkenny team is scoring at will, and the crowd is cheering them on. A group of silver-haired men watch with looks of longing for their playing days. One man, a Mr. McCann, tells us he played in Gaelic Park 40 years ago and still likes to come out for the matches.

"If you think this is rough, you ain't see nothin'," McCann says. "Wait till they get warmed up and go at it."

We ask if they have many injuries in hurling.

"This is actually safer than Gaelic football. Hurling is all skill. They don't get hurt as much, because if you notice, the defender tries to stay inside of the man swinging the stick. See, like that," he says, pointing at the field. "It looks more dangerous than it is?but it can get brutal."

We wander into the stands and meet Gene O'Donnell, a lawyer who teaches at John Jay College. When we tell O'Donnell that this is our first time in Gaelic Park, he stares at us like we just yelled out, "God save the Queen!"

"I try to come out here as often as possible," O'Donnell says. "I love the hurling. It is such a game of skill. The beauty of hurling is that no matter how far back you push a team they can still score from 70 yards away. The whole field is a scoring threat."

The match wraps up as Kilkenny prevails 30 to 21. After the game players change into their civilian clothes, and as they walk about taking congratulations you can see the scrapes and bruises on their arms and faces.

Our last visit to Gaelic Park is for a football game between the New York City police and fire departments. Maybe 3000 people come out for this rivalry that has been going on since the 1970s. The teams are led out on the pitch by the combined Emerald Society bands of both departments.

You can see the difference in play: the Yanks just aren't as good as their Irish cousins. The half-dozen players who know what they're doing dominate the game.

A mellifluously voiced Irishman named Thomas Smyth announces the contest. During the halftime we tell him that these American civil servants just aren't as good as the Irish players.

"No, they're not. But they give a good effort, and a few of them could play with the Irish guys."

The police department makes a comeback in the second half. When they tie the score at 11 Smyth says, "That lad's father scored many a point here also."

The police "unlock the tie" and go on to win the game 13 to 12. No one leaves the stadium after the game, because there are friends to see and beer to drink. We hear a group of firemen grumbling about the police getting all the calls from the referees. One fireman says, "It's like we were in court as the felons and they were the cops and the refs were the judge. Every call went their way."

This is the sporting life. The tribe has come together to watch a game, and when it's over everyone stays and enjoys the company. No one is ready to leave Gaelic Park?the game was just the excuse to get everyone here. It's Friday, no work tomorrow, and it is a fine, soft summer night. Young couples walk arm in arm toward the bar. Little kids run around playing tag. Graybeards talk with young girls. Lawyers argue with civil servants. Bankers and bricklayers discuss what Greenspan's latest drop in the prime will do to mortgage rates. Football players from Ireland grab a few firemen and cops and show them the old country moves. The promise of New York can be found behind the walls of Gaelic Park.